5. Aria

5

ARIA

"Fuck yeah! I'm so goddamn proud of you!" Cayenne yells through the bar, making my cheeks heat. I swear everyone should have a friend like her — just not her, because this one is mine, and there is only one person in this entire world I would ever share her with. She's sitting right beside us, her red hair softly moving as she shakes with laughter. Her bright blue eyes glimmer with amusement as she purses her lips.

"Shush," I tell my insane bestie. "Cayenne." I tug on her ribbed black dress to get her off the chair. Luckily, she is wearing sneakers and somehow makes them work with her dress. "Get down."

"Fuck no." She glares at me. She is already four shots deep, and her eyes are crystal clear. How the fuck does she drink like a fish, and it never shows? I have tolerance jealousy. "Hey, everyone!" she shouts to the dive bar.

I sink in my seat, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole, all while Ginger laughs with her entire body. Unfortunately for me, the bar listens to Cayenne because she looks like a runway model. Her curves are packed into a tight dress, and her long red hair kisses her ass. Yeah, she has the attention of every single person in this dive bar, including the women and especially the alphas, who are eyeing her up like she's dinner.

"This little omega right here just graduated at the top of her class in cosmetology! She doesn't pay for drinks or food tonight!" The entire bar erupts into cheers.

I just shake my head as Cayenne plops back in her seat, Ginger softly rubbing her shoulder. Of the three of us, I'm the only omega, so I get why she's so excited. Most omegas don't get any kind of continuing education, not since the moment people started perfuming years ago. We are one in a thousand.

I wanted something more out of life, and I swore I would never depend on any man or alpha. So far, I'm doing okay. I'm not thriving yet, but I'm determined to get there, and I will.

"What?" Cayenne scoffs. "If you aren't going to celebrate yourself, then I will."

Clearing my throat, I down the rest of my mint julep and stand, fixing my crop top as my pink hair drifts over my shoulder. "I need to adjust my plugs."

"It's a straight line from here to the bathroom." Cayenne's laughter instantly dissolves as she points down the hall directly beside us. She made a group of men move from this table the moment we got here, claiming it was the safest for me.

"It's literally ten feet." I point to the hall. "And then I'm going to go there." I point at the bar. "And get a drink."

"Don't you dare pay for it," Cayenne states.

"Hadn't planned on it." I kiss the air and push my chair in, excusing myself.

I damn near run to the bathroom and lock the door to the stall, slumping on the toilet to breathe, which I can't even do, due to the scent plugs in my nose cutting everything off. They are amazing when I'm in public because they allow my senses to chill, but it's disorienting being cut off from one's senses.

I pop out one plug, then the other. They are magnetic, so when I get a hold of one, the other just falls into my hand. I take a deep breath, but with it comes the stench of the bathroom, immediately making me gag. The odors of urine, shit, blood, and vomit assault me. So much for breathing easier. Now I have to breathe through my mouth. Wonderful.

Pocketing the plugs, I use the toilet and then wash my hands. My gray eyes stare back at me in the mirror, both hopeful and exhausted , probably due to the alcohol and scent assault. My long hair, naturally blonde but currently dyed a bright pink, falls over my shoulders as I lean over the sink. Careful not to get my jeans wet, I maneuver the plugs back into my nose, cutting off all the smells in the bathroom.

I settle back on my heels and sniff myself, because even though I showered in hunter's wash, I can still smell my slight scent of orange Creamsicle. It's faint and luckily not overpowering. The scents of the dive bar mask most of my own natural scent. I fix my black crop top before noting that my C-cup breasts are trying to point in different directions and adjust the girls. Then I'm out the door and back into the bar.

I walk past our table and gently nudge Ginger, silently letting them know I'm heading to grab another drink. As I weave around tables in the dimly lit space, I push past a few people to lean on the bar top and flag down a bartender. I nearly fall into the bar when I trip over someone's foot and crash into the edge. The wood presses into my breastplate too hard, knocking me off balance.

"Hey there." Strong arms steady me, keeping me upright. They hold onto me gently as a voice booms, "Back the fuck up!"

"Yo, sorry, man," someone slurs.

Blinking against the pain in my chest, I turn to find the bluest eyes I've ever seen gazing at me with concern. "Are you all right?" he asks.

Honestly, I think I lost my tongue, because I can't speak. His whiskey scent washes over me, and just like whiskey, it warms my belly. I lick my lips. His eyes track the movement, and because I'm totally interested, I bite my bottom lip.

Oh alpha, my alpha. Yes, please.

His lips twitch, and his hands slide down my arms, making my nipples tighten. May the odds be ever in my favor, because I feel my pussy weep for this man. If I'm slicking, then everyone is going to smell me.

His eyes darken, and he arches a dark brown brow. I reach out because he has muscles for days, and I'm totally unsteady. Oops, I might just…fall into him.

"You did that on purpose," he whispers against my cheek.

"I did," I whisper in his ear. "Thanks for saving me."

"I never could resist a damsel in distress." His deep rumble rolls over my senses, blurring them. "I'm Noah."

It takes all the willpower my mama did not give me to pull back and introduce myself. "Aria."

"What do you say I get you out of here, Aria?" he asks.

