Page 9 of Broken Omega

Tearing up, I try to tell myself it’s the wine.

I set the picture down on my nightstand.

There’s a pair of pink and purple unicorn patterned pajamas inside that I decide to wear. They’re something teenage me would have chosen, before she was sent to the academy to become the perfect Omega. I love that Zelena hasn’t lost that side of herself. She’s free in ways I’ll never get to be, and I hope she never has to change.

I go back through the box when I’m dressed for bed, and I quickly find out there are fancy chocolates that taste divine, as well as an insanely large bundle of newly released makeup kits and brushes. She completely outdid herself this year.

I swig at the wine between mouthfuls of chocolate, and I decide not to open the rest of the kits after I manage to drop one of the lipsticks on the sheets while the cap was off. I carefully put it all back inside the box and close the lid.

That’s another red stain on the cream sheets. The housekeeper’s going to love me when she turns this room over in the morning.

I put the wine bottle down when I realize there’s nothing left inside it.

My head’s a little fuzzy. I should probably use the bathroom before I pass out.

Or not. The pillow feels nice and I’m warm in my new PJs.

I let myself get comfortable, and I pass the hell out.

BROOKE

Iwake up in the morning with a headache, big surprise. Sitting up, the room swirls a tiny little bit, and my stomach seems to move with it.Oh, please no. The last thing I want is to vomit.

Probably should have thought of that before I downed a whole bottle of wine last night.

I sit still, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass and hoping to hell my stomach settles at the same time.

It takes a few minutes for the room to stop moving. Once that happens, I stay right where I am, taking in long, slow breaths until I stop feeling sick.

When I finally decide it’s safe to move, I discover a wine stain on the leg of my PJs, over the left knee, and that’s when I realize I must have been drunker than I thought. I don’t remember ruining my new pajamas. Though, considering how clumsy I was being, I can imagine spilling the wine and not noticing.

After grabbing my change of clothes from my overnight bag, I go into the bathroom.

The first thing I start to do is cleanse my face. It takes a second to realize I look like I already took my makeup off. Strange. I don’t remember getting out of bed to remove it. I also vaguely remember needing to pee, which I assumed would wake me pretty soon after I dozed off.

I guess I must have gotten up and used the bathroom at some point during the night.

Kind of weird that I don’t remember it.

Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time. It’s been a while since I had a blackout, but it used to be a whole thing with me. Started when I was a teenager, and it’s happened kind of sporadically ever since. I actually quit drinking wine for a year to see if it was alcohol related, and it wasn’t, but I did seem to be more likely to blackout if I’d been drinking a bit too much.

Damn it. This is the last thing I need right now.

As if being given an impossible choice by my father wasn’t bad enough.

I clean myself up, take a shower, and put on the jumpsuit and heels I’m wearing to get back to the academy. The shoes I wore to get here aren’t as ruined as I expected, so I pack them away carefully, along with the dress. My gift items fit inside my bag, sans the chocolate box which is now empty and sitting on top of the dresser.

While I’m putting on my makeup, I notice that the wine bottle is gone from where I thought I’d left it on the nightstand. That’s not a good sign.

I ignore it until I finish up my look with my usual bold red lip. Examining my face in the mirror, I decide I’m ready for setting spray. I’ve managed to conceal the dark circles under my eyes, and I look like my usual, polished self.

Once I’ve stashed my makeup in my bag, I start to look around for the missing wine bottle.

It would be just typical if it fell off the nightstand and dripped onto the carpet.

Nothing makes my dad go batshit quicker than an indelible stain. Sheets can be replaced by getting the housekeeper to go shopping. Carpets are a lot less simple to replace. He’d have to deal with that shit himself, and that’s what would drive him insane.

I get on my hands and knees to look under the bed but there’s nothing there.

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