Page 14 of Hard Knot

One that should have brought me tears of joy versus how hollow I feel right now.

"Shit," I mutter, wincing as the final layer peels away. The damage is worse than usual. My toes are a masterpiece of purple and red, with blisters that have formed on top of barely-healed blisters.

A couple of nails are definitely going to fall off this time.

Was it worth it?

I laugh, the sound echoing hollowly in the empty room.

"Why the hell did I go so hard?" My voice cracks slightly. "Like technical perfection was ever going to matter." Shaking myhead, I can only feel more dread now that the high of adrenaline is slipping away.

Leaving my body aching with agony and exhaustion.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t mentally exhausted with all this fighting.

Fighting to exist in a world that wishes I’d dwindle away into dust.

A tear escapes despite my best efforts, trailing down my cheek and landing on my abused feet. I watch it splash, creating a tiny constellation on my skin that’s flushed from the intensity of that number.

"It's fine," I whisper, more to myself than the empty room. "This is why dreams are worth chasing, right? Because they're hard. Because there are obstacles. It will be worth it in the end…"

Will it? Or am I just lying to myself again…

My fingers trace the edge of my dance shorts, sliding up to where my most treasured tattoo lives on my upper left thigh. The skull stares back at me, its Día de los Muertos design a riot of intricate swirls and patterns. Even in this harsh lighting, I can see hints of the UV-reactive ink woven through the design — Jessica's final gift to me, in a way.

Jessie.

The memory hits hard today, probably because I used one of her signature moves in the performance. She was always the colorful one, showing up to practice in neon leotards and rainbow leg warmers while I stuck to basic black.

How it should have been her on that stage, recreating that signature move she fanatized in achieving across the masses. I bet you she’d be exactly what these judges were looking for — fitting their viewpoint of perfection in a humbled Omega who executed such effortless grace with her dancing style.

"Life's too short for mourning colors, Lizzy!"

I remembered how she'd say stupid shit like that, twirling in her hot pink tutu. The moment she’d entered a space, the world lit up just by her energy. The vibe could be of death and misery and then she’d walk in and light up the whole room with happiness and hope.

"We're Omegas! We should shine while we can!"

While we can.

She didn't get much chance to shine…

Three months after her first heat, they found her body in an alley. Raped, bruised, cuts all over her flesh. They never released how much cum was pooling inside her. Didn’t attempt to track how many Alphas used, abused, and went on their way like they hadn’t contributed to her demise.

To them, she was but a doll, born to submit to their needs and left as someone else’s responsibility. Only, no one wanted to take the role of being her Alpha, especially when she stopped breathing.

The police called it a "tragic incident."

The papers barely mentioned it.

Just another Omega who trusted the wrong person.

Leaving behind those who did care about her existence. Those who yearn to hear her bubbly laughter and feel the warmth of her loving hugs. The few who still remember her name wish she would have come home that night.

Not just be another insignificant number of Omegas killed because her life no longer mattered in our sinister world.

I got the tattoo two days after her funeral.

Sat for fourteen hours straight while the artist worked, letting the physical pain drown out everything else. It was the first illegal tattoo I allowed to be engraved into my flesh. The starter of many that soon followed. The pain was mediocre compared to what Jessie must have experienced.

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