We Said Never: A Taboo Romance

The first light of dawn filters through the curtains, casting a soft golden glow over the gray room and I push myself up from the sofa, pick up my walking cane, and rub my tired eyes. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I stretch, my limbs groaning from being confined on the sofa all night. I don’t feel as tired as I ought to, I took quick naps here and there, never letting myself stay asleep for more than a few minutes. It’s refreshing enough.

Pushing through my bedroom door, Loranne’s pheromones are quick to invade my lungs and my chest tightens, my muscles stiffening. I swallow hard. One week. I can endure her pheromones for one week. Another step forward and my knot slightly loosens, as though my body is preparing itself for its owner, and once again, my body seizes. This never happens. The last time I felt my knot loosen was the night Lora marked me. My brows slightly furrow in surprise.

I’m an omega who doesn’t know what it’s like to be knotted at the grown age of twenty–six. I believed it was impossible for me because Lora and I never… we never… dammit. It’s difficult to even think it to myself.

The chatter down the hall calls for my attention, everyone is probably scurrying around to get the surprise ready, I can hear Michelle’s laugh, her little footsteps running up and down the house.

With a smile, I turn and make my way to the bathroom down the hall. Shutting the door, I find the mirror and I catch a glimpse of my reflection. Dark circles entrap my eyes and the burn scar to the side of my face reminds me in a quick flash how it got there.

I snap my gaze away, remembering I have banned myself from mirrors since the plane crash. I have enough to remind me of what war felt like, my face doesn’t need to be another thing I must endure. I reach for a towel and cover the mirror before layering toothpaste on my brush.

A long cold shower later, I’m dressed and standing in front of the door, dragging a deep breath through my lungs, mentally preparing myself to be close to Lora again. It will be tougher this time, my body is already tired of resisting, and staying up all night did not help. I’d very much love to spend the rest of the day in my room, doing nothing except staring at the ceiling and counting the hours.

It isn’t just Lora’s pheromones that I have to withstand, being around people–even family can be difficult. Any simple kind thing they do could quickly trigger a memory from the battlefield, and then I’m spiraling all over again. But they’ve all gone out of their way to make me feel welcome, showing up is the least I can do.

I take one last deep breath and push the door, my walking cane announcing my first step before I take it. Slowly, I make my way down the hall and follow the soft sound of chatter into the kitchen.

As I enter, the room erupts in a chorus of “Happy Birthday!” Pops stands to the left, a wide grin on his face, Anna is right beside him, and to the far right is Lora, dressed in all white, with a heartwarming smile I remember from all the birthdays she celebrated for me. I don’t let my gaze linger.

“I made you a card.” Michelle hurries to me, her tiny hand holding up a blue handmade card.

“Wow. You are something of an artist, aren’t you? I tug at her cheek before receiving the card. “Thank you.”

“I saw the video of you flying the planes. So cool…” she gushes. The memory flashes before my eyes and for a second, I’m back in that plane, watching the face of Peter, my co-pilot, melt under the heat of the flames as I scream. My throat tightens. “You’re my hero,” she says sweetly.

I hate that word. There are no heroes at war. There are only those who die and those who don’t. Of all the faces I watched fade away, not once did I see joy, not once was it a peaceful death. They were afraid, begging for one last chance at life, fighting to hold on, to not give up. No one won, not even those of us who made it back.

But how do you explain that to a four-year-old? You don’t. You smile and pretend, and fake it.

“You know what’s cooler than flying planes?” I raise the birthday card. “This amazing card. It’s the best I have ever seen, super super cool.”

“I helped Mum design the cakes too,” she boasts, pointing towards the round purple tower on the dining table.

“Can’t wait to dig in.”

“I’ll grab the knife,” Anna says, hurrying to the kitchen. I take Michelle by the arm and she leads me to the dining table.

The cake is beautiful. Her giggling is heartwarming. And my father’s presence, though standoffish after last night’s conversation, is comforting. When Anna returns, we cut the cake, there is another round of applause and cheer.

Michelle brings her crayons to show me how she made her designs and for the next hour, we do just that, simply making cards, a ribbon, a hat. It is simple easy fun, my mind is free of haunting thoughts. The weight that settled on my shoulders the night before seems to lift, if only for a moment. Michelle’s infectious laughter and Pop’s jokes ease the tension, and minutes continue to seep into minutes.

It’s midday when Michelle falls asleep in my lap, and Anna carries her away and into one of the rooms. Pops takes me out back to try out the new golf set he brought along, and we indulge in light conversations that are easy to digest.

As the day stretches into the evening, we return to the house and hang out on the porch with Anna, sipping iced tea and watching the sun dip below the horizon in a blaze of oranges and pink hues. It’s an easy day, almost refreshing, and I’m thankful that they made an effort to come out here and be with me.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, breaking the comfortable silence between the three of us.

Pops gaze finds me with a soft smile on his lips. “For what, kiddo?”

“For everything. For today, for being here.”

He reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to thank me. We’re family.”

After dinner, we gather in the living with dessert, the conversations are light and soft, and through it all, I can feel Lora’s eyes wander to me now and then, but I have not been able to bring myself to look at her all day, I don’t intend to start now. All I want is for everyone to leave so I can crawl into bed and lay there until I can’t feel my body any longer. Until all that is left is the sound of the bombs exploding in my head.

