Page 12 of Broken Heat
I tossed and turned. I heard a pillow plop onto the floor. The fan blew cool air into the bedroom and because I slept naked, if I tossed off the sheet I got cold. If I covered myself, I got too hot.
Maybe Mykel was just too pretty. Maybe he looked a bit flowy and angelic, a bit young to be an expert. Yes. That could be why I was nervous.
But I’d found myself quite enjoying his company.
All day I’d watched him out the corner of my eye. How he moved. How his throat bobbed when he drank. How his fingers rested on an armrest, long and graceful, or held the knife and fork as he ate. He was meticulous and careful. Thoughtful in all his mannerisms.
But maybe that could mean he was hiding something. Holding back. Too careful.
I wanted to know if he would continue to be that way with me. If our later sessions involving intimacy would be mechanical only, careful and proper and adhering to some surrogate textbook.
I turned over to face the window, blinking at the dim curtains, wide awake.
When Coah got sick, I kept telling him he’d be okay. I convinced myself every day he would get better even though he wasn’t. I remember I walked up to him and punched him in the arm and said, “Get better, damn it. You can’t leave me. I don’t know what I’ll do.”
He shrugged, turning his back to me, and said, “You’ll be fine.”
It was infuriating that he did that, turned away, acted as if it wasn’t a big deal to me that he might not be around sooner than later. But that was how Coah was. I now realized he was pulling away because he was dying, because creating some distance was easier on him.
I wanted him to feel better, not burdened by me, so I kept a lot of my emotions to myself other than to tell him I loved him, a sentiment he hardly ever returned. And to support him throughout all his treatments.
When he had a grand mal seizure during one of his treatments, he never woke up. It took him two weeks to die. For that entire time, I held his hand even though he didn’t know I was there. Every day I thought: Well, if he could maybe just get a little stronger over time he’ll wake up.
In truth, he only got weaker.
It was all right for me to think about the details of the hospital and his death now. I didn’t break down anymore after the first year. When I faced obstacles, I sensibly asked myself what he might advise. Though his advice was often selfish, it was still sound.
This was one of those times. I heard his voice loud and clear.
Elon. Don’t act weak. I never wanted you to be sad or lonely or scared. Go ahead without me, but just don’t forget me or I’ll have to come back and haunt you.
Coah had been somewhat possessive like a lot of alphas. He liked to know where I was at all times. He wanted me to do everything he wanted his way, which I mostly agreed to because we had the same tastes in life anyway. He wanted me close to him with no one else interfering, not even my family. There was jealousy there, for sure. He would never have approved of sexual surrogacy.
But now that he was gone, I was sure he would say I should do what I needed to do to get myself back on track. He would have been annoyed to know my heats had stopped even though he sometimes called them a burden. I liked to think he would have pushed me toward every expert on the planet and been devoted to seeing me heal.
Now I lay on my back staring up at the ceiling fan which rotated slowly.
I closed my eyes and listened to the soft shushing of the blades and gave myself a pep talk.
You can do this. It’s okay to have feelings and let them out. Your therapist is expert at handling this. Certainly, Mykel has seen it a hundred times. Omegas who get over-excited. Omegas who haven’t had sex in eons. Omegas breaking beneath the understanding and empathic healer’s touch.
But I was afraid. No one had ever seen me or known me so fully as Coah. And now I was afraid to show myself to anyone else.
What was so locked up inside me that my body didn’t even remember to cycle anymore? What was I afraid of?
Over and over, I turned that question in my mind without getting an answer.
Finally, much to my relief, I fell asleep.
* * *
I glancedaround the dining hall at all the tables, curious about who was here. Who visited this rehab facility masquerading as a tropical paradise, and why? Were they like me, coming here as a last resort?
I saw ordinary people, some talking, some laughing, some quietly eating with their heads bowed. The therapists and surrogates all wore black or white kimonos. The patients wore whatever colors they liked, blue, green, pink, white. They were all ages, sizes, colors, shapes. They were all here because something was wrong.
Mykel walked up with a plate in his hand. Apparently friends with the cooks, he’d gone in the back kitchen to ask for something not on today’s menu.
As he set it down, I saw fresh cubed watermelon surrounded by a sea of strawberries and kiwi.
