Never letting go

The embarrassment I felt was nearly overwhelming as Noelle carried me to the bathroom, my naked body completely exposed. The humiliation of being so vulnerable in front of him made my cheeks burn. When he set me down in the hot tub, the warm water enveloped me, its soothing heat a welcome comfort against my skin. The water was a peculiar green hue, and Noelle's light-hearted comment about it being a "Thorne soup" made me feel a mix of relief and awkwardness. His laughter, though meant to lighten the mood, only seemed to amplify my self-consciousness. 

I couldn't help but think about how absurdly embarrassing this was. It felt strange to be so attuned to such an emotional response after weeks of enduring nothing but pain and darkness. Maybe, just maybe, I was beginning to feel a semblance of normalcy again.

As Noelle gently washed my hair—once so matted and tangled that he had to cut away large chunks of it—the sensation was both soothing and oddly comforting. I could tell he was trying to make this experience as pleasant as possible for me, talking about oils and the best ways to care for my hair, even though I barely registered his words. My responses were limited to soft murmurs and the occasional hum, a sign that I was beginning to feel better.

The sense of vulnerability continued when he dressed me in new clothes. The soft cotton against my skin was a stark contrast to the rough, worn fabric of my old garments. I felt like a child again, being carefully dressed and cared for by Noelle. The softness of the new clothes felt luxurious, a reminder of how far I had fallen from my once mighty status. 

Noelle's determination to get rid of my old clothes was evident as he motioned to them with a firm resolve. His care didn't stop with just the bath and clothing; he had also provided new pillows and bedding for the bed. When he placed me on it, the comfort was almost overwhelming—a stark contrast to the harsh reality I had endured.

As Noelle prepared to take his own bath, I watched him remove his heavy metal collar. The sight of it reminded me of his is as an omega, a reality that seemed so distant from my current plight. 

*

I sit quietly, observing as Noelle sits in front of the mirror, brushing his long hair with meticulous care. He clips the ends occasionally, his concentration so intense that he seems almost detached from the world around him. His black hair, dark and glossy, contrasts strikingly with his pale skin, adding a certain elegance to his appearance. 

In this moment, he's dressed in a large white button-up shirt—his pajamas, I've learned. The simplicity of the garment only highlights his natural beauty. I've encountered many omegas, both male and female, and in all honesty, Noelle stands out among them. His appearance rivals, if not surpasses, those who rely on makeup and other enhancements. 

I can't help but think that he's probably among the top five most striking omegas I've ever seen. There's something undeniably compelling about him, even when he's lost in his own world, brushing his hair with such focus. It's a reminder of the stark contrast between his everyday, unadorned beauty and the lavish efforts others make to achieve similar effects.

"You'll bore a hole through my head if you keep staring like that," Noelle says, his smile light and teasing as he continues brushing his hair.

"If not you, what else would I look at?" I reply, my speech improving steadily with each passing day. 

Noelle's smile widens, but he doesn't take his eyes off the mirror. He finishes with the brush and stands, moving to fetch the oils he uses for my leg massages. I watch him, appreciating the way he moves with purpose and grace that seems inherent to all omegas.

I watch him, his green eyes brimming with concern as he gently massages my scarred leg. The sensation is both soothing and a stark reminder of my own inadequacy. The once-feared Crimson General, a symbol of power and invincibility, is now nothing but a frail shadow of his former self. I've been abandoned, left to decay in this forsaken place, my family and comrades long forgotten. Darkness had become my only solace, and I had resigned myself to it.

Then he arrived, a beacon of light in my endless night. His presence, his care—it's more than I ever deserved. Yet, I find myself clinging to him with an intensity that borders on madness. I hate that I need him so desperately, that his every action and word have become my lifeline. It consumes me, a torment I can't escape.

"You don't have to do this. Please, don't do this. I'm nothing. You deserve better. Leave. Please," I beg, my voice trembling with raw anguish, the very words tearing me apart. 

He continues his work, seemingly unaffected by my pleas, a silent testament to his unwavering resolve.

"Why are you here? Look at me! I'm nothing."

Desperation and anger swell within me, mixing into a maelstrom of anxiety. I can't comprehend the emotions coursing through me.

"You're my alpha, where else would I be?" he responds softly, his gaze unwavering, as if my pleas were mere background noise.

My heart races, torn between overwhelming relief and paralyzing dread. In that moment, I realize the truth: you would have to tear him from my cold, lifeless arms. I'm never letting go.