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Story: Mask and the Magnolia (Fiends and Floras Omegaverse #1)
SIX
SHORTHAND
DESMOND
I clutch 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.
Oddly enough, we get along relatively well so far.
I think we’re all still guarded and hesitant, skeptical at best, but no one has tried to assert themselves as the big bad alpha of Ward C yet, and I’m hoping things stay that way.
If the five of us keep being civil and actually work the program, if no one decides to lose their shit on the lovely little pyromaniac beta or our delicious doctors, I think we might have a real chance at a more pleasant and normal existence.
The others do, anyway.
I’m not real sure what my future holds right now, not with how I’m currently feeling, so planning beyond one day at a time seems like jumping the gun.
If nothing else, I’m good at that, and it might be enough to hold onto for the time being.
As long as Nurse Hubbard doesn’t fucking kill me first.
I grip my stomach tighter as I double over, the muscles contracting, my guts cramping so hard I jerk forward and thump my face against the glass wall.
This is brutal.
I’ve detoxed before, had doctors play with my meds and experiment on me, but this? This is different.
Nurse Hubbard isn’t trying to ween me off my meds or change them to something new the doc wants to try. No, the bitch is mixing shit with my monthly shot of Haldol, and for the first time in my entire life, I’m worried about what my meds are going to do to me.
“Hawthorne.”
I press my cheek against the cool glass for a second before I try to sit up, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the liquid fire surging through my veins.
Korvin was the other one who noticed our omegas when they let shit fly.
I can confidently say our omegas because of that, and the fact that I’m roughly ninety five percent sure he matched with one if not both of them the way I did.
Do I know if he has any idea what happened or what it means? No, not even a little, but I can tell he’s drawn to me the same way I’m drawn to him, and it’s definitely not just because Korvin Severe is sexy as fuck and I’m dying for the day we get the freedom to mingle.
All thoughts I had before the scent match shit went down, but he and I are connected because of our omegas, who seem just as oblivious to all of this as Korvin, and now the giant fuck who didn’t talk the first few weeks we were here has grunted my name down the hall once a month when the certifiable nurse tries to play angel of death.
That part sucks, but I really enjoy being the only one clued into the intense and trying game fate is playing with a handful of us up here on Ward C, so hearing that voice say my name is just an added thrill. Korvin knows I’m hurting, he doesn’t like it, has no idea why, and I find it adorable.
“Yes, pookie?”
Korvin’s annoyed huff is the only response I get and while I know the various pet names I use get under his skin, he just wanted to confirm I’m not dead yet and that suffices.
Probably stupid on my part.
None of us are small, we are all dangerous, and even though Ivan is hands down the biggest and scariest, there’s something extremely unnerving about Korvin Severe and I don’t doubt for one second, one day he’s going to punish me for being an asshat.
I’m running the game right now but I’m not stupid enough to think that male isn’t going to put me in my place as soon as he has the chance.
And I just need to make sure to stay alive long enough for it to happen because I cannot fucking wait for it to.
“No sidekick today, doc?” I ask as I gingerly shift around in my seat, trying not to draw attention to the way I’m feeling as the guards leave us alone.
He shakes his head as he sets his briefcase down on the desk. “I’m afraid Ms. Reynolds won’t be joining us this morning.”
His tone is off.
Tone, demeanor, his entire mood. Something happened that has Dr. Lowe feeling some kind of way, and I’d put money on it involving Ms. Reynolds.
Isaak is never late, he hasn’t been in almost two months, and he’s usually not in a mood like this when he makes his way onto Ward C.
The day we had our first group session was the only other time I’ve seen him worried and when Magnolia burst into his office and crashed to the floor, it morphed into a weird sense of anxiety riddled relief. Then it was business as usual.
Dr. Lowe is pleasant and open, he’s relatively relaxed considering the company he keeps, and he’s pretty fucking fearless if you ask me. All of that is reflected in our interactions with him, and when our sweet little Maggie is along for the ride, the way they both light up is something to behold.
And it makes it real goddamn hard to keep my mouth shut about everything.
I do, though.
I keep my mouth shut, and I don’t let anyone know how acutely perceptive I am because if they had a clue about how in sync I’ve become with a few of the regulars up here, I’m sure I’d end up in a situation like the ones I’ve experienced before.
But Isaak is tense, he’s worried and annoyed, and whether in tune or not, he’s not doing a very good job of hiding his emotions right now.
“She already throw in the towel?” My fingers curl against my thighs as I fight the urge to start itching a layer of skin off every exposed inch of my body. “Too much for her, maybe?”
“No,” he grunts before he sighs. “Ms. Reynolds had another engagement this morning, that’s all.”
I watch as the doc takes a deep breath, tilting his head back for a moment as he parks his hands on his hips. He closes his eyes then lets out a frustrated huff before shoving his fingers through his light brown hair a few times, and my god, I never thought my omega would be so beautiful.
Hell, I never thought I’d have an omega let alone two. Both of whom are gorgeous in vastly different ways.
Table of Contents
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- Page 13
- Page 14 (Reading here)
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