Page 30 of Coco and the Misfits

“Ryder didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He made you uncomfortable.”

“Have you seen the guy? With the tattoos and lip ring and those muscles...” I lick my lips. “You bet your ass it was uncomfortable. His gaze was a shot to the pussy.”

June cackles. “You were so horny you were uncomfortable?”

“They should sell pantyliners with his name. Picture it. Ryder’s Safety Liners. For when you’re dripping wet and need something to hug your pussy.”

“Coco. You’re crass.”

“Calling things by their name, baby,” I mutter.

“Not very omega-like, that tendency.”

“What can I say?” I shrug. “I’m a special omega.”

She sobers up and looks away quickly. “Yeah, you are.”

That breaks the mood a little.

“Okay,” I say. “Fine.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she whispers. “It’s a cliché, the sweet, innocent omega. Every person is different.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

And if it comes out a little defensive, so what? I’ve been aggressively defensive for most of my life.

Let’s call things by their name. June… makes it look effortless. Being cute and pretty. Being an omega.

It’s not the effort I mind, let me tell you. I enjoy my little rituals so much, my decorating and dressing up, doing my nails, my hair, my make-up. I’m as girly as they come.

She just… is. Girly. Omega-y. Cute as a button without even trying. And good for her! Honestly, she is such a nice babe with such positive vibes that one just wants to be with her. Be like her. Enjoy life just like she is.

But on some days… it gets to me. That I have to work so hard at it and still nobody believes me when I say I’m not a beta or a delta or an epsilon. That I need to keep proving it to them over and over. Why not just believe me and let me be?

Even my parents who love me to bits keep telling me to give up. Even my friends have said it on occasion.

I don’t like being this bitter person. I don’t like being jealous. That’s not who I am.

But then, who am I? Should I give up and abandon my pink dreams? Be more like a beta? Stop dreaming of knots and heats?

Everything is fine. I need to stop wallowing when there is nothing wrong with my life. What’s a little designation dysphoria set against the misery of the world, right?

11

COCO

I’m feeling suspiciously relaxed. What have I forgotten? Work? Cleaning? Did I leave the oven on?

Mm... I roll onto my back and yawn, stretching my arms over my head, and discover I’m on my sofa. The TV is playing on low and dawn is breaking outside.

Then I remember what happened at the bar and a chill wracks me. I sit up, instantly on alert, and try to remember. Did I lock my door after June left? Are my windows closed?

Was that strange noise I just heard the sound of someone breaking in?

My heart instantly goes on overdrive, slamming about inside my ribcage, trying to escape. My breath is short, and cold sweat runs down my temples. I feel sick.

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