Page 1 of Knot Happening

Chapter One

Tatum

Rotting lilies.

The scent fills the air with a heavy, painful reminder. She’s not okay… I can’t help her. I’m not enough.Not enough…I’m not enough.

I swallow thickly, the ache in my throat from holding my tears back is uncomfortable, making me antsy.

The stacks of bills seem to get taller the longer I stare at them. Red and orange final notices collect between the credit card offers and magazines.

The pile tilts precariously to the side. It’s only a matter of time before the stack slips off the edge of the peeling blue laminate of our counter and falls to the floor. Funny how that feels a lot like my life. One summer's breeze away from falling off of a cliff into darkness I’ll never recover from.

Desperate doesn’t sound like a strong enough word to describe how I’ve been feeling. I’m overwhelmed, exhausted, and running out of fucking options. Running out of time. Running out of sanity. Of money. Of everything.

I swallow thickly, clutching the flyer tightly in my fist. Do I want to do this? Not really… Fuck, if I could, I’d spend my life right here in this fucking apartment, hiding away with my mother. But that's not true either… I wanted more from life at one point.

But now I’m scared of everything. Fucking everything. Alphas and their ability to break hearts without a second thought. Falling in love with someone who adores me, only for them to die suddenly, leaving me alone with a child I can’t care for without my Alpha.

The dark.Crickets. Heights. You know, the regular stuff.

Fear also keeps me going, even when I want to give up. Fear for my mother. Fear that I’ll turn out just like her. Broken by bonds that each Omega craves. The whine gets lodged in my throat as I hold it back. I might be an Omega, but I’m not weak. I’ll make this better. I have to.

At this point, the only thing I know for sure is that I’m out of time. I’ve got twenty fucking dollars in my pocket, and it won’t last us the week.

Last night, I spent eighty dollars on two weeks worth of suppressants. I need to find a new supplier. Marco knows I’m desperate and willing to pay anything to keep the meds in my system.

I refuse to go into heat. Not ever again, if I can help it. The problem is, that long term use means you lose touch with your instincts. And if you run out of that poison? I shiver, imagining the pain, and the need for an Alpha to help me through it. That sounds like a terrible plan.

Which means I have no other choice because one thing I know for sure is I’m not going into heat. Not alone, and not with an Alpha. Never again.

Not happening.

Dangerousa little voice whispers in the back of my head, but I shove it away. Going into heat alone is far worse.

There’s a pulsing panic rushing through my veins as I glance from the bills to the flyer. The crumpled twenty dollars I made in tips feel like an anchor in my pocket, dragging me to the bottom of the ocean where I’ll drown, right along with Mom.

A manic giggle slips from between my lips, and I shake my head. “Fuck my life.”

The deafening silence in this lonely apartment makes my ears ache at the sound of my own voice. I snatch up the remote and turn the TV on, raising the volume until the ringing in my ears doesn’t feel like an unbearable pressure that I can’t ever escape.

Mom lies catatonic on the couch. Not even opening her eyes when the TV blares at us.

I hold in my panic the best I can until I’m in the kitchen. Leaning back against the sink, my mind races. I NEED to do something. To act. I hate this feeling because most of the time when I get like this, there’s nothing I can really do, so I end up manically cleaning the apartment until three in the morning.

But there’s something I can do this time and it makes that aching tingle at the base of my skull race down my spine, urging me to act. To move. To go, and do now.

Act, act, ACT! It screams, over and over.

“Gah!” I snap, rushing into my bedroom to change out of my shirt from my shift last night and grab my house key. Don’t need a wallet, not for my measly twenty.

Somehow, this feels like marching to my death. Well, the death of the person I am today. And I think that's a good thing.

I’ve been working for the same diner for the last five years. I was lucky to be hired by Bernie, a Beta, at just sixteen and in my junior year of high school. I’ve always taken every shift I can to make ends meet.

The only thing that kept a roof over our heads for thirteen years was the death benefits that were provided after my father died when I was eight. When those stopped on my twenty-first birthday, around nine months ago, so did the medical assistance Mom received.

It was already mediocre at best. OmegaCare isn’t as fucking helpful as the insurance company likes to advertise. And depending on what region you live in, you might not qualify for care as a single, widowed Omega, at all.

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