Page 81 of Forget

Therapy was rough today. Dr. Alys doesn’t pull any punches, and I broke down in a sobbing mess, while talking about my mom. The dam I’ve built around living with my dead mother’s body in an attempt to not end up homeless is thin at best. No one should have to choose to sleep across from their dead mother’s body.

I don’t think I ever really processed it because surviving was more important. I talk about it as if it happened to someone else. Even now, I’m in survival mode. Dr. Alys mentioned that it’s in how busy I keep myself so that I’ll be useful to others, the detachment I show, how quick I was to latch onto my father because he desperately wants me in his life.

In a lot of ways, Dad is the reason I’m standing here at all. He won’t let me fall even when I’m exhausted from a bad date, being unable to regulate when my next heat will be. He tells me it’s a normal process of life. I just need to keep moving forward.

That man is worth his weight in gold.

The cold air freezes my tears, and Dr. Alys wouldn’t let me go until I was a little calmer. I need to eat before I meet with a job recruiter that emailed Omega’s Haven. It’s one of the many messages Wren answered yesterday.

Cordelia Emrys wants to help us create a new way of testing for omegas who want to figure out where their interests lie for their career planning. The number one complaint Wren had, when she was trying to rejoin the world after being held as a slave for years, was how much the career aptitude test she took sucked.

It just didn’t work for how an omega’s brain processes things. We hyper fixate, need things in a certain way, and lose severaldays a month. I’m excited for this meeting, but don’t want to look like a fucking mess for it.

Whenever I cry really hard, I end up feeling shaky afterward. There’s an eatery with to-go breakfast foods around the corner. It’s new, and since it’s still early in the day, perfect as a pick-me-up.

Brushing my scarf over my cheeks, I walk into the restaurant. My eyes and nose probably still look red, but I can blame the weather on it at least. It’s busy this morning, so I get in line to get a bacon and egg tart with tomato relish.

It sounds amazing and filling.

Smiling at the woman working the register, I place an order with a container of orange juice to help raise my blood sugar. I’m going to need some sugar to even myself out. Paying, I turn and almost run into an alpha. I’m wearing my alpha pheromone blocker, which is why I didn’t know I was near Pack Dayton. It’s been about a month and a half since I’ve seen them.

I wish I could have gone longer. Like forever.

They glare at me, and I notice Fredrick’s nose is laying a little more crooked than before. Shame about that ‘accident’.

“Excuse me,” I say with a tight smile, trying to get around them.

“No,” Fredrick growls. “I think you’re responsible for the streak of bad luck that we've been having.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I tell him. “Maybe you should reevaluate how you speak to people. Your luck could turn around.”

Ugh, I’m never going to be able to come here again. Thankfully, there’s nothing in my hands, and my knife is fastened to my thigh, like it always is. Even though it’s frigid out, Dad knows I like to wear skirts and dresses, so I can wear my knife.

“No, you need to turn it around,” Taylor roars, grabbing my arm as I attempt to pass by.

I don’t even hesitate as he pulls me back, trying to break my arm. Pulling my knife and opening it with a flick of my wrist, I shove my hand between his legs so he can feel the sharpness of my blade.

“I think you need to let go,” I growl. “You’re going to forget my name, or I will send someone to cut your dicks from your bodies in the middle of the night. You will never be the same again, and they will make sure you live, Taylor. What kind of choice are we making here?”

“You’re fucking crazy,” Harold snarls, eyes wide as he sees where my hand is. “Maybe we really should have sold you.”

I’m sorry, what?

“Yes, because that should be the response when a date doesn’t go as planned,” I grunt, letting my knife slip and shoving it deep into Taylor’s pelvis.

“Miss, do you need help?” someone yells and I nod.

“Yes please!” I scream, playing the weak omega as I pull my knife out of Taylor and clean it on his fancy sweater.

Clearly, their luck isn’t that terrible based on their clothing. They still look like they’re doing just fine. Hiding my knife, I stomp on Taylor’s foot until he finally releases me.

“Get out of my establishment,” a burly alpha says, bustling out from around the counter. He shoves them in front of him, while Taylor screams and tells people I stabbed him.

I wonder what their social media posts will say now?

Turning, I escape to the bathroom to wash my hands and knife. Thankfully, it’s empty, and I lock myself in to clean up quickly. There isn’t any blood on my dress, so the real test will be if Pack Dayton gets anyone to believe them.

Drying my hands, I text my dad quickly.

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