He Hates Me, He Loves Me Not

"Raise your right leg," the doctor, whose name Damon can never remember, tells him from beside the bed.

Damon does as he's told, raising his right leg as high as he can.

"Okay. Now, raise your left leg."

He complies without a word, silently staring at the ceiling as he does so.

"No problems with mobility." The doctor then looks at the bottle of water on the bedside table, taking note of how much water Damon has consumed since his last visit early this morning. "Do you experience any pain somewhere or have difficulty breathing?"

Damon shakes his head to say no. He doesn't feel top-notch yet but he can't deny that whatever they're doing seems to be working. His body doesn't feel as heavy anymore and he can even move without assistance.. He still sleeps for the most part of the day but that's natural considering he has been here for only a week or so.

If there's one thing he wants to complain about, then it's the lack of human interaction. Stuck in his room, he can't believe there comes a day he misses hearing other people's voices. No phones allowed means he can't relieve his boredom either.

The almost silent whirring of the air conditioner is the only noise that interrupts Damon's thoughts these past few days, and he's almost, /almost/ grateful to have another person around. Except, of course, even in the presence of the Beta, his inner alpha has not stopped pacing. It's driving him mad how he can't figure out what it wants.

"Good." The doctor checks off the last list in his clipboard, oblivious to Damon's inner turmoil. "It's a little earlier than usual, but with this, your period of isolation is over."

Thank goodness, Damon screams in his head, internally rejoicing that quarantine is over. Still, to be sure, he asks, "Is something wrong?"

"On the contrary," the doctor explains, "you're doing quick progress."

Then, without being asked, the doctor says, "It takes about two to three weeks for alphas to settle down after checking in."

The doctor proceeds to explain how most alphas are compelled by their instincts to secure any new territory and regularly look out for danger. It's a response to losing their mate, and although the hospital encourages the patients to be more in tune with their secondary gender, putting territorial alphas in quarantine is necessary not only for the safety of others but for the alphas as well.

The doctor ends his explanation with, "Aside from mildly scenting the room, we haven't observed any territorial behavior from you. We assume your inner alpha has been adjusting well."

Damon doesn't know what to say. Sorry, perhaps? Should he sympathize with those in the same situation as him or be grateful that he's no worse than them?

He doesn't have time to think, not when the doctor moves on to his next spiel.

"As mentioned before," the doctor says with a hand on his coat pocket, "you're free to roam around outdoors and stay in any of the common areas. Light exercise is encouraged, but nothing strenuous. Visits to other patients' rooms are allowed but only after securing written consent from the patients."

Damon nods. Although he has no plan to be friendly with the other patients, it's good to hear that his privacy will be respected.

"Access to the ward that is being built at the right-wing is also prohibited," the doctor says, almost like an afterthought, but his tone becomes more serious at the end.

Damon pays no mind. It's not like he has a reason to go there anyway.

The doctor's tone returns to usual when he says, "Please be mindful of interacting with the omegas in the facility, as they may have different reactions to alpha pheromones."

The doctor then opens the bedside drawer to show Damon where the box of scent patches is while saying, "If you need stronger scent patches, please inform me or any of the personnel around."

Damon nods again to show that he understands.

"Your new room will be ready this afternoon, but you're free to leave as of this moment. There's a scheduled barbeque in the courtyard this afternoon if you wish to join."

Damon doesn't say anything, especially since the idea is not that appealing to him. When was the last time he joined a barbeque party anyway? In high school, with his friends? Or is it before his mother died?

"Your first therapy session will start in two days," the doctor informs him without being fazed by Damon's silence. "Do you have any questions?"

Instead of shaking his head no, Damon says, "I'll call you if I do."

"Alright. Press this button"—the doctor points to the device hanging next to the headboard—"if you're in need of assistance. Someone will come here to return your personal belongings."

When the doctor leaves, Damon is left alone again. This time, as well, he ignores his inner alpha's incessant whining.

Now that he's free to do whatever he wants, he can focus on the work he has left behind. He doesn't even know how the public is reacting to his absence. Above every pending concern, he'll start first by opening the envelope Collin gave him.

His gut tells him that it can't be anything good.

--

Adam takes another sip of his mojito cocktail. Day drinking is already pleasant, but day drinking at a beach bar is even better.

It's been three days since he has properly settled in— three days to rent an apartment on a short-term lease as well as purchase an off-road vehicle—and not once has Damon called for him. So, that means there's nothing to worry about, right?

Damon must be doing better than he thought if he hasn't given any orders to Adam since the Alpha was checked in.

Adam can finally relax, fully enjoying the afternoon sun in his Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. The splashing of waves by the shore is a contrast to the ringing of phones and clicking of keyboards that Adam is used to. It's the greatest reminder that he's no longer in the office, worrying about not getting enough sleep or having to work overtime again.

No, Adam is living his life—and without spending a single cent from his savings. He smiles, not knowing that it's the most genuine one he's had since he graduated, at the thought of fulfilling his tropical paradise fantasy.

It's the best, truly, when all Adam does is lean back on the bar and watch the birds fly over the sea. His lungs are filled with the scent of seawater, and it can't be any more perfect than this.

Is this the universe's way of rewarding him after the hell he's been through? Is this the compensation he receives for working with the devil masquerading as the president of the Lin Finance Group?

If it is, he'll gladly take it with open arms and no complaints.

It'll be nice if he can spend the rest of his days like this, but like all good things, this too shall end.

When he hears his phone ring, Adam knows he should not have spoken too soon. He's not even mad at jinxing himself; it's his fault for getting excited too early.

There's only one person who calls him on his work phone on this island, and if that isn't the signal for his vacation to end, then he doesn't know what it is.

With a heavy heart, Adam accepts the call from President Lin—or is he simply Damon now?

Adam doesn't know. He doesn't get the chance to greet his boss before a stern voice on the other end says, "Come here."

He puts the mojito cocktail on the bar, eyes not leaving the summer drink even as he asks, "Is there anything, in particular, you wish for me to do?"

"Bring a laptop," is all Damon says before he hangs up.

The order is vague but it isn't anything new. Adam will have to gauge his boss's mood again once he visits, and from Damon's tone on the phone, it seems that Adam will need to tread carefully around the irate Alpha.

He stares at the clear and green drink he's leaving at the bar for a minute before he stares at the horizon. The longing in his eyes is the same one that maidens have as they wait for their sailor lovers to return. Unlike them, however, no tears fall from Adam's eyes, only exhaustion.

Adam reaches down to grab the car keys in his pocket. The key fob jingles when it clashes with the palm tree keychain, but to Adam's ears, it's the sound of his dreams shattering.

With a heavy sigh, Adam steps into the sand and heads to where he parked his car. He can't even use the excuse of being intoxicated since he only took—what? Three sips?

Adam braces himself for another day of running around. He consoles himself with the thought that even if the mojito will no longer be there when he returns, there is always the happy hour.