Page 18 of Stalked By the Alphas

17

HAZEL

Ayden takes my hands in his. “Can you tell me what happened?”

I take a shuddering breath. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry. I’m tired and I just needed to break down for a moment. I’m okay. Really.”

Ayden frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” I muster a shaky smile. “Maybe I should close up and go back home to sleep. I think… I think my heat is coming.” I add, mortified that I just blurted that out, and more so that until this moment, with all the paranoia and stress, I’d forgotten it was coming.

“Oh, okay,” he says, as if he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he is used to being around pre-heat omegas. That thought doesn’t sit well with me. Not that there is anything wrong with alphas going through their ruts with omegas they aren’t mated to or helping omegas get through their heats, it’s just not something I want to think about him doing. I don’t want to think about him doing that with me. I do this alone. Always have, and probably at this rate, I always will. I’ve got my knotty vibrator to see me through, and it’s fine.

I blink at him, but he doesn’t say anything else, nor does he move to leave. I start to panic that he is going to suggest we buddy up for my heat. My hands shake, and my throat closes. There is a reason that I don’t take a willing alpha to my bed during my heat, and that is because I can’t bring myself to have sex. Not after the masked magician… after the masked magician… I gulp and push that thought away. It suddenly and shockingly occurs to me that maybe the alphas sense this on me, and that’s why they keep leaving. They know I’m going to be difficult about sex and mating, and they don’t want any part of my trauma.

Fuck.

It makes so much sense now that this thought is in my head.

Ayden’s voice breaks through my spiralling thoughts. “Hazel? Are you all right?”

I blink, realising I’ve zoned out. “Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you wanted me to help you close up the shop,” he says gently.

“Oh.” I shake my head, trying to clear it. “No, that’s okay. I can manage. Thank you, though.”

He nods but doesn’t move to leave. “Are you sure you’re okay to be alone right now? I don’t mean to overstep, but you seem pretty shaken up.”

His concern touches me, but also makes me wary. I’m not used to anyone caring this much. “I appreciate your concern, but really, I’ll be fine. I just need some rest.”

He smiles warmly. “Take care of yourself, Hazel. I’ll check in on you tomorrow if that’s okay?”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. As he leaves, I lean against the counter, suddenly exhausted. The events of the morning catch up with me all at once. My hands shake as I reach for my bag. Dr Winters said it wasn’t the tablets, so I have to keep trying with them. I know they did help me at the beginning. Maybe I’m just not taking enough? I shake out two tablets and reach for the bottle of water on the counter, trying not to stare at the masked doll.

What if this is the masked magician from Leah’s party?

I can’t get that uneasy thought out of my head. After that day, when he raped me in the cupboard, I never had another incident like it at all. So, whoever it was took the opportunity and then didn’t look back. He probably just moved on to his next victim. I choke on the thought. I’d never even stopped to think about that before.

Fuck. What kind of person am I? I should’ve reported him to stop him from doing this to other little girls. Tears prick my eyes as the guilt washes over me that I’m responsible now for anyone he touched after that day. The tidal wave of blame crashes over me, and I drop to my knees, gulping for air as the panic attack hits me full-on.

I don’t know how long I kneel there on the floor, gasping for breath as waves of panic and guilt wash over me. My vision blurs with tears, and my chest feels tight, like I can’t get enough air. I need to get out of here. I need to get home where I can build a nest and curl up in it, waiting for my heat to hit. I stagger to my feet, trying to even out my breathing. I can’t keep falling apart like this. I need to make that appointment to see my doctor as soon as I can. Leaning heavily on the counter, I come face-to-face with the masked magician. My nose is inches from the mocking face and silky outfit. With a cry of rage and sorrow for everything I lost, I grip it in my hand and throw it as hard as I can at the wall behind the counter. Its face smashes against the wall, shattering into jagged pieces that scatter across the floor. The sound of breaking porcelain echoes through the empty shop.

For a moment, I stand there frozen, staring at the broken remnants. Part of me is horrified at my outburst, but another part feels a savage satisfaction. I’ve destroyed the thing that’s been tormenting me. It can’t hurt me anymore.

With trembling hands, I gather my things and lock up the shop, not even caring that it will be a loss of business. I should call in on Mrs Lewis, but I just cannot be bothered. I’ll take the loss and deal with it next week.

The walk home feels longer than usual, every shadow seeming to loom menacingly. I keep my head down, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone.

When I finally reach my cottage, I fumble with the keys, nearly dropping them in my haste to get inside. Once the lock clicks into place behind me, I lean against it, letting out a shaky breath. Safe. I’m safe here.