It’s another hour before Pops and Anna are ready to leave. We walk them back to their truck and I help settle Michelle in while Pops loads the back seat with their luggage. Michelle fell asleep again after consuming an ungodly amount of cake, so everyone is careful not to wake her up. Thankfully, Pops doesn’t say much. He pats me on the shoulder and hugs me.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted. But be good to your mother,” he says warmly. I don’t correct him this time, it will be of no use. That is how he sees us and so does she.

He pats me on the shoulder one more time and shares a hug with Lora standing a few feet away from me.

“Be safe,” she tells him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers mockingly and Lora shakes her head and walks him to his truck.

“I’ll see you at Thanksgiving,” Anna says to her, and through the window, they share a hug.

“Looking forward to your turkey.”

“Oh that’s all David this year,” Anna replies.

“I guess I’ll have to bring my own turkey,” Lora jokes and they share a giggle.

In no time, the truck is pulling out of the driveway, and Pops and Anna are waving Lora and me goodbye through their windows, soon they completely disappear over the hill and all that is left is the loud chirping of crickets and the chilly air circling Lora and me.

We are alone, so completely alone that every fiber in my being is wildly aware of her presence, of every move she makes. We remain standing, saying nothing, barely even looking at each other.

I feel Lora about to say something, but I don’t give her the chance, I turn away and start hurriedly back to the house, my knee aching from the amount of pressure I’m putting on it to move faster. I wobble, taking a nasty stumble and Lora is beside me in no time, catching me by the arm, her touch sends liquid fire through my veins.

“Let me help,” she says.

“I’m fine.” I snap my arm away from her and sprint back into the house, hurrying straight to my room and slamming my door shut.

I hurry to my bed and bury my face in it, my body already shivering from enduring her pheromones all day, it’s almost unbearable, my head is spinning, and my mouth is dry, so dry it feels almost scorching.

Groaning, I squeeze the pillow and force my face into it, taming the grunts escaping me. It hurts. It hurts so fucking much. My heat circle is still weeks away, there is no way that I’m… I’m…

I spring up from the bed. Heavens no. I hadn’t made any plans for my circle except for the single bottle of suppressants I carry everywhere with me, but those barely work for an omega like me who never consummated his marking. I need milk. Pure Alpha milk for the raw vitamins. I thought there’d be enough time to get some bottles in the city. I can’t be here without them. I can’t be close to her without them.

Panicking, I reach for my phone and instantly log onto the Omegacare app to check for a possible delivery this far from the city, they are wickedly expensive, but it is not a risk I’m willing to take.

“Heavens…” I mutter as I swipe, horrified at the ‘sold out’ signs attached to almost all premium bottles of Alpha milk, and the synthetic ones which I hate do not have any means of delivery this far away from town. “This can’t be happening.”

Her soft tapering footsteps inches towards my door, and every hair on my skin stands forcing me to grind down hard on my teeth, swallowing so hard I can barely breathe, I hope she is not going to—a gentle knock sounds through the door. I inhale a sharp breath, my heart palpating, racing as if to jump out of my chest.

I turn away from the door, moving to the far left of the bed to get away from her pheromones. I’m certain they would soon start permeating through the door, which would undoubtedly worsen my situation. I’m trying my hardest to stay away, to control myself, it’s too much–way too much.

“Nolan,” Lora’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries through the door. “Can we talk for a bit?”

I remain silent, turning my back to the door, hoping she’ll take the hint and leave me alone. Instead, the doorknob turns slowly, and the door creaks open. The overwhelming scent of her pheromones fills the room, like a river flooding a cave and my muscles tremble.

“You’ve always been so stubborn,” she says softly, taking more steps into the room, and seconds later, I feel the weight shift on the mattress as she sits down beside me. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, I know you’re hurting. Can we talk?”

I exhale a shuddery breath, squeezing the pillow tighter against me. “Please, leave.”

“Maybe this is not a good time. But we should talk. I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable in your own home.”

“It’s your home, Lora.”

“You’re my son, it’s our home and I—”

“Get out,” my words slice into hers.

“Nolan–”

“I said get out. Now.”

It is a few more minutes before the bed creaks and she is on her feet. My heart folds and twists in guilt and agony, because never in a million years did I ever think I’d talk to her in such an appalling manner. There is no one I respect more in the world. I want her happy. I want her to feel loved and treasured no matter what. Not this. Heaven knows not this. But she can’t be here. Not now.

I squeeze the sheets as she nears the door, holding myself from turning around, running to her, throwing my arms around her neck, weeping apologies, and begging her to forgive me for not just this, but that night too.

But I know in the end, those are not the words resting on my lips. Those are not the words I want to scream at the top of my lungs. Even if I do run to her, even if I do apologize, there is no guarantee I won’t spew and confess the forbidden words I can never say, ‘I love you, and not like a son, not in the same way you love me, and it’s killing me. I can’t take it anymore, make it stop.’

“Let me know if you need anything, sweetheart,” she says, and soon after, the door shuts