Page 19 of Begrudgingly Yours
Nicole would have a fucking field day if she ever found out.
The feeling of being powerless takes me back to my senioryear of high school. After my father passed away, my mother moved us across the country. She made me leave everything familiar behind. My father’s hometown where I grew up, my friends, my childhood home. She even sold everything that reminded her of him, like she was finally glad to be rid of him and needed every part of her life to reflect it.
My mother was allowed to make these choices, but she sold things that I could have kept. Sweaters, watches, his favorite plaid flannel shirt that he had since I was a baby. She sold it all and she did it behind my back. Even through all of the abuse she inflicted during my childhood, there was a thread between us that I just couldn’t cut, but watching her toss out my father’s things like garbage, items thatdeeplymattered to me… it was the last straw. Any soft spot I had for my maternal figure was gone after that. I was just counting down the days until I could officially get out of her grasp.
The only reprieve I had left was sharing his designation. All of my life, I had exhibited signs of being a beta. I was neither dominant nor compliant, aggressive nor soft. I definitely knew I wouldn’t end up being an alpha like my mother. Being a beta just made sense to me, and I never thought that would change.
The day I became an omega was the day I lost my last piece of him. The first time I perfumed, instead of finding joy in being a rare designation, I sobbed until dehydration forced me to stop. A whole new type of grief had taken over me. I wasn’t only mourning my father, but I was mourning the part of me that connected us. It was severed, and I felt lost.
It took a while, but I accepted my fate. I am an omega but sometimes, especially in my most bitter moments, I deplore my designation. I hate my scent, I hate that others can see behind my indifference because of it. I hate that my instinctis to submit or bow my head. And more than anything, I hate that it makes me attracted to fuckingalphas.
The only person that knows how deep the resentment goes is Stacia. She was the only shining light after we moved to Massachusetts. She helped me through the worst year of my life. So, even though I was angry at the world and at my mother, I was also grateful that there was someone there who saw through the darkness and pulled me out.
That’s why I will always do the same for her.
A knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts. A flash of wild orange curls appear behind the door and Opal’s brown eyes meet mine. The excitement on her face causes my own to morph.
Her happiness is contagious. I’m starting to think, just like Stacia, that Opal is also a ball of light meant to illuminate all my dark spots.
“Stacia just called, there’s a party not that far away. Do you want to ride over with me?” She’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.
It only takes me a second to answer. “Sure, just let me get dressed.”
“Okay, Pancake.” She finger guns me before exiting the room. She always uses random nicknames, which I find very endearing. Pancake, my little onion, Vidia, amongst others. One time she said she was the ‘Chopper to my Robin.’ I still have no idea what that is, but I think it’s an anime reference.
Her silliness is effective, though. I get up from my bed and attempt to ready myself for a night of fun instead of a night of moping.
I haveno idea who owns the house we’re currently at, but the place is massive. It’s also extremely crowded. There’s house music blasting through fancy speakers in the corners of each room, filling them with old mainstream hits. The steady smell of stale alcohol and weed spikes through the scents of other omegas and alphas in the room. This place definitely doesn’t use any descenter.
Opal and I make our way through the crowd as best as we can. When we find Stacia and her mates, they’re chilling in some kind of game room. The music is a bit more muted in here, probably because it’s coming from the room connected to this one, which is made apparent by the dancefloor through the open door space.
Stacia squeals when she sees me and hops off of Atlas’ lap. When her arms wrap around me, I feel like I can finally breathe. Her lavender and vanilla scent engulfs me in one big comforting embrace. I knew I needed my best friend tonight.
“Cranny! You’re actually here, that’s amazing!” She lets go of me and gives me a giddy smile before giving Opal a hug as well. “There’s so much testosterone here, I’m so glad to see other women.”
I didn’t realize it before, but she’s right. The ratio in this room alone has to be 20/80, a total sausage fest.
Her pack mates give us happy smiles in greeting, except Ciro who comes up and hands me a bottle of what looks like cognac. The mischievousness in his eye is tempting.
“You’re one wild beta, Ci,” I say, eyeing the bottle in my hand. It’s half empty, and I wonder who else in this pack has been sharing this bottle.
“I’m the fun one, remember?” He gives me a drunk wink and puts his arm around his omega.
The bottle gleams with enticement in my hand. I look at the others and ask, “Who’s the designated driver tonight?”
Uriah gives me a nod. “I am. Stacia’s staying sober, too.”
I look at my best friend with wide eyes. She’s been doing very well with her sobriety, having given up psychedelics and the occasional pill ever since she went into therapy, but she still seems to partake in drinking every once in a while. She’s never gotten blackout drunk, so it seemed okay. This further proves that she’s got a handle on things. It makes me so proud of her.
“Maybe I shouldn’t then,” I murmur. I pull up the bottle by its neck and attempt to give it to Ciro, but my fingers involuntarily tighten around it.
“Rory, you should do what you want.” Stacia squeezes my shoulder with reassurance. “I know this is a hard day for you, but you should still have fun like you would any other weekend.”
She says that last part quieter and closer to my ear so the others won’t overhear, and I appreciate it. She’s always known, and she always gives me my space when I need it. Her hand on my shoulder is the grounding agent I need.
“You’ll look out for me?” I ask quietly.
She nods softly and rubs her cheek on my shoulder. “I promise.”