But even as I think it, I know it’s not entirely true. The fear, the paranoia, they’ve followed me home. They’re inside my head now, and I don’t know how to make them go away. I turn to bolt and chain the door, and after they are secure, I stumble towards the stairs. I drag myself upstairs, my body already starting to feel the first stirrings of my pre-heat. My skin feels too tight, too hot. I strip off my clothes, leaving them in a trail to the bedroom. Opening my wardrobe, I pull out the soft blankets and pillows from the top shelf that I keep for my heats. With shaky hands, I start building my nest in the corner of the bedroom, under the window. It’s a primal instinct, one that always makes me feel a little safer, a little more in control.

As I meticulously arrange the blankets, my mind wanders back to the masked magician in the shop. The way it shattered against the wall. The satisfaction I felt in that moment. But now, in the quiet of my room, doubt creeps back in. What if I imagined it all? What if there was never a doll, and I just destroyed some innocent knick-knack in a fit of paranoia?

I shake my head, trying to dispel the thoughts. No. It was real. It had to be real. I pull out my phone and flick through the photos. The masked magician sitting on the counter stares back at me. I close it down quickly and go back to building my nest. I move around mechanically, fluffing pillows, folding blankets, and pulling my duvet off the bed to spread out over it. Once it is complete, I open the bedside cabinet and pull out the knotty vibrator. It is a large device which gives me momentary satisfaction. I don’t know how it matches up to a real alpha knot, but it gets me through.

Placing it on the pillows of my nest, I crawl in and curl up tightly, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. My skin feels feverish, a sure sign that my heat is approaching fast. Usually, I’d be preparing myself mentally for the days ahead, planning how to manage the symptoms alone. But right now, all I can think about is how vulnerable I feel.

For the first time ever, I wish I wasn’t alone. The thought of spending my heat in this state of fear and confusion when my mind isn’t my own during the worst moments, is overwhelming. But there is no other option. I do this alone. As always.

I toss and turn restlessly in my nest, unable to get comfortable. My skin feels like it’s on fire, and there’s an aching emptiness inside me that I know will only get worse as my heat progresses. I’ve never been through this before when I’ve felt so off-kilter, so unsure of reality.

The room feels too quiet, too still. Every creak of the house makes me jump. What if someone breaks in while I’m vulnerable? What if I hallucinate again and can’t tell what’s real? What if I end up hurting myself?

A wave of cramping hits me, and I curl into myself with a whimper. The heat is coming on faster than usual, probably triggered by stress. I fumble for the knotty vibrator, bringing it closer, knowing I’ll need it soon. Closing my eyes, I try to relax, but then I remember the cam-bear. My eyes snap open, and I groan. I didn’t set it up in place, and now, more than ever, I need those eyes downstairs.

Pushing myself into a sitting position, my head swims. Clutching it, I use the wall to get me to my feet. I’m naked and sweating, my knees are buckling as I stumble towards the stairs. My vision swims as I grip the railing and take them one at a time, missing the last one and tripping up to land on my hands and knees, bruised and shaken. I crawl to the lounge where I left the bear and snatch it up, gripping it desperately as the room starts to rotate. I close my eyes and crawl, feeling my way to the front door to place the bear down. I can’t see anything when I open my eyes, so I use my other senses. I feel for his eyes to make sure they are facing forward and not at the door.

I let out a sob of relief that it is positioned correctly, and then I can’t remember if I bolted and chained the front door. Staggering to my feet, I fumble with the locks. It feels like I’m doing it in reverse, unlocking instead of locking, but I know that’s not right. I don’t remember locking them when I came in. With my vision gone, I stagger down the hallway back to the stairs. Crawling up them, I pat around at the top to make sure I’m going the right way back to my nest. My elbows give way, and I slump over the threshold to my bedroom.

My body shudders as another wave of heat washes over me. I drag myself across the floor, desperate to reach the safety of my nest. My skin burns with heat fever, and every nerve ending is hypersensitive.

Finally, my fingers brush against the soft fabric. With the last of my strength, I pull myself into the nest, collapsing onto the pillows. I curl into a tight ball, wrapping blankets around my trembling form as the shivers start with force. My mind is hazy, thoughts slipping away like sand through my fingers.

In my delirium, shadows seem to move at the edges of my vision. Are they real or just another hallucination? I whimper, burying my face in a pillow. I wish desperately for someone to hold me, to make me feel safe. But I’m alone, as always.

The ache inside me grows, an emptiness demanding to be filled. I fumble for the knotty vibrator, my movements clumsy and uncoordinated. I need release, something to take the edge off this all-consuming heat.

As I activate the toy, a sob escapes me. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I shouldn’t feel so scared or so vulnerable during what should be a natural process. But the fear and paranoia have seeped into every part of me, tainting even this.