“Because that’s exactly what happened. I was clumsy and dumped some all over the floor. I just got it cleaned up. But yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Merrick hesitated as I started to press through the door, slinging my purse over my shoulder.
“Don’t you want to crack a window or something?”
“I did. It’s fine. Come on. I don’t want to be late.” I kept moving, pulling the door closed behind me and locking it up.
“You seem chipper today,” Merrick remarked, his brow cocked. “What’s that about?”
“I’m just glad I’m finally going to the doctor to get to the bottom of this. So, thank you.”
Merrick’s expression softened, that little smile he got when he was happy to be helping spreading over his face. My chest pinched. I hated lying to him. He was a goodman, and there was definitely something between us.
“Anytime, Hails. Let’s go.”
I followed him out, my mind utterly spinning. My life was way more complicated than I liked, and Ireallyneeded to think of what to do about the two alphas currently shoved in my bathroom.
“Hello, Hailey. What can I do for you today?” the doctor said, looking at his notes.
I’d only spent a few minutes in the waiting room before he called me in. Thankfully, Merrick was outside, grabbing us some sodas for after the appointment. If he’d come in, he might have discovered I was at a clinic that specialized in bond sickness, and I didn’t want that.
“I think I’m experiencing separation sickness, and I need to know what my options are,” I said.
The doctor looked up in surprise. “Are you sure it’s separation sickness? It could be a number of things.”
“I’m an EMT—I know what separation sickness is. I accidentally bonded with an alpha on a night out and don’tknow where he is… so all signs point to separation sickness,” I admitted bashfully.
“There’s nothing shameful about going out for a night and enjoying yourself, but there is something a little bit concerning about bonding with a guy and not even knowing his full name. How long ago was this?” the doctor asked.
I narrowed my eyes. Something told me he very much thought therewassomething shameful about going out, and I didn’t need his judgment.
“It’s been about three months,” I admitted.
The doctor’s eyes widened. “I see. Can you explain a little bit about your symptoms?”
“Dizziness, pain, unable to keep food down, general lack of sleep—basically feeling like total crap. I did all the basics: rest, fluids… I even had a banana bag.”
The doctor chuckled. “Banana bags do help a lot, but I don’t think they’d help in this situation. If you simply had something like the stomach flu, then maybe.”
I nodded. “That’s why I thought it best I come in.”
“Our nurse took your blood and urine, yes? Those results should be through in a few moments. As you know, they won’t cover everything, but we can always send samples off for more testing if need be.”
“Yes. Done and done. I know the drill.”
The guy nodded at me again, and then it was quiet while he looked at his notes. I hated being in a situation like this. I knew how the body worked. I was an EMT, and still, it felt like doctors wanted to treat me with kid gloves, or at worst, be totally condescending.
Sometimes being an omega sucked.
We waited a few more minutes, and I answered more questions, basic things about my usual routine, how severe thesymptoms were, and when—if—they felt better during the day. Eventually, his tablet pinged, and the results were in.
“Ah! I think we’ve discovered why the sickness isn’t fading,” the doctor declared, looking at the screen.
He was quiet for a moment, clicking across the tablet as he read whatever had popped up on the screen, which he rudely kept out of my view.
My stomach turned, and I did my best to take long, steady breaths as the anxiety began to choke me. I wasn’t great at waiting on the best of days, and this certainly wasn't a good one.
“Why?” I asked.