10. No thoughts

"No." I said, not even stuttering this time.

"You have to. I beg you. I do what you want, but I think I would be unable to do it myself. I hadn't even known that this was a possibility." He said, masking nicely, that he was still threatening me.

"I can't go through heats, never. I have heard a few stories, and I rather kill myself. That, I would be able to do for sure." Leon said earnestly, desperately.

I don't think I would be able to do it, so I took out my secret weapon.

"M-most die i-in the p-p-process. I g-got this s-stutter." I pointed at my mouth.

"So it was because of that. But it doesn't matter, everything is fine if I don't get into heats and turn into a woman." He was firm on his choice, as I had been the moment I was confirmed an Omega.

"Y-y-you h-have to g-go i-into h-heat a-anyway. A-at le-least o-once." I told him.

"What?" He looked at me in horror.

"You had your heats, right? What are they like?" A bit too late to ask for that after wanting to get rid of his glands only to not experience it, wasn't it?

I looked away from him. If I told him, he would be even more adamant about letting me do it. It would be something else, if he were the one doing it himself, it would be his responsibility then. But asking a janitor for the procedure? Not even the dark net presented doctors that would do it because the death rate was so high.

"Tell me." He said, but I kept my mouth shut.

"If you are unable to speak about it, isn't it reason enough to get rid of my glands?" His tone sharpened.

The soup had cooked, and I went and took out two chapped bowls. I gave one bowl of soup to Leon, but not meeting his eyes again. Instead, I thought of how I would get him out of my home.

"G-go a-after e-eating.

"You are throwing me out?" Leon laughed, but he sounded as if he wanted to cry.

"Don't do that." He said sternly, but the next moment he was on his knees on the floor.

"I'm sorry. Sorry. Forget everything I said. Please let me stay with you." He threw himself at me, and the soup spilled on the floor because I tried my best to catch him.

"I am sorry. Can you please sing for me?" He asked like a desperate child.

I should get him out of my house or try to manipulate him, or, I don't know. But instead, I continued to sing for him. I didn't want to let go of the foreign warmth. I didn't want to let go of someone going through the same I had gone through.

He started to cry his heart out once again, and his tears were hotter than the soup would have been. I combed through his hair, and looked at my ceiling, while I continued to sing.

I get it, he is desperate. Back then, I would have acted the same. Clutching to the person that could bring me hope, even if it meant making them hate me.

My first heat, and every heat following, was a disaster. I will never forget the feelings I went through. Never forget the weakness that was forced on me—the erection that hurt like hell. Not the wetness of my ass, and the deep need to shove something inside me. How my neck arched because I wanted to be taken, to be marked, and to be ravished. 

At the same time, I stayed sane enough to fully witness myself turning into something so pathetic and wretched that I wanted to kill myself every second passing. It was the absolute horror. No wonder I felt compelled to go to a brothel to get my manliness back.

I had the 'privilege' to grow up with my Omega-'Mother'. It was naturally a 'he', so I will just call him my father, as I have always done. He was one fucked-up individual. He birthed six kids and killed everyone besides me because I seemed stronger than them, and he hoped I would turn out to be an Alpha.

Even I myself thought I would turn out to be an Alpha, and besides dreading every other outcome, I still built up a fake superiority that was injected in me by my father. 

When I was 'diagnosed', I lied to him. It was when I had my first heat that I was busted. I was beaten severely and locked up, for which I can only thank the gods. 

The next day, my father was gone, and didn't come back for the next years.

The day I was collared, he came back. He had wine with him. He seemed to be happy. More happy than I had ever seen him.

We sat together, and he was smiling, grinning, and drinking with me. I don't know what came over me, but after drinking my first glass, I went to the toilet. We had a community toilet, like we have in this complex, it was outside the apartment.

I vomited everything out, got rid of the wine. I just did it without giving myself a reason to do it. No thoughts, just doing it, feeling a strange necessity to do it. But I did not think further, did not come up with any theory of why I was doing that. 

When I came back, my father was already drunk, and I feigned sipping on the drink, also for no reason.

When he fell asleep, and I felt a heavy drowsiness coming over me, I thought it was because of the wine, which I had vomited out.

That I was drunk, of the not drunken wine.

So I went to my little room, with no more space than for a bed, and fell asleep.

When I woke up, my father was still sleeping. 

After a few days, he smelled, and I mocked him loudly for not showering.

I went to school and badmouthed him internally for being so disgusting after coming back.

I lived for some time with no thoughts, no reasons, no theories, until the police came, and I was brought to one of these Centers for Omegas.