Page 48 of No Escape

I’d rather have my feet uncovered so I can pull the blanket over my chest and arms, while he would rather have his feet covered and nothing else.

A rustling fills the air from the direction of Valor’s bed, and we both freeze.

Saylor groans, and a few seconds later, there are more noises that sound like she’s tossing off her blankets. The creaking wood that comes next must be her climbing down the ladder, but rather than her feet hitting the floor, there’s a thump that indicates she fell.

“That sucked.” She grunts. “Oh God, hurry…”

I don’t know what that means, so I roll over to face the room, barely catching her back as she bolts for the toilet. The light turns on, flooding the room for a second before the door pushes mostly closed.

Gagging fills the air, followed quickly by heaving that tests how strong my stomach really is.

“What the fuck?” I whisper. “We’ve eaten the same things she has.”

“She stopped suppressants cold turkey,” Valor says, keeping his voice low. “It’s like when an alcoholic stops drinking or an addict goes without a drug. It’s not pretty.”

I’ve seen all that before, but that doesn’t seem fair to Saylor. It wasn’t her choice to stop the medication. The facility doesn’t allow any of the omegas to be on suppressants, since it messes with their impulses to do omega-like things.

“How long will it last?”

Valor shrugs. “There’s no way to tell for sure. Could be a few hours or days. It’s not like I’m an expert or anything.”

“That’s right shitty for her.”

“You should bring her a bottle of water.” Valor gives me a shove. “Maybe check her temperature once she stops retching.”

I dig myself in, making sure he can’t push me off the bed. “Who nominated me to be her caregiver?”

Shite.

Valor has complicated trauma related to watching his aunt wither away with ALS. She was his sole caregiver until she passed when he was seventeen. Well, he spent the last several years of her life caring for her, but she was his legal guardian.

It’s a completely different situation than someone who’s ill with something like Saylor is experiencing, but I can imagine the flood of memories is inevitable.

“Go fucking check on her,” Valor growls, giving me another push.

Only, this time, I’m not prepared for it, and I go flying. Luckily, I rotate in the air, landing on my forearms and toes. My face bounces dangerously close to the floor.

“You’re a bastard,” I grumble, shoving myself up.

“Technically speaking, so are you. Now, check on the little omega.” He has the audacity to wrap himself up in my blanket and roll to face the wall.

He’s a fucking wanker, that’s what he is.

The sounds of Saylor being violently ill make me seriously regret allowing her to be locked in with us. If it makes me a cock, I can accept that, but I know my limits.

I vomit when other people do.

My stomach is far too weak for this shite.

The only thing that pulls me toward the loo is Valor’s discomfort in the bond. I can’t be sure which particular memory he’s replaying from his adolescence, but the spillover in the link sends my gut twisting in knots.

Speaking of knots, I wonder if that’s what Saylor needs to stop vomiting.

My forearm lands against the door, giving it a gentle shove.

The sounds are violent, but I do my best to steel my stomach.

If I’m not careful, I’ll have to shove her out of the way to take her place. Being trapped in here with very limited ways to clean up makes this a dangerous situation. She’s probably going to want a drink that doesn’t taste like utter shite, and while the tap water won’t kill you, it’s not a pleasant experience.

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