Page 117 of The Other Omega

Some of the other Omega things were much harder to get used to. I could read every book in High Mountain and have my mates tell me a hundred times that what I was feeling was normal, but sometimes I still couldn’t believe the things I did. I’d hissed at the cleaning ladies for taking my mates’ dirty shirts out of their laundry baskets. I’d cried because Alaric couldn’t knot me before work, then Darius had taken me on all fours in front of the lift doors while I moaned and begged him for his knot. Afterwards, I’d been so embarrassed by how badly I’d needed him that I didn’t really know what to do with myself.

Thank goodness I had Eira.

I knew being my companion was technically her job, but some days I honestly didn’t know what I’d do without her. She sent photographs and messages to the Hart Pack for me because I still couldn’t face speaking to them myself and pretending to be their Elowen.

Most afternoons, we ended up in the garden with blankets and cushions spread beneath my favourite apple tree. One afternoon, Eira handed me her communication pad to show me what Ivy had been making.

“Other Ivy has made very good progress with her gown. I believe it will be beautiful.”

Eira knew who I really was now and accepted it without fuss. She’d started calling the Harts here the others: Other Ivy, Other Nora. I loved her a little for that. I cared about them, but Ivy and Nora back home were my sisters, and it helped to have someone who understood why they were different.

The gown on the screen was red, with sheer panels down the sides. Even unfinished, it already looked lovely.

“I didn't know you were allowed to show that much skin.”

“In Kharith, you may.”

“I never saw any of them wear anything like this.”

“You did not go out often,” Eira reminded me. “Some of their casual clothes might scandalise you.”

I thought about some of the outfits I’d seen at our village parade, never mind Instagram or TikTok, and started laughing as I sank back against the cushions.

“Oh, Eira. I'm not sure they'd surprise me as much as you think.”

Now that people actually believed me, I loved being able to talk about Earth. I could mention my life or my sisters without worrying that one wrong thing would make everyone decide I was wrong again.

Lucien always had questions.

When I explained television, he understood the technology easily enough. What confused him was how many stories we’d filmed with actors, and that millions of people could sit at home and watch them whenever they wanted. High Mountain had theatre, and some performances were recorded, but they had nothing like all the films, television series, documentaries and audiobooks I’d grown up with.

Audiobooks fascinated him; social media not so much.

“Is that why you photograph your meals?” he'd asked.

“I suppose so.”

“And people make those photographs available to strangers?”

“Some do, but not everyone.”

“For what purpose?”

“I don't know, Lucien. It's Instagram.”

That hadn’t helped him at all.

People here took photographs and recordings too, but they were much more careful about who saw them. Packs liked their privacy, family photographs mattered, and recordings of children were protected even more closely. Lucien really couldn’t understand why anyone would want complete strangers looking at their homes, their children, their holidays and whatever they’d eaten for breakfast.

Those conversations became one of my favourite parts of the day. I’d start talking to one of them in the sitting room, then somebody else would join us, and eventually I’d look around and realise all five were there. Things I’d barely thought about on Earth could keep them asking questions for hours.

I told them whatever stories I could remember and filled in the bits I’d forgotten whenever they came back to me. The Lord of the Rings took several evenings, and Harry Potter took even longer, mostly because they kept interrupting me.

“And then the Fellowship splits up.”

Caius frowned. “Why?”

“Because Frodo decides he has to go to Mordor alone, into enemy territory.”