Obsidian Heat

Chapter Thirteen

Jonah stared across the diner booth at his mate, still trying to figure him out. Isme kept up a steady stream of chatter about anything but what they were supposed to talk over, and he just listened, butterflies stirring in his chest that he hadn't felt in a very long time. He brought his tea to his lips and laughed at something Isme said. When their food got there, an omelette and potatoes for Isme and pancakes and bacon for Jonah, Isme finally stopped talking, digging into eating.

"So," Jonah said, as a blush threatened to spread across his face. He looked down at his food. "No alcohol for three months, I guess."

Isme snorted. "Dude. That's how you bring up the subject?"

"I mean," he grunted. "I'm... I'm bad at talking about my feelings. Give me a break." He looked down at his food again, then, and played with his bacon with his fingers. Hunger ebbed then.

"You've only been emoting all over me the past week, and now you want to clam up?"

This time Jonah turned purple. "It was the heat," he mumbled. "It turns me into a crazy person."

"Yeah, right." Isme speared his potatoes with his fork and spread ketchup over them, stuffing them into his mouth. "I'll tell you why I'm freaking out, then. I don't know if I can stop with the... the..."

"Your coffee stuff?"

Isme smiled, then, weakly. "Yeah. That. How can I be a good dad when I do that?"

Jonah frowned and looked down at his tea. It was growing cold. He didn't like tea, particularly, but he needed the caffeine boost and he couldn't drink coffee ever since the smell reminded him of blood running down his mate's wrists while he cried on the floor of his bathroom. "Hmmph," he grunted, eating more of his pancakes after slathering them with syrup.

A potato bounced off his chest and he jumped, picking it off his shirt and putting it gingerly on the napkin beside his plate. He looked up to meet Isme's glare. "Why are you such a grump this morning? I'm trying to talk to you. Like an adult. You're the one who's older and wiser than me."

"Hmph," grunted Jonah again. "I don't want to talk about my feelings. I..." He swirled a chunk of pancake around syrup. "Never mind. This is stupid. I don't need therapy."

"Men." Isme rolled his eyes. "This is why men shouldn't get pregnant."

This earned him an extra sharp glare before Jonah stared at his plate some more, unease bubbling in his stomach that might or might not have been indigestion. "I just... it's just... I turn into a monster for three months," he huffed. "I'm a freak. Abnormal. I don't want this. I don't want any of this. I mean, I want to be a dad, but I don't want to be preg... oh, shit."

"What?" Isme was looking at him again with that twisted grimace, like Jonah was a puzzle he was trying to decipher.

"I'm going to be sick," he gasped, as he threw his napkin on the table and ran past startled diners, the waitress who barely glanced up at him and the clattering noises coming from the open kitchen before slamming into the men's restroom and picking a stall. Chest heaving, he poised himself over a toilet, his gut roiling, and threw up.

Isme entered the restroom just moments later, and Jonah heard his audible sigh next. Jonah looked skyward as he kept vomiting and couldn't stop, even when his mouth tasted like acid. Between heaves, he gasped out, "Can't you see that I'd really rather be alone? Will you ever leave me alone?"

"I can't," he said, and Jonah could hear the frown in his voice. "You know I can't. Is the morning sickness usually this bad this early?"

"I don't know," huffed Jonah. He was dry heaving now, but he swallowed back bile and rose unsteadily to his feet, leaving the stall and brushing past Isme to head toward the refreshing water from the sink. Instead, his mouth still tasting of acid, he gripped the sides of the sink and stared into the mirror, his reflection swirling in the tarnished glass. "I don't want this," he hissed. "I don't want to be reminded of why I'm a freak. Why I can never be normal. I don't want you. I wish I'd never met you. I don't want to be forced into this mating bond just because I'm an omega. You don't want me obedient, well, I've got news for you, it doesn't work like that. I wish I could just turn off these stupid feelings for you. I'm just going to find you dead on the floor of my bathroom one day in a pool of your own blood and I'll have to pick up the fucking pieces. You want to know how I'm feeling? I'm angry. I'm fucking angry. I don't want this body. I don't want to be me. I don't want this life."