Fated to the Alpha
Rushing to the trash bin by the open alley, I grip it, dry heaving.
There's nothing in my stomach. Last night's dinner was long digested, but the pheromone blockers that I purchased make me sick like a dog. It's also killing my appetite. Clutching onto the side of the bin, I make sure I'm out of sight of the main road before I sink to the ground, my body aching. Shivering, I wonder if these side effects will die down. I couldn't afford the actual pill, so I've been using a cheap knockoff. The black market sells them in boxes, and I purchased two of them. The only benefit of these is that I am able to sleep at night without waking up, my body twisting in need, sweat drenching my mattress. The
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