4. Letters from Home
Letters from Home
Kelya
Omegas don’t drink coffee.
It’s bad for us. But I stopped doing a damned thing that was good for me a long time ago.
It’s early in the day, and I’m playing my music loudly on my Bluetooth speaker, drinking my coffee and dancing around my room in just my thong and one of the alpha’s shirts, still feeling high from the whole interaction.
Three alphas. Goddamn, Kelya! They weren’t even in a pack.
There’s no way I’ll go through the stash myself, so I’ll need to find a buyer. A little thrill runs through me. I wonder who runs the underground market here…
I like Puerto Rico, I think as I drink my slightly sweet cafecito. I may stay here a little longer before I head off to another location. I like the noisy streets. My loud neighbors. People are already awake and ready for the day.
I bring my cafecito out to my balcony and sit down on a chair, throwing my legs up on the railing. The moisture in the air helps lift my curls. I have thin hair, and if I’m somewhere dry and arid, goodbye curls. But here, they form ringlets down my forehead. It makes me feel beautiful.
I take some selfies. With the pink building facade behind me and the morning light on my tanned skin, I feel fucking exquisite.
Too bad I don’t have social media; otherwise, I would share these.
I do, however, have a dating app. Heat Map.
My favorite app. A while back, I discovered this strange dating app where it shows a heat map of omega and alpha activity.
It can only pull data from users who have their location turned on, and are open to partners.
You can’t see individual profiles on the map, instead it shows hotbeds of people looking to meet up.
Black is cold, so no users. Blue to green means there are some users.
Yellow and red mean there are plenty of people to meet in those places, but white—white means users are everywhere.
Heat Map was white-hot in Puerto Rico, and San Juan was throbbing. I had to book a flight here. I was desperate and scared, and there was one glaring spot that I could go to that wouldn’t let me down.
It’s the ultimate hookup app for omegas. I use it in every city I go to. Seeing all the alphas here, I know why the app is so popular. Horny young tourist alphas are my everything. They don’t try to claim you. They don’t care what your scent profile is. They don’t even ask where you’re from.
If I never stop stacking my roster, I’ll never have to feel lonely either. And I’ll never, ever, have to sit and remember the Livingston Pack I left behind.
I look over my profile. My username is Knotorious Omega.
5’ 5”. Brunette. Omega. Here’s me in my scuba gear.
Here’s me doing yoga on a big black rock with a matching set the same color as my skin.
Here’s me taking a selfie in a mirror with my nipples peeking through the fabric.
Finally, here’s the photo of me and that dog I stole last year.
Bernie.
His dad did not take good care of him. Empty water bowl. Ants in the dog food. I found him a home with the next alpha I hooked up with, and they are happy together.
“Female omega seeking fun times while she’s in Viejo San Juan.
No commitments. No scenting. No knotting.
Buy me a drink and tell me about yourself.
” I rearrange some things. That picture first. This prompt last. I answer a prompt about my favorite time of day: Morning.
Before the sun rises. “Let’s talk all night until the sun rises. ”
Men are really easy.
I’ll pick through all my favorite ones over the next few weeks before I start to slow down, and then I’ll leave.
It’s like popcorn in a microwave; it’s only exciting when the kernels are popping all at once.
As soon as it slows down, I have to end things.
Right now, San Juan is popping. The heat map shows white, but when it doesn’t: I’m out.
I open my profile up to be matched, then set my phone down and go take a bath. It’s warm and lovely. I use the soaps I took from the alphas. Eucalyptus and honey.
I then spend a long time setting my curls how I want them, and then sitting out on the balcony while they slowly dry. My music continues to play loudly over the street noise. The sunbeams warm everything around me, and I close my eyes and take slower and slower breaths.
My phone buzzes, disrupting my peace, and I look at it to see an email from my mother.
I have her emails set on an alert. Not that I want to read them.
It’s like I’m always waiting for the next one to come around and ruin my day, but if I didn’t get a notification, then there’s nothing waiting in my inbox.
I unlock my screen, push my sunglasses on my head, and read what the woman has to say:
Ida Sessions
Kelya,
I haven’t heard from you in months, since you sent that one email on your sister’s birthday.
I wanted you to come home and spend time with me and your dads, but you weren’t here.
I was very emotional. I bought a cake, and we took it to the cemetery.
It was a sunny day, and there were lots of mosquitos.
When you have children, and we come here to see your sister, you’ll have to remember bug spray.
I know I’ve said this before, but if you have a girl, you’ll need to name her after your sister.
I think it would be nice. I talked to Roman, and he agreed.
Sweetheart, Alpha Livingston is not doing well in your absence. Omegas should take care of the alphas and not be gone this long.
I think it’s been long enough. You’ve had your fun. I expect to see you soon. Don’t doddle.
Love,
Mom
It’s the most ominous of all her emails. She usually does a lot more begging and manipulating to try to get me to reply. I last sent an email on my late sister’s birthday. I don’t know why I did it. It’s better if I never reply.
My sister died years ago. The thought clenches my stomach, and I forget, for a second, where I am.
I gasp, nearly passing out from accidentally holding my breath, then blink back to awareness.
The sounds of the birds and people outside come back on, like the world had muted for a second.
I’m in Puerto Rico. In my hotel. It’s been two years since I left, and they can’t make me go back.
When my mom says “Alpha Livingston,” she means Roman, since he’s the only one she talks about.
Three bonded alphas. Roman, Hollis, and Noble Livingston.
They met in college. Or something. Who fucking cares.
They paid a lot of money to the Institute, a place that helps alphas and omegas match and find their preference. Young. Pretty. Quiet.
I think I was only one of those things.
I don’t know why they wanted me.
I remember the first time I bared my teeth at them. It was kind of a joke. They said they would prefer I joined them for all their meals. I thought they were joking, and so I joked back.
All their meals?
They meant they wanted me to prepare all their meals.
Make four people breakfast. Pack them lunches according to their schedule.
Make time to come to their office and join one of them on some rotating order.
Cook dinner every night. Stock the fridge with snacks and treats.
Spend two or three days out of the week shopping.
They sat me down and lectured me for two straight hours on not baring my teeth at them.
I sat on the couch as all three alphas stood in front of me, taking turns telling me how I needed to treat them, like they were on some sort of fuck-ass podcast. The real shitty part was they got to me.
They made me wonder if I was the problem, and since they laid the path forward for me to fix it, I tried. I tried to be a good omega.
I developed an eye twitch that didn’t go away until I left.
I never want to fry another egg as long as I live.