A Is For Anonymous Ch 03

--hello friends, this is more of a fluffy chapter, no sexual content (sorry to my freaky hornbags)--

The day was doomed from the moment I opened my eyes, dazed at first, then jolting with panic when I saw the time. I must have slept through my alarm, because I was already an hour late for work, dozens of missed calls from my coworkers sending me into a spiral.

By the time I slumped into my desk chair, having not even washed my face or tasted a drop of coffee, I thought the day couldn't get any worse.

I was wrong.

Apparently, one of our servers had crashed and three clients had already complained about software glitches before I'd gotten in. Five client websites I'd been building had been wiped from existence, meaning I'd have to start from square one and grovel like crazy to make up for the delay.

Most of them were in the early stages, but one was almost ready and had taken me weeks to tweak to the client's painful specifications. Just the thought of the back and forth ahead of me has the beginnings of a migraine buzzing through my skull.

I try my best to dive straight in, but my line is ringing off the hook, a queue of unhappy clients desperate to tell me just how much of an inconvenience I've caused them and that they'll definitely be discussing my negligence with my supervisor if not my boss.

"Don't worry," Mandy assures when I warn her about the complaints sure to come her way, "We all know it was a system failure. You did nothing wrong."

Except for getting in late and costing the company days in lost labour with those websites

, I think. I really should have backed up the work somewhere.

By the time afternoon rolls around, I've barely gotten started on recovering anything for the websites. The day has gone by in a blur, with me chugging coffee and doing my best to ignore the chatter around my cubicle.

The whole office has been lively with news of the CEO passing over the business. A relative, probably. I've been mostly tuning them out and I missed the announcement this morning.

"You don't look well," Mandy touches her fingertip to my desk to get my attention. She's got her handbag slung over her shoulder and her car keys dangling from her other hand. "You should head home."

I give her a tired smile, "I'll just make up the time I missed this morning." I promise, "Plus, I'll actually get some work done without the phone ringing."

Finally, when the office is quiet excepting the whoosh of the air vents, I actually make some headway. For a comforting, distracted moment, I swear I pick up on Aiden's scent, woody and sweet. It's like a phantom encouragement, a praise after a supremely shitty day.

My body feels weightless and wrung out, and when I finish the dregs of yet another cold coffee, I realise I haven't eaten anything else today. My head is pounding and my stomach feels like it's trying to find a new host, protesting against the gallons of acid I've been guzzling nonstop. Promising to return to it bright and early tomorrow, I shut down my computer and lock up the office.

It's already dark outside, and my brain throbs painfully as I squeeze my eyes tightly shut for the whole train ride home.

-

An eternity passes before I am leaning against the front door, fumbling with my keys as I jab and twist and curse at the stupid lock. A pained sigh leaves my body when I realise I'm stabbing the wrong key in the hole, and I laugh, then stop abruptly as the urge to vomit surges through me.

I barely reach the toilet as it comes up, thin and watery and distinctly tasting like coffee in a dreadful way. The flavour yanks another gag from me, and the brown liquid shoots from my mouth with a force that would be funny any other time.

The flexes and contractions ebb until my whole body feels like a deflated balloon and I decide that I never want to eat or drink anything ever again for as long as I live.

I accidentally mix up the order in which I'm meant to shower and end up peeling my clothes off under the spray, kicking them into the corner as I curl up, sporadically raising my chin to gargle and spit out the lingering taste of my sick. Even the sweet sting of the toothpaste is too much and I gag again, but there's nothing left to come out.

I have no idea how long I mope under the jet of water, but when I peel open my stinging eyes, the bright stream of red swirling around the drain has me groaning in understanding.

Of course I slept in and had no appetite all day and wanted to cry from the moment I blinked myself awake - I should have known it was my period. I guess the stress of the morning had me carried away when I should have been preparing for the next few days of hell.

As an omega, my cycle is much more dramatic than a beta's would be. Everything in my body is wired towards reproduction, which means it's extremely upset when it doesn't get what it wants, which is - surprise, surprise - a baby.

"Fuck," I groan, try to move, then groan again.

Usually, I would have taken at least half the day off today. I should have. Omegas are legally allotted a minimum two days of menstrual leave each month. Another day for ovulation. Five days every quarter for their heat cycle.

I barely manage to crawl to my closet, not bothering to towel myself dry, and reach blindly for my basket of period underwear. They're bulky and diaper-ish and all-around embarrassing, but they're the only option during these first days.

Apparently, there is special absorbent bedding for omegas that can be used for their entire menstruation that stays dry and odourless for up to a week of heavy bleeding, but it's pricey.

Because we bleed roughly quadruple the amount betas do in a shorter time frame, we get a steady supply of government-subsidised feminine hygiene products, but there are limits. Maybe someday I'll have the luxury of hibernating undisturbed in my bed as I wait out the pain, but for now I have to change my underwear every four or so hours unless I want to replace my mattress monthly.

After I wriggle the padded monstrosity over my hips, I reach to pull myself up onto the bed, but my arms turn to jelly and crumple. Bested, I manage to drag the duvet most of the way onto the floor, where I curl into myself and sob until I'm too exhausted to even do that.

-

"Fuck, Madison," someone says, then again, "

Fuck

."

