Page 5 of Forget

That’s probably why she didn’t. Time just… ran out for her.

“John, it’s your call, man,” the police officer says. Of course they’re buddies. The police are here more often than not for eviction notices. It makes sense that Mr. Coons would ingratiate himself into their graces.

“I’ll give you fifty bucks to get one backpack and get the fuck out,” he snarls.

Heat flushes over my body in anger, and I’m sure my face is also red. It’s why I try to keep my emotions in check. Otherwise I’m an open book.

No one deserves to have that much control over me. From what I understand, some omegas live to serve their alphas.

I’m not a doormat. I don’t want to be treated as one either.

Sweat beads on my forehead, making me frown. It’s freezing in this apartment. I’ve been wearing hoodies to stay warm. To be honest, the weather outside is probably only slightly cooler than the apartment. I’ll manage.

Especially with this weird fever I seem to have. It came out of nowhere.

“Fine!” I yell, sticking out my hand for the money. “I’ll be out in five.”

“One backpack,” he reminds me. “Some of this shit I can use for the next tenant. Your couch was really nice.”

The couch my mom died on.Fuck, that hurts. We went thrift shopping together to buy that couch, and he’s right, it is nice. We got lucky, and the irony is killing me right now.

You’rean asshole!I scream to myself as he slaps fifty bucks into my palm. Walking quickly to my room, I grab the largest backpack that I have, and begin packing. Mom and I hiked occasionally, even camped multiple times because it was cheap and fun.

Even though my mom was an omega, she loved exercise and the sunshine. She told me not all of them do, but she taught me to enjoy it too. Stuffing my sleeping bag at the bottom of the bag, I begin to pack as if I’m going for a long term trip. I’ll sleep in the regional parks, use their showers, and no one will ever know what’s happening.

One month,I promise myself. I’ll find a way to get somewhere safe in that time period. It seems more manageable if I give myself a deadline. I can do this.

Closing and locking the bedroom door, I strip off my clothing, changing into two long-sleeved shirts, a heavy sweatshirt, long johns, jeans, and heavy socks with my shoes. While the apartment is freezing, I always dressed warmly, snuggling under several blankets while I was home.

I’m exhausted. I worked at the cafe this morning, and then had my shift at the bar. I’m currently dragging ass and don’t feel great.

Next, I sigh as I move to the bathroom to scrub my face of all my makeup, the cool water helps a bit before I throw my hair into a messy bun, and try to appear unmemorable. I want people to forget they saw me entirely, maybe even the moment they pass me.

My large backpack has clothes, a pair of heavy boots, one photo of my mom and I, my makeup which is an important part of keeping my job, and her medical papers inside of it now. I also found a tiny spot for travel-sized body and hair care products, because cleanliness is impossible without them.

The pack is as full as I can get it without it overflowing, ready for whatever life may throw at me, I hope. I also have a few basic camping supplies like a pocket knife in my pocket, protein bars in case I get hungry, a reusable water bottle, matches for a campfire, etc.

The money I’ve made over the last few months are in a crossbody bag across my chest along with Mr. Coon’s fuck off money, a phone charger, my phone, my identity card, and all the other odds and ends I need.

My entire life somehow fits into two bags. I’m leaving so much behind that isn’t going to mean anything to anyone but Mom and I, and I’m the only one still alive.

“Girl!” Mr. Coon screams, making me yelp. My body emits a burnt sugar cookie scent as I whimper. I get even warmer, and I gasp in horror as I start to realize what this all means.

“Why is this happening now?” I whisper. I’m cursed. I must have been born under an unlucky star.

I’m an omega, finding her designation, while being kicked out into the world. Fuck me sideways. Actually, that could be theworst thing that happens, despite the warmth and slick coating my panties.

This isn’t my heat, but it’s still really, really fucking bad.

Straightening, I decide I’m just going to get the hell out of here and then make my next move, once my favorite Converses hit the damn pavement.

“Rest easy, Mom,” I murmur. “Love you.”

Bursting into motion, I walk quickly through the apartment, weaving around the official personnel inside the place I used to call home for the past six months.

“There you are,” Mr. Coon complains as I dodge under his grabby hand, and through the door.

“She smells like sugar cookies,” a paramedic groans, and I force my legs to move even faster.

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