Chapter One #2
Alphas were territorial. They were also protective of those in their pack to a possibly dangerous level.
Socially, they were also the providers, tending to work outside the home.
Each alpha was different, with varying levels of dominance, not only in society, but in their own pack hierarchy.
More than anything, they loved their omega, the center of their pack.
Omegas were just as territorial as alphas—actually, they were more so.
They didn’t like others near their alphas, and they didn’t like others in their space, especially not their nest. Lots of people saw omegas as the weakest designation.
They were wrong. Sure, they might not be tall or lithe or built with muscles on muscles on muscles, but they told the alphas where to go, what to do.
What they wanted, they got. To me, that was power.
Of course, it was more than just their sparkling personality traits that made up their designations. It was the physical. Beyond big or small. Weak or strong. It was knots and slick. Or in the rarest cases of female alphas and male omegas, locks and slick.
Omegas and alphas simply went together. They reproduced at high rates with high levels of success. That was probably because they had to try every few months for an omega’s heat.
By the time I ran out of ways to stall, I was yawning, and actually ready for bed.
I tossed onto my side, trying to fall asleep.
Of course, it would’ve helped if I’d closed my eyes, especially since the moon seemed to be shining extra bright, the fullness almost as brilliant as the sun.
I hated it. No, that was mean. I didn’t hate the moon.
I didn’t hate being alone at night. I didn’t hate the quiet of my apartment or the largeness of this bed.
I rolled over onto my other side.
I was just a morning person. I was meant to interact with people, to help them. To better their days. What was my purpose if I didn’t protect omegas?
Closing my eyes did nothing to help me sleep. My body might’ve been exhausted—my mind wasn’t.
I could picture the day I was let go. Kept remembering the way I cried when I’d packed up my desk.
I had to take down all the sticky notes of motivation, the list of names of omegas I no longer had to check up on and the list of ones I’d wanted to see again.
I’d kept emergency sweets in my drawer and a few personal cards from packs that sent out notifications of their bondings.
All the connections I’d made were in a binder that I brought home with me, full of people who would work with me to help an omega or pack, just not hire me, a beta.
I wasn’t an omega, so that wasn’t my safe space.
But I missed it. Missed the chair that would lean back too far for comfort so I was always perching on the edge.
Missed the mat underneath that was supposed to make the rolling chair smoother yet set my teeth on edge every time one wheel would fall off the mat and make the chair a few millimeters crooked.
I missed the noise of phones ringing and the smell of descenter being pushed through the air.
I rolled onto my stomach. Why couldn’t I sleep? Was this going to be my life now? Sad and lonely?
No. I refused to be this beta. I was going to get another job. I was going to be happy again.
It wasn’t like I was completely alone. I might have lost my job, but I’d made a friend. A true friend. Hannah and her pack were nice to me. They invited me over at least once a month for whatever small gathering they were having, sometimes with Koda and her alphas as well.
No matter how upset I was that I lost my job, I was even more upset with the OC.
I knew it wasn’t everyone, but someone there was doing wrong.
Investigating omegas who protested against oppressive laws wasn’t what they should’ve been doing.
Hannah had told me all about how she hated being picked up at thirteen.
How scared and terrified she was. She never even allowed her family visitation after that, and I wasn’t sure she’d seen them since.
That was the kind of thing I wanted to help. How to make it safer, less scary for younger omegas coming to the compound. She should have been a tool, in the best way, to better the OC. Instead, she was targeted. Not just once. Or twice.
I guess on some level, I was glad I wasn’t part of a system that had hurt my friend.
That also meant that there was one less person working there that wanted to make changes for the better.
Knowing what I did, about Hannah and her experiences, I would have done something to try and create change.
Talked to someone about the studies that showed the safest way to keep a blooming omega safe was to ensure their pickup at thirteen was less than thirty minutes long.
It was a timer that was set. Once they were picked up, they needed to be in their new nest, at the compound, within a half an hour. Then they could reregulate their emotions in a safe, private space.
Obviously, the quick timeframe didn’t help Hannah—it scared her more. Rather than feeling secure in her new space, she resented leaving her old one.
Was she the only one? It might be rare, but the OC was mandated to accommodate and protect omegas. If they knew some omegas would react poorly, they’d better their standards. After all, they were dealing with people. With children.
Okay, I wasn’t going to be able to sleep if I kept internally ranting. I knew it. It wasn’t like I could change anything. I couldn’t magically wake up employed. Couldn’t even make changes in the OC if I wanted.
Although...
I sat upright, debating whether or not I should actually get out of bed.
Well, it wasn’t like I was close to sleep.
Getting up, I went into the living room and reopened my laptop, flinching at the bright light of the screen. Even as I dimmed it to its lowest setting, it still felt like it was burning my eyes.
Ignoring the slight visual pain, I went to the OC’s website and then found the city’s specific webpage. I was going to leave a nice, polite, but critical complaint. I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it before?
Searching the website, I couldn’t find a way to complain. Anonymously or otherwise.
It wasn’t on the contact page or the outreach. Or the “more information” page. It wasn’t on the page to show off photos of the workers and the omegas there or the page about inquiring packs or families with children presenting as omegas.
I slowed down and started at the first tab, taking my time to read the information rather than skimming the page for buzzwords.
Really, it should’ve been on the contact page except that page solely mentioned how they were open to communication and how anyone could drop by the facility for any questions.
There were a few phone numbers for making a donation or alerting the OC about an omega in heat, coming into their designation, or suspected of being abused. But nothing for the compound itself.
No worries. I would just do it the old-fashioned way. I was sure I had paper around here somewhere. Although I knew I didn’t have any envelopes.
There was no way to leave an anonymous message to the compound? That couldn’t be right.
I went back to the OC’s main website and then clicked on a different city, searching that page.
This one wasn’t as well organized, a sad fact to show the limited funding it must’ve received in order to put so little on its website.
If being let go from the OC hadn’t been mandated with the contingency that said I wasn’t allowed employment with any of the other compounds, I probably would have moved away to one of these lesser funded locations to help.
Ignoring the ache in my heart, I tried a third website. Why wasn’t there a way to make suggestions? It felt like something all websites should have, even something as basic as one for a laundromat, and especially one for something as important as the OC.
Rather than starting a letter, I grabbed a notebook and pen, opened to a fresh page, and started jotting down my thoughts, using the light from the laptop to illuminate my words.
What the OC needed, not only in terms of bettering their website, but in regard to helping omegas.
Everything I thought of and then all the potential solutions.
My hand started to ache, the ideas for how to make the OC better starting to feel limitless.
I was yawning, my vision blurry by the time I stopped.
Sleep pulled at me desperately and I finally listened.
The walk to my bedroom felt long and when I finally laid down, the moon was gone from my window, and I fell asleep, content that I wasn’t giving up on helping omegas.
Even though I had to get a new job, I could still be an advocate in my free time.
I wasn’t going to leave an entire designation behind.