Page 9 of Pixel Perfect Pack
I press call and toss the covers over my head, curling into a ball and revelling in the safety of being in a familiar place. The phone rings and rings but eventually he answers.
“Hey,” he answers abruptly like he’s only half paying attention to the phone.
“It’s me, I need your help,” I say, fighting to catch my breath as I work my way through yet another swell of cramping.
The smirk in his voice makes my nausea feel even worse. “Oh yeah, babe? What do you need me for?”
“I think I’m going into heat.” Saying it out loud makes it all feel too real and I want to burst into tears.
Jack stays silent for a minute too long before sucking a breath in through his teeth, “Babe I’m not in town, remember? I’m away for Hoyt’s birthday.”
“What?” I frown, knowing fine well that he told me fuck all about this trip. We even had reservations in Edinburgh for dinner on Friday. “We had plans this weekend, where are you?”
He groans, the annoyance in that one noise making me curl even further into myself. I just need someone here. Someone to take care of me and make sure I’m alright. I can’t go through a whole heat on my own, not if this is how bad it’s going to be.
Oh God, what if it gets worse?
“Babe, don’t be so fucking needy. Hoyt and the boys invited me on the trip last minute. We’re off to Loch Lomond until Monday. His family has a cabin up there.” There’s a flurry of noise in the background, someone telling someone else not to be a pussy and chug. Once again, I’ve been left so he can spend time with the boys.
“Can you come home?” I ask, hating the tears that well in my eyes. “Please? Just this one time?”
“I’ll be back Monday and help you out with your heat then, okay? I’m not missing out on this weekend just because you’re feeling a little hormonal.”
That’s the last straw, the last time I let this manchild disappoint me. I’m done. “Don’t bother.”
I slam the phone down against the mattress, cutting off whatever that prick was about to say.
Two days pass before I make it further than the bathroom. Water. I need water. I’ve alternated between nesting, taking cold showers, and taking the edge off with my hands and toys as much as I can. But it isn’t enough. With no food and no meds, I know I’m teetering close to the edge of being seriously ill.
My entire cottage is lit up only by the streetlights outside and the embers of the fire I lit in the afternoon as I guzzle water straight from the kitchen tap. My bagel dough and cookies are still untouched in the kitchen and I force myself to grab a couple of them and swallow them down. They’re stale and dry but I don’t care, I just need to put something in my stomach before I pass out.
I haphazardly fill a bottle with water and wash down the last of the cookie crumbs as I struggle back to the bedroom. The silence has been replaced by an incessant beeping coming from my computer. On unsteady legs I carry myself to the chair and slump down, thankful that the cramps have subsided enough that I can walk at all. My thighs are sticky, clinging together with a mixture of slick and sweat and it takes me a minute or two to get comfortable as I pull up the chat screen.
There’s a whole bunch of other messages from the guys, one after another asking if I’m okay, if I’m sick or if I’ve ended up in hospital with my fibromyalgia or if my FND has made me fall again. They’re not the easiest illnesses to live with. My fibro makes me tired and my joints are often aching. My FND or functional neurological disorder is by far the most embarrassing, leaving me clumsy, with legs that don’t always work and hands that are always shaking. I don’t even want to think about the sheer lack of spatial awareness. I bring up the group chat and move my fingers to the keyboard, but I’m shaking so badly that I can’t hit the right keys. Instead, I reach for my headset and manage to click the voice note button.
“I’m okay…” I say, though it sounds like the biggest lie I’ve ever told. “Things are kicking my arse right now, I just…”
I finish the voice note and breathe, a rise and swell of cramping pain ravages my body and I know I’m close to bringing up the cookies and water. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”
Quickly, I cut the voice note off before I let out a long groan and clutch my legs to my chest. Just a few more days. A few more days and this will be over. But in the back of my mind, I regret telling them I’ll be fine. Regret not asking them to come help me. I don’t even care if they’re alphas or not, I just need a friend.
Six
Adair
“We have to go, right now,” Orion states, pacing back and forward in front of the phone camera. We’ve been on a video call for over an hour trying to decide what to do about JJ. The voice note she left for us was concerning at the very least. The pain and urgency in her tone was enough to push all of us over the edge.
“What are we going to do?” I ask, my voice low. “Travel hours to her place just to find that her boyfriend is taking perfectly good care of her? Then what?”
Kito laughs apathetically, shoving the hair back from his face and flashing the tattoos that travel up his neck. “As if he’s there! That douche wouldn’t know how to help her if they gave him a play-by-play guidebook. He’s useless.”
“So we jump in our cars and go to her,” Orion says, finally pausing his back and forth stomping and staring into the camera. “Adair you’re the closest, you could be there in what, two hours?”
“If I leave now I could be there by midnight,” I reply, terrified that this is the grand plan. “But sending the one with crippling social anxiety doesn’t sound like the best move.”
“Okay… let’s just think,” Orion begins, scratching at his jaw, his silver rings glinting in the light. “I could leave now, drive to pick up Kito. You could start down the road in an hour or so and we’d be there about the same time.”
I want nothing more than to go to her. Bundle her in my arms and tell her it’ll all be okay. Nobody should be alone when they need someone. And I know JJ has found things really difficult since her dad died. She doesn’t have a lot of friends, me and her have that in common. There’s no one else who’s going to jump in a car and go make sure she’s okay. We’re it. This is up to us.
