4. Indigo
four
Indigo
When I was five years old, someone finally bothered to give me a name. She was only a teen. I don’t even remember her name, but she told me my eyes were gorgeous and called me Indigo. I didn’t argue. I wanted to be a person, and having a name seemed to be the first step toward that particular goal.
After years of being nothing but the Poisonous Omega, it feels like the title is embedded within my own sense of self. Which means, even though I’m free, I’m just as prickly as before. I’m just as difficult as ever. I can’t relax.
Freedom—or whatever this weird reality we have in this motel—gets you thinking.
Back in the breeding house, when I wasn’t quietly doing my chores, my mind wouldn’t rest. I was constantly finding ways to survive the next sunrise, looking over my shoulder and panicking.
But here, I can do whatever I want. Most Omegas have understood that quickly and flourished almost to their full potential in the past four months.
Not me.
Every menial task leaves me anxious. Even as I step out of the breakfast line looking for Journey’s auburn hair, I’m also checking every entry. Colt is stationed at the side door, while Stetson is on the rear. My heart rate climbs as I frantically try to find Hank, Cassidy, or Nash.
Who cares about them anyway?
Regardless of my lack of enthusiasm for life, Hank overreacted last night. I didn’t mean to be that short with him, but still I was allowed to feel upset when he tried to rescue me from the only time of peace I have.
So really, it’s not that I care about them, but more that it’s best that I don’t see them for a while.
My thoughts are still on the pack when I find Journey and the others and head their way.
She’s with Salem and Nova like any other day.
I love Journey, but unlike me, she tends to like people.
She’s made friends since we got here, so I guess that means I have my meals with a group now.
I open my mouth to say good morning, but I notice that they are all deep into talking, leaning over the table in rushed whispers.
“What’s going on?” I ask, taking a seat.
“We are just speculating.”
My eyebrows shoot up, and I lower my voice to match theirs. “About what?”
Salem shrugs. “About how long we have until this falls apart.”
My frown deepens, and Journey comes to the rescue, explaining their thoughts. “There are rumors the Alliance is gone.”
“What do you mean by gone?” I ask.
Salem sucks in a breath, but it’s her roommate Nova who interrupts her. I like Nova enough. Her nose is always stuck in a book, a pencil perched between her braids and her ears as she annotates every page. She’s quiet. I like that.
“I don’t think they’re gone.” Nova frowns. “But there are rumors that they are not that invested in our rescue.”
I huff, not surprised. I never believed in superheroes, and even when those two Alphas barged in and rescued us all, I still didn’t quite believe it. In a way, I still don’t. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“It’s obvious they are not.” Salem shrugs and plays with her oatmeal. “Do they need four months to get us IDs? For a society who thought we were extinct, they are very comfortable leaving us here to rot.”
Her words make my stomach drop. I shift in my seat and start on my cereal to ignore the fear creeping in. I don’t