I think I manage to whimper in response, refusing to open my eyes. The pain twists inside me, coiling and vicious, as I beg to return to oblivion.

He's muttering again, frantic, "Your door was unlocked, and you hadn't touched my note, and I could smell blood."

Oops

, I think,

that was dangerous.

I should have locked the front door.

"What was the note?" I croak, regretting it immediately. My throat feels as if it's been flayed.

A hand on my arm, warm and gentle. My skin prickles anyway, too sensitive. "It doesn't matter," he says quietly, "I didn't know you had your period. When did it start?"

"Today."

"Have you been on the floor all day?"

"No," I manage, "Work."

"You went to work today?" His tone is strained, but he strokes my hair softer than anyone ever has before.

Irritation bites at the edges of my consciousness, "I slept through my alarm. I was late and didn't see your note. Work was awful."

He's quiet for a moment, and I think he might be annoyed, but he just sighs. "You've had a really hard day, huh sweetheart?"

I whine in agreement, relieved.

His fingers trace my jaw. "You're all wet. Are you cold?"

I realise that yes, I am very cold. I want to be swaddled and wrapped up. He finds me a shirt, which reminds me that I'm only wearing underwear and that Aiden has now definitely seen my boobs. Not exactly the grand reveal I had been aiming for.

He continues asking prodding questions softly, and I struggle not to be annoyed by them. He is patient and caring and warm, trying to make sure I feel comfortable and safe. Well, as much as the situation allows, anyway.

I just hope he appreciates that my eyes remain closed the whole time.

When he picks me up to carry me to the bed, I fight the conflicting urges to both push him away and pull him closer. He makes a sound of disapproval when I lean away from his chest, needing to not be touched. My body is in hibernation mode; demanding space from human contact, but also yearning for a comforting embrace.

He tries to set me down on the mattress, but I cling onto him, confusing both of us. There is a sharp spike of fear at the idea of him leaving. The push and pull goes on as he arranges the covers, with me both clutching him closer and leaning away when he tries to caress my face or my wrist or kiss my cheek. Then I'm hurt when he pulls away.

"Madison." He struggles to keep the irritation from his voice.

I grumble in reply.

"Do you not want me touching you? Is it painful?"

I'm immediately hurt that he thinks his touch is hurting me. "No," I bite back.

"'No' to what?" He's getting impatient, which is a first for him. With me. He takes a breath to compose himself, then, more calmly, "No, you don't want me touching you? Or no, it doesn't hurt?"

"It doesn't hurt," I tell him, and I think it's true. It's just confusing. I'm confused. When I've had boyfriends in the past, I usually wanted them far away from me when I was menstruating. But with Aiden, it's all muddled.

"I'm not going to leave," he says softly, somehow decoding my brain better than I can, "I don't have to touch you or be near you if you don't like it. Just let me take care of you. Unless you want me to go. Then I'll go."

"I don't want you to go," I admit.

I can hear the smile in his voice, "Good. Let me get you some water." I nod, and a beat passes before he adds, "You have to let me go, sweetheart."

I realise I'm still fisting his shirt and release it, embarrassed.

The minutes he's away drag on and I start to feel cold again. My heart begins to race as I convince myself he's left, that my mood swings and snapping have driven him away and he'll never come back or touch me again.

"Eye mask?" His voice is like honey, deep and grounding.

When his question hits me, I harrumph with indignation. He chuckles.

"Eyes closed, then?"

"They're closed," I frown.

He helps me sit up and presses the cool rim of a glass to my lips. I almost tell him that I can do it myself, but decide to let him tilt the contents into my mouth, the water soothing my sore throat. I thank him, slipping my hands over his firm chest as he twists to place the glass on the nightstand.

He moves closer and I immediately lean away, then arch back, then groan in frustration again. Aiden makes a sound of defeat, tugging me by the waist towards him, even as I writhe away.

"Madison," he scolds, and I wince a little, softening to his embrace, "Here, let me, will you just-"

His strong arms loop around and up my spine, one hand firmly cradling the back of my head into his neck.

I move to push him away, the contact too much for my sore, raw-feeling skin, but when my nose hits the membrane of his throat, something happens inside of me. His scent, something a little dull and nauseating over the pain beforehand, is thick and hot, almost liquid here. I immediately breathe deeply, needing it in my lungs.

It sets off some kind of chemical reaction inside of me, something I've never experienced before. The sharp edges of my symptoms seem to dull more than any medication has ever been able to do for me. His woody scent is like a balm, an elixir, a drug.

I swear it wasn't like this before.

The relief is too sweet for me to even feel ashamed of the whining moan that spills from me as I twine myself tightly around him.

Aiden's laugh makes me hum with gratitude. "I was trying to let you get there on your own," he presses a kiss on my hairline and I practically purr, "My pheromones will make you feel better."

Pheromones

. So that's what it is - his essence emanates from his mating gland, which my nose is currently pressed against. I thought that was just a myth.

It's different from the usual perfume of him that I'm familiar with, but not wholly other. Meatier. Heavier.

I have the desire to bite him, taste him, but I don't want to contaminate him in any way. Even if the contamination is me.

Instead, I let his scent, his presence, his heartbeat, carry me away from the pain and into a deep slumber.