Page 12 of Thorns That Bloom
No one’s around, and at least it’s quiet here. Not counting the dripping from one of the toilets that irritates me more than it should.
Hanging my head between my shoulders, I take some deep breaths before pulling off my sweater so that I don’t combust. I feel sticky and sweaty, but upon checking in the mirror, there are no sweat patches under my arms.Is it all in my head?
“Come on,” I mutter to myself. When the light-headedness doesn’t subside after a few minutes of diligent calming techniques, I sit down with the wall against my back.As much as I don’t want anyone finding me like this and giving me weird looks, I’m starting to worry whether this is normal, so I pull out my phone to do a quick search.
‘Heat-like symptoms are fairly common in the first half of an omega’s pregnancy.’
Rolling my eyes, I rest my head back with a tense grimace. I don’t remember the doctor telling me about this during my checkups. Then again, there’s been a lot on my mind recently.
‘Due to the hormonal imbalances, the gestational parent might experience severe symptoms, release excessive pheromones which they are unable to control, or, in some cases, temporarily lose the ability to sense pheromones.’
My hormones feel pretty out of whack right now, yeah.
‘An omega might unexpectedly enter a short state of heat, lasting for 12 to 28 hours.’
My insides tense up painfully as I read that sentence. I know my body, and I know this uncomfortable, nagging sensation. Still, it terrifies me. It terrifies me because I thought I would have at least nine months to deal with what happened before going through another heat. Instead, my trembling body screams at me that it’s going to happennow, and that sets off the powerful beast of panic that’s living inside me.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, shaking my head, breath hitching.
Surely, it’s just the symptoms mimicking a heat. I can’t be in heat. I don’t…want to. I can’t.
As if I’ve only now realized where I am, the reality of it hits me—the white walls, the lack of windows, the faintly sterile smell. Widening my eyes, I quickly try to build a wall between myself and the memories that could come flooding in at any moment. I don’t want to be out of control again. I don’t want tothink about it.
I have to calm down.
The sound of the door opening makes me twitch. Voices. Steps.People.
My mind splits in two directions: one half of it still sane, trying to get me to stand up and not embarrass myself in front of whoever enters, while the other plummets even deeper into despair and frenzy.
I can't focus, can't control my breathing... Can't handle this heat in this place and around these people.People aren't safe.
Blinking sharply, I look up, darting my eyes across the three men stepping in. All of them wear dusty orange jumpsuits. The Manufacturing’s uniform. Their faces, though somewhat blurry, morph from relaxed smiles to concerned stares framed by furrowed brows as soon as they notice me.
I must look ridiculous. Sweaty, shuddering, on the floor next to the sink with my knees drawn toward my chest and clenching my sweater in my arms.
“Hey, are you alright?” One of them asks, but as I look at him, his face becomes even more incoherent. I turn my head away quickly, shaking it while my heart pounds so rapidly it hurts. Black splotches pop up at the corners of my vision.
This isn’t good for me. Or for the baby.
I tighten my grip on the wool fabric of my sweater and try to pull myself together, but it isn’t working. All that sounds inside my head, aside from the drumming of my pulse, is that I’m alone in a restroom with these three men. That I am in danger.
My own brain keeps telling me it’s going to happen again; it screams at me to do something, while my stupid, uselessbody refuses to listen.
They lean over me, probably with concern. One tries to touch my shoulder, but I jerk away, somehow getting on my feet, and I hurry toward one of the stalls in panic. With my hands trembling so much they barely work, I can’t manage to lock the door, so I just sit on the closed toilet seat and tremble, holding it shut with my foot.
All the chaos and overstimulation coalesce into a maddening, deafening ringing in my ears. Some faint voices pass through it here and there, together with my own hyperventilating pants. They’re all outside the stall. I see their shadows moving across the floor and hear them arguing.
They ask me something, but their words are too far to understand.
Knock. The echoing, irrationally loud boom of it rattles me to the core.
They say something again. And again.
Another knock.
Shaking my head, I lean against my knees and screw my eyes shut.
‘Leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone.’ I don’t know why those words won’t come out of my mouth. I want to scream at them from the top of my lungs for them to go away, but I only do so in my head, trapped and helpless.
