Page 4 of The Omega Archives: Part One

Climbing out of bed in the tiny two-bedroom apartment I lived in with my best (and quite frankly, only) friend, Rita, I headed straight for the shower. I scrubbed a small yet workable dollop of scent-blocking soap into my skin. I was rough enough that I could almost see red marks from my loofa, but I needed to make sure that it would stick.

After that, I would eat a handful of whatever health cereal Rita had bought, though she wasn’t much better than me when it came to stocking the fridge or cabinets.

We lived on a strict budget—one that at least I needed to stick to, so I had enough for other necessities. That meant no brand names. No five-dollar lattes that made me want to drool whenever I saw one of the students in the library caring one on Prestford’s renowned campus while I drank the librarian’s burnt coffee near the archival corner of the basement.

The only essential my life revolved around completely after I dried my hair and got dressed was the one hidden in my medicine cabinet.

Today, I looked at the remnants of it sitting in the palm of my hand.

I counted the small white pills.

I counted them again.

I only had five suppressants left.

My supply of medicinal blockers wasn’t looking much better.

Crinkling my brow, I stared at myself in the mirror. In front of me was the girl who could pass as any other beta. It was actually kind of easy, once you got passed all the struggle and hardship that came with the pills and extra precautions that I took that made me look a lot more like a simple, academic, slightly hermit-esque beta who was nothing special. I had been managing for the past six years.

Certainly, if I kept it up, no one would ever see me as what I actually was ever again.

A rare, problem-causing, omega.

I swallowed and looked back down. Rolling the pills between my fingers, I took one last count.

With the pills, everything could go right in my life. I didn’t have to worry about anyone figuring out what I was hiding. I wasn’t exactly stunning. I was a little too skinny. My blond hair was a little too dark and too stringy. And I didn’t have the means to change that.

I only had to focus on the math.

If I rationed the tiny, almost insignificant pills, maybe it would be okay for at least the next week. If I took half the average amount of blocker pills to keep my scent from becoming anything more than a bland remnant of sweet and floral soap, and one full dose of the actual suppressant to make sure no one would figure out why I was taking them in the first place, I could make it to Friday.

Yeah, that was it. I could still make it to the end of the week.

I threw the half dose of pills back and washed them down with tap water, leaving my tongue with a chalky sensation.

The chemical taste followed me back towards the other door of the apartment where Rita’s phone blared with her alarm that sounded like a mix between rock and roll and a nuclear war siren.

I knocked.

“Wait—what?” I heard Rita’s blurry voice through the door.

“Time to get up!” I called.

Usually, I left it as that as I headed to work. She didn’t have to be on campus for another hour. I creaked the door open.

A span of light hit Rita’s face.

“Ugh,” Rita blinked open her dark eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said. “You’re going to be late if you don’t get up.”

She huffed, but through her legs over the side, hitting her alarm until it finally turned off.

I stood in the doorway.

“Now I know something is wrong,” she said, staring at me with a half-hidden gaze.

I shook my head again, hating what I was going to ask as I cleared my throat. “Have you heard back from your friend yet? About my pills?”

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