Page 25 of Mask and the Magnolia

“I think I was wrong about group,” he says as he leans toward Korvin, his straight jacket stretching as he tries to nudge him. “I’ll say anything if all the sessions are like this.”

Yeah, I am so fucked.

SIX

SHORTHAND

DESMOND

Iclutch my stomach as I settle onto the floor, leaning on the wall as my fingers curl against the starchy fabric of my jumpsuit. I reach up with my free hand to loosen my collar, opening a few buttons before I rub my collarbone, applying a little pressure along that then moving up the side of my neck. My fingers tremble as I push the muscles in small circles, sliding around to the base of my skull then back down to my collarbone to start all over again.

My mouth is dry, my vision is a little blurry. I tighten my grip in my stomach, trying to shift my focus on where I’m digging them deeper into skin and muscle instead of the way my gut rolls and twists. I’m already starting to sweat. The hot flashes come almost immediately, but the sweats don’t start until I’m back in my cell. It’s why I opted for the floor after the guards dropped me off. It’s cool down here, especially against the outside wall, and I can see what’s going on down the hall while I try to fight through this.

I’ve been medicated and locked up for a long time, over half my life at this point, and I’ve been between so many hospitals and prisons I thought I’d seen it all.

This, though, this is a first for me.

Trying to keep my cool, I nod as Bishop is taken from his cell, doing the shackle shuffle on his way to his session.

It’s been hard hiding this, hard not saying anything or drawing attention to what’s going on, but something I’ve taken away from all my time behind iron bars is that they don’t listen when we talk, not really.

I know this is supposed to be different.

We have goals and privileges to work toward, trust that we can earn. This is an experiment that could actually improve quality of life for assholes like me.

After a few weeks, I’ve seen the level of genuine effort that’s being put into it.

They’re still working on the common area but I’ve seen it happening. Couches and recliners, a TV and a poker table. Fucking vending machines. They brought in a pool table yesterday and they’re installing speakers right now, separate from the PA system that are actually for music.

Our cells are still basic while they’re trying to figure us out, but they’re nicer than any I’ve seen before.

A bed that is close to full size, almost enough room for two people to lay side by side in instead of some paper thin, tiny little twin size mattress that my feet hang off of. There’s a small level of comfort and privacy already, but the fact that we can gain more is interesting, and I have no reason to doubt it won’t come in time.

They still use precautions when we’re all together, and I can’t blame them for that. We are an interesting group and there’s really no telling how shit could go down if they let us all loose before they have a better feel for things.

Especially when we’re stuck in a room with two tasty little omegas.

I grin and lean my head against the wall despite the way my muscles start to twitch.

Dr. Lowe and Ms. Reynolds.

Beauties locked up with their beasts.

Fuck,I’d love to take a bite out of each of them.

Especially that first day when all I could smell from the time we entered the ward until they shut down for the night was them.

They were both surprised as hell when they perfumed, I saw it on her face as we walked by and again on the doc’s when we were formally introduced, and the fact that I knew exactly who it was would be just as surprising to them, I’m sure, but I do.

It wasn’t particularly hard to figure it out. All of the staff on this floor are alphas, and while there were maybe one or two other omegas present on day one, only two of them let those pheromones fly, and only two of us responded.

Which was surprising to me.

Then again, Bishop and Lochlan were way too focused on each other and their shit to notice what happened with our omegas, and I’m pretty sure Ivan is only in tune with what he wants to be when he allows it to happen.

Makes sense. They call him a serial killer, and I guess technically he is but he was a hitman for two different mafia families, and he probably has all kinds of fucking skills no one knows about because of it. Dude probably can’t even tell when someone perfumes anymore after that.

We are quite the bunch, my fellow residents and I.