Mrs. Verde instructed her assistant to take my things with her and took Jacob and me to dinner. Through her car, we got passed the barricades of protesters. She then took us to a five-star hotel fine dining restaurant, and the two of them tried to scoop all the information I had about that guy.
"So, he's a forensic scientist. He must have a good paycheck, right?" Mrs. Verde ate the slice of steak savoring every gossip she heard.
"What does he look like? How handsome is he?" Jacob snickered.
"Well, his face is fine."
The two looked at each other, feeling disappointed. "We want details, dear." She explained further, "Tell us, is he tall? What's the color of his skin, his eyes, his hair... What's the most distinguishable feature in his face that left the biggest impression on you?"
Her question automatically brought me to when I stared at the face of the man who made me feel soft for three days. Caesar Leo has dark hair, slightly tanned skin, and impeccable bone structures. Additionally, his jawline is perfectly sharp and manly. His most attractive feature would be his dark and deep eyes. When he looked at me at those moments, his stare pulled me closer to him. He has that aura that was so magnetic to me. I could perfectly remember how he looked since his face won't let my brain cells forget such beauty.
But I just plainly answered, "He's handsome, I guess."
"How are his muscles? It's hard, isn't it?" Mrs. Verde even laughed while asking. I do not know how to respond. But to answer the question, he pounded me into a standing position and carried me for quite a long time, proving that his stamina was good and his muscles were equipped to do all that heavy lifting. So, yes. His physique is excellent, but there's no way I would slip that info with these gossipers.
"How about his muscle down there? It's big and hard, isn't it?" Jacob was so vulgar. He forgot he's having free dinner with the boss.
The way they asked me this thing reminds me of those days, and I can't help but blush.
Then the two of them smiled. "Can you smell that?" Mrs. Verde sniffed me. "Woah, my son is a real idiot! You smell good."
"Yeah, right, I wouldn't mind if I was your pair too if I knew you'd smell this sweet."
I forgot I'm dining with two alphas.
"My dear, Russien, you have to make up your mind and just meet your alpha. We know you're strong and independent, but you need to care for yourself. We're talking about your health here. No matter how much you do, your body will collapse."
I knew she was worried, but how she's wording my situation and what I have to do doesn't sit well with me.
"That's what I'm telling him. Even if my great, smart, lovely Angelo helps, it would still be better to get the alpha dildo and be healthy!"
The two of them laughed like maniacs and spat another dirty joke.
Seriously...
Mrs. Verde dropped me at my apartment. She told me to take care and call her if anything came up like usual. I vomited the steak and other fancy foods I gobbled at home, but other than a slight headache, I was fine. It was usually hard for me to sleep, but I immediately fell asleep while watching the news on the couch.
Perhaps, it was because the two earlier made me recall him, but I dreamt of what happened again. It was very vivid and clear too. Caesar thrust and pounded me while I cried shamelessly and moaned like an animal. I even said I liked it. It was like I was looking at my most embarrassing moment.
The lucid dream ended when I woke up to another nightmare. The monster came and stared at me again.
This time, it's creeping on my legs and my belly. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. I can't even close my eyes to stop seeing it. Then, one of its branchlike hands brushed my hair and slid into my ear. It was icy cold, and I thought my ear would be frozen. Blood rushed out of its' many eyes. It drizzled down to my face and slowly drowned me with its' blood.
I heard the fuzzy stereo sound from the TV, and I focused on that sound until I could breathe. I coughed and tried to vomit the blood, which was nonexistent. It's crazy how that monster was able to do a lot of gimmicks making me unable to get used to it. As soon as I gained composure, thanks to pills and an awful amount of time, I felt that my tummy was stirring again, and I was forced to vomit everything in it, which was nothing aside from acid juice.
I measured my temperature, and it was 37.8 centigrade. That monster scared me to the point that I got a fever. I would kill that shit and drag it to hell if I could get the chance.
I cooked plain eggs and bacon and ate it with toasted bread for breakfast, but they didn't taste good. I would have not eaten them all if not because I'd feel guilty if I had wasted food. It's not like I'd be punished if I do like what they do in the orphanage. But habits are not easy to change. Then, I juggled the number of food supplements, fever reducers, and antianxiety pills. I felt like puking them as soon as I flushed them to my throat with water. But I was told to drink them, so I complied.
I was about to leave for work when I received a telephone call from the office telling me not to come because there were many protesters in front of the company. I thought they were kind to me, but they said I still have to roam around and get a scoop. So, the work wasn't canceled.
They did not give me a specific task, so I went back to the slums of the downtown area to talk to the relatives of another missing omega, but the atmosphere in the streets became cold. The people are on their guard. So, I went to Dr. Mendez's clinic, which was closed. The guard still let me in, though. Inside, the operation was still ongoing, and the employees were still tending to their patients, but they were not lively as the past few days.
"Your article stirred up the health concerns of the residents here and the faulty laws and system. Congrats." Dr. Mendez talked behind my back.
"But I feel like I made a different impact. Some people say that the publishing company and I advocate killing innocent lives. And now, the streets are quite gloomy."
"It's always gloomy, my friend." He even wrapped his hand over my shoulder. "Dr. Crane called me earlier. She told me that you used to be unable to produce pheromones, and you did not have a heat cycle for thirteen years. Why did you not tell me about that?"
"'Cause you're not my doctor," I replied, but it didn't even occur to me to say anything about it.
He took me to his study and gave me another published thesis again. "That's my mom's paper. She studied hypersecretion and hyposecretion of pheromones among omega. One of her respondents has no control of his pheromone secretion. That person had heat cycles that could last for two weeks every month, and during the time he's not in heat, he still produces thick pheromones. So, he was locked up by his parents, and then, after two years, his heat stopped, he could no longer produce pheromones, but he was also traumatized that he could not leave his room when his parents allowed him to go out."
I sat on the sofa and started reading while, on the other hand, he continued telling stories about the topic.
"If you look at the findings there, you'd see that 89% of the respondents have trauma or psychological and mood disorders. That's a significant number to conclude that a person's state of mind affects their pheromone secretion. So, I want to ask you, have you ever thought of why you stopped doing what an omega's body was supposed to naturally do?"
After talking with Dr. Mendez for a few days, I know he's an alpha with righteous principles. He's crazy about his work that he even opted to remove his alpha-bartollean gland so he can work with omega patients. But getting questioned like this was relatively smooth and subtle of him so that he could examine me with a mindset that I really am his patient. I don't know if it's because of his savior's complex, or he's genuinely curious about science, but either way, I don't like being interrogated by him.
"Dr. Mendez, are you implying I have a mental illness? That's why I stopped behaving like an omega?" I looked at him directly, and he smiled.
"Yup."
"Ugh! Why do you still have a license to practice medicine?" I would have left, but there were sweet treats on the table. He purposely served cheesecakes and coffee to get me to talk to him. This bastard is way too good at his job.
We ate, and he blabbered. "PTSD is classified as mental illness, a lot of people get it, and it's too common. Even though soldiers are not strong enough and get traumatized. It's not because a person is weak that they get PTSD. It's the stressor that's too tough and big to handle. Our brains can cope with challenges, but it's not wired to suffer."
Two grown men were having a tea party and talking about mental illness. It's pretty funny.
"You don't even know my story, doc. Why do you assume I have PTSD."
"I'm not saying you have. Most of the respondents there have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I'm saying that they are not weak. It's just that they have gone through something so difficult and stressful. It's hard for them to cope, affecting their bodies." He tried to explain, but I could see right through him. He wants me to spill the beans by acting like we were just buddies sharing stuff.
"But what about those that do not fall to the 89%?"
"They did not disclose any traumatizing event. I would have wanted to dissect the glands and brains of those respondents to see what's wrong." He chomped the sweets and continued, "I was kidding."
"Well, my mom's study was conducted in 1969. There were technological limitations, and at her time, people wouldn't even believe that PTSD was a real thing. But others followed up her study and found similar results." He flashily brings out another thesis again. His name was hard-pressed on the cover, which explains his proud grin.
"Look at my magnificent work. I used MRI to see the brains of ten omega patients that suffer from hypersecretion and hyposecretion. They all have normal-sized glands, but their amygdala is always active, and their hippocampal volumes are smaller. They all experience severe trauma. Because their brain is always in fear or fight or flight mode, they produce an abnormal amount of neurotransmitters and hormones that affect their glands to secrete less or more pheromones than normal. So, to completely stop the heat cycle and the pheromone secretion, you must have gone through something terrible. We have to see if your brain and gland are still okay and normal."
See, he's in the work mode, a total maniac for work.
"But I just had my heat last, last week."
"Yes, and you were marked too."
"I'm normal." I insisted.
"You're in denial." His smile pisses me off.
"I'm normal."
"It doesn't hurt to admit that you need medical help."
"I'm normal."
"But your condition isn't."
"I'm-"
"Freeze!" Someone barged in armed with guns, and they were uninformed. "Dr. Angelo Mendez, you're under arrest on suspicion of violating the anti-abortion law. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided."
He immediately wiped his hands on my shirt and told me, "Ask Claire or Dennis for my mom's number and then tell my mom that I will need more money and you should help me get a great lawyer. Bail me out as soon as possible!"
Then after finishing his tea, he peacefully went with the officers. Shit.
Later, I saw that they arrested not just Dr. Mendez but also many clinic employees.
I did as I was told and passed the stress to Dr. Mendez's parents. The remaining volunteers helped in caring for the patients, and the four disciples managed the closed clinic while they systematically passed the responsibility to me to find the lawyer. His parents are crazy wealthy and even agreed to give me a million dollars. Their family adviser knows many lawyers, but they were all expensive, so they wanted me to do the job myself.
My heart was beating crazy loud as if the check I was holding was worth a million hours of hard work. I also have to bail the employees out. I have to do it all by myself. Why do they trust me when they, literally. just met me? Don't they know that I have a thousand demons telling me to run away with this check right now?
Thankfully, Jacob ran to me again when he heard that his self-proclaimed fated pair was arrested. He used his family connection and got me a team of five veteran lawyers. He also does not ask for money because he thinks he's doing it for his family. I saved a lot. I can get a commission, right?
My mind was in the gutters as I thought of the money that I overlooked where Jacob led me. Lacierta Police Department.
He's in a different department, right? I wouldn't meet him, right?
However, in each corner and cubicle of the police station, my composite sketch was posted as if I am one of the most wanted lists. Each of the copies was labeled, "Anyone who can find and give information about Sir Musca's mate will receive a reward of $20,000.00". They were all looking for me, and I just delivered myself to them?
What the fuck!