Page 20 of Bound By Song (Evie Quad Omegaverse #1)

EVIANA

A nother day passes.

And still, nothing.

I can’t stop thinking about them. Not just because of the gift they sent, or the note that came with it. The soft pink blanket, the apology. The note with their numbers, a quiet offer for help if I need it.

I can’t stop thinking about them because they’ve somehow become a constant in my head, even though they aren’t here. The lingering what-ifs that spiral around me like a windstorm, pulling me in every direction and leaving me exhausted.

But they haven’t reached out either.

I keep telling myself it’s for the best. Maybe they realised they pushed too far. Maybe they’re giving me space, as they said they would. But a small, traitorous part of me – my omega side – can’t help but pine for them.

The ache in my chest is constant, a dull throb that won’t go away.

I pace around my room again, eyes flicking to my phone, hoping to see a message. But there’s nothing. Of course . They don’t have my number, I have theirs.

It’s not that I want them to bombard me with texts or calls even if they did have it. I don’t. I just – I don’t know what I want.

I’m torn. Between what I want and what I think I should want and what’s been drummed into me from an early age not to want.

I grab my phone, staring at the blank screen. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I draft a message for the hundredth time.

Hey, just wanted to say thanks for the gift. I appreciate it…

But then I stop. The words don’t sound right. They don’t feel real. They’re too formal. Too controlled.

I delete it.

Then, I try again.

So, I was thinking…maybe we could talk?

I hate it immediately. It sounds needy.

Delete.

Again. And again.

My thumb hovers over the screen, typing and deleting so many times I’ve lost count. But no matter how many times I try, I can’t seem to send a message that feels right.

It’s like I’m afraid of letting them in. Afraid of what will happen if I do.

My stomach twists.

I’ve been trying to ignore the aches in my body – the soft, persistent pulling sensation that’s getting harder to dismiss. Every time I think about them, my omega side grows restless. My skin prickles, and my stomach clenches.

I feel sick, like I’m waiting for something – waiting for them to come back. To reach out.

But they don’t.

The ache is relentless now, and it’s not just in my chest. It’s deeper. My body is demanding something – something primal, something I don’t know how to handle.

A soft whine slips past my lips before I can stop it. I clamp my mouth shut, panic rising. I don’t want to be weak, I don’t want to need them – but I do.

I press my palms to my stomach, willing it to calm down. The urge to nest is overwhelming, and it terrifies me. I’m not even sure where this is coming from. It’s like my body is reacting to something I can’t control.

Pull yourself together, I tell myself, heading for my easel.

I try to focus. I try to work on a new painting, but the colours blur together. My brush strokes feel messy, incoherent. Nothing looks right. I can’t concentrate.

I need a distraction.

With a heavy sigh, I put the brushes down, frustrated.

I slip downstairs into my small basement recording studio.

There was a tiny amount of money left to us when Grams died, and when my sisters moved out they used some of their share to gift this space to me.

I love it. It’s the first thing in the entire house that’s just mine.

Just for me. And it reminds me of them and makes us feel connected, closer, when I’m missing them.

The walls are lined to be soundproofed but I also have a few of my personal canvases up too. Some finished, some waiting to be touched up. But today, I don’t want to paint. I want to lose myself in something else.

Music.

I flick on the small ring light and settle in front of my computer, pulling up the familiar video sharing app. I don’t want to think about them, so I slip into the familiar anonymity of my online persona, Honey .

With the press of a button, my hot pink neon sign on the wall illuminates and I click to go live before I can lose my nerve.

The camera only shows my logo. I’m much more comfortable out of shot, but even so, it only takes a minute for the viewers to start joining and sending their welcome messages.

I have a small but really sweet following.

I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the pull of the music. This is how I cope – how I channel everything I can’t quite put into words.

I pick up my guitar and strum the first few chords, the sound flowing from me before I even realise it. The words come next.

“You’re a storm in my head, can’t find the way to feel you

I’m trapped in your silence, when all I want is you

I’m spinning in circles, unsure which way is true

But every time you pull me close, I break and pull you too…”

The song flows, raw and unfinished, but full of all the emotions I can’t express in any other way. The conflicted pull between desire and fear, the ache that gnaws at my insides.

I can feel the tension easing as I let the music carry me away, pouring every bit of frustration, confusion, and longing into it.

By the time I finish, I’m breathless.

I don’t know how many people are watching, but when I glance at the comments scrolling by, I see the words that make my chest tighten.

“This is amazing!”

“So much emotion in this. You’re incredible!”

“I can feel every word. Don’t stop playing!”

And the direct messages…

“Your voice is so haunting, it gets under my skin.”

“You’ve got a gift. This song, wow.”

“I can’t stop listening. You’ve got something real here.”

I don’t know if they’re hearing what I feel or just picking up on the rawness of it, but in this moment, it feels like the first time in days I’ve been able to breathe. To let go.

I spend a few more minutes responding to messages, thanking people for their support, but as the excitement from the live performance starts to fade, I’m left with that emptiness again.

The same emptiness that’s been gnawing at me all day.

I close the laptop and sit there, in the quiet of the basement, the soft hum of the computer the only sound. The ache hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s grown. My omega is restless, still longing for something I can’t quite reach.

I know I need to stop torturing myself. I need to make a decision.

But I don’t know what that decision is.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this.

And that thought, right there, is enough to make me want to cry.