Page 19 of Empty

That didn’t make any sense. I forced my mind to quiet by focusing on my breathing. I did my best to manage the pain by relaxing my body, but another debilitating flash of agony had me sliding out of my chair to curl into a ball beside my desk. Within twenty-five minutes, Tristin’s scent was followed by a strong grip around my arm. He tugged me to my feet as he fussed.

“What are you doing at work? You never work when your heat cycle is starting!”

“I—I forgot about it,” I weakly explained.

Tristin practically dragged me to the elevator all the while muttering underneath his breath. “How can you forget?”

“They only come once a year,” I snapped. A hot flash replaced the pain, the sudden spike in body temperature not only responsible for my irritation but the sweat beading along my brow. My hair stuck to my forehead, the back of my shirt deciding to follow suit and plaster itself to my skin. I fucking hated this. Tears warmed the back of my eyes, but I refused to give into them.

“What do you mean?” He looked down at me, his brows drawn together and eyes slightly narrowed in confusion. “I thought heat cycles came every two months.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to deal with this, it was that right now, I couldn’t. Not in the midst of feeling so awful. “Shut up, please. I have a terrible migraine, it’s hot, and my body feels like there is something foreign nestled deep inside of me that is trying to tunnel its way out.”

Tristin clicked his tongue against his teeth, rolling his eyes. He folded his arms over his chest, mumbling. “I forget how much of a bitch you are when you’re in heat. Maybe you should call Eli. Pretty sure taking dick is supposed to help you through this.”

I glared up at him. “If you say another word I will not tell you what Jonah told m—” I hissed loudly, agony causing me to double over. In an attempt to steady my spinning world, I gripped my knee tight enough for my knuckles to crack.

“As much as I want to ask about what my future mate told you, I’m not that big of an asshole. C’mon.” Tristin lifted me into his arms, despite my protests. “This is faster than trying to drag you across the parking lot. Yell at me after you come up with a better explanation as to why you’re trying to work through your heat.”

I barely remembered being buckled into the car and Tristin stopping at a convenience store before immense fatigue washed over me, causing me to succumb to a fitful sleep.

Day One

The dreams were the worst. I spent the majority of the first day drifting in and out of sleep, waking up the same way each time—crying out the last syllable to a name I’d never get to give the child that was ripped from my arms. Sometimes I woke up sobbing, clutching a pillow to my chest as a faceless nurse took my baby. My weeping and repetitive begging to “bring her back” woke me up. Tears stained my pillow, making my face damp, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. Not until another bite of excruciating pain had me curling up in a tight ball, gasping for breath.

I wanted to scream that it was unfair. It didn’t make any fucking sense that I had to go through the debilitating pain of a heat cycle if I’d never be able to have what going into heat meant for an omega. Long after the ache subsided, I was still curled up, my hands on my empty womb, weeping openly.

The thought from earlier in the day returned and it finally made sense. I purposefully ignored the pre-heat symptoms because I wanted to ignore the heat. I wanted to forget that my body would remind me of what I was supposed to do but couldn’t. For a while it worked. It was nice to forget that I wasn’t whole, but now I regretted my decision. I should have been taking the painkillers like my OB/GYN instructed—as soon as the symptoms began, no matter how faint.

I was punishing myself by not pulling out of the pain but allowing myself to drown in it.

For the first time since receiving the news of my infertility, I was able to cry for what could have been but would never be.

Day Two

I was in the fetal position, not having slept at all after waking up from the last dream. My eyes were heavy and grainy as exhaustion threatened to pull me under. When my eyes dropped shut, my body jolted and I woke up, blinking rapidly. I couldn’t handle another nightmare. I couldn’t survive seeing the same thing each time I closed my eyes, so, I was resigned to not sleeping for the next few days.

I stopped crying about an hour ago, but I still sniffled every so often, my residual hiccupping sobs echoing in the dark. I was trying to talk myself out of this deep despair by pointing out all of the good parts of my life.

My job.

My friendship with Tristin.

Eli.

His face flashed in my mind. When he looked at me, his eyes were always so sincere. A few times, I caught him openly staring, a soft grin on his face as he did.

Eli.

My heart clenched, a vice grip of emotion squeezing out my breath as I thought about him. He made me happy. Happy in ways I hadn’t felt in years—if at all—and that excited and scared me all at once. I knew the truth of my feelings. I liked Eli but I wasn’t supposed to like him. I was supposed to enjoy the companionship and the sex. I was supposed to take all that was being offered and give next to nothing in return, with no regrets. However, I couldn’t. I found myself wanting to open up to him. Especially in those quiet moments when it seemed like the world had faded away and it was just the two of us. In those moments I wanted to tell him the truth, wanted to lay myself bare before him and ask if he could ever accept an omega that couldn’t give him kids. I wanted to know if Eli could overlook his own biological instincts to procreate and if he was okay with his days being filled with only me.

Could that, no, would that be enough for him?

Much to my dismay, I still had more tears to shed.

Day Three

I thought the cramping was going to be the worst part of my cycle. It usually was.