My hands grip to his leather jacket. He has this James Dean vibe, and I am a goner. "What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, baby, I have all kinds of things in mind," he promises darkly.

A hand slaps the bar between us, and an arm cuts us off.

"I'm going to need to see some identification," Cayenne demands.

Just like that, the dream blurs, and I wake up.

I jolt awake, gasping for air, my heart pounding in my chest. The dream fades, but the memories linger, sharp and painful. I press my hand to my chest, but it does nothing to calm my racing heart, and my eyes burn with unshed tears as Noah's face lingers in the back of my mind.

Cayenne never interrupted. No, my dumb ass snuck out the front and texted her as he was taking off my pants. Going home with Noah that night was the biggest mistake of my life. I just didn't realize it at that moment. His charm turned to control, his touch to torment. What started as occasional criticism became daily verbal assaults, then escalated to physical abuse. He isolated me from everyone, convinced me I was worthless without him. Hell, I barely realized how trapped I was until Cayenne and Ginger showed up on our doorstep years later. I had no idea just how bad things had gotten until I saw myself through their eyes—a shadow of who I once was, covered in bruises I couldn't explain away anymore.

Cayenne is fierce and loyal to those she considers friends, and has been mine since high school, while Ginger is the quiet strength I never knew I needed. They saved me when I couldn't save myself. It's all a blur now—Cayenne and Ginger showing up, me looking like I'd gone ten rounds with a brick wall. Next thing I know, I'm in a car, leaving everything behind. Funny how your brain blocks out the worst parts.. I had no idea just how bad things had gotten until I saw the horror in their eyes..

A rogue tear drips from my eye, and I try to steady my breathing. "I'm safe," I tell myself, repeating the affirmation. "I'm alive. I'm safe. I'm alive."

Fuck, what was it the therapist told me to do? The five, four, three, two, one thing. Oh yeah. Acknowledge five things you see around you. Still breathing rapidly, I clench my fists in my sheets. Sheets! My cream bamboo sheets. The mattress that lies on the floor because I couldn't afford a bed frame. I glance at the only dresser I upcycled—that's three. Blowing out a breath, I look at the clothing I left on the floor from when I got in last night. Lastly, I look at my phone plugged into the outlet.

"Acknowledge four things you can touch around you," I tell myself. Can I use sheets again? Fuck it, I can because I can see his haunting smirk behind my eyes every time I close them. "Sheets." I grip them in my hands, bringing them to my chest. My T-shirt. I let my hands roll over my body, over the pilled fabric. Frantically, I look around before crawling to the window to touch the blackout curtains. I head back over, where I grip the comforter I kicked off me in my sleep.

I fling the comforter over my head and lean against the wall. My heart skips a beat. Three. What was three? I close my eyes as tears drip down my cheeks. I swore I wouldn't cry anymore for that man, but here I am, crying.

"Hear!" I all but shout as I close my eyes and listen. Outside, I hear the traffic around Hyde Park and the train as it rumbles through. Then, somewhere in the distance, a dog barks.

"Two." I breathe a little easier. "Smell."

This one isn't as easy. I fell asleep with the plugs in my nose. I love the plugs and how they help me, but it's like being cut off from a vital part of myself. I peel them out and take one long inhale. The pungent scent of the apartment assaults me. Two? Only two? Try a dozen scents.

I take another deep breath, my senses sharpening with each inhalation. First, the lingering aroma of tacos from last night still clings to the air, mingling with the stale scent of spilled beer from the bar. The faint scent of lavender from my pillow spray barely masks the musky undertone of my unwashed laundry piled in a corner. I catch a whiff of Cayenne's perfume, a mix of jasmine and vanilla, on my jacket draped over a chair. Did I buy a bottle just to pretend she's near me? Yes, I did. Finally, the unmistakable smell of Hyde Park itself—a blend of city grime and distant greenery—seeps in through the slightly open window.

Sweat and fear still cling to my skin from the vivid nightmare, and I can't help but notice the faintest hint of mold in the corners of the ceiling—a reminder of the building's age. The scent of an old paperback novel on my nightstand brings a trace of comfort amidst the chaos.

These distinct smells, each pulling me back to the present, ground me in the here and now. I take a deep breath, letting the scents anchor me, and try to steady my racing heart. I'm safe. I'm alive. I'm home.

"One. Taste." I nearly gag as I focus on taste. "I forgot to brush my teeth last night." Absentmindedly, I reach for the bag of orange candies beside my mattress. I nearly laugh at myself as I fall back onto my bed and curl into myself. Stale bitterness lingers on my tongue, mingling with the remnants of last night's dinner, as the orange candy slowly replaces the taste. My eyes fall on my pile of laundry, and I cringe.

I have to go to the laundromat today before I head into work this afternoon.

With a sigh, I push myself up from the bed, determined to start the day anew. The cool hardwood floor sends a shiver through me as my feet make contact, waking me just as fast as a bucket of ice water over my head.

As I stand, my phone buzzes with a text. It's from an unknown number, but the message makes my blood run cold.

I miss you, Aria. It's time to come home.

My hands shake as I drop the phone. After all this time, how did Noah find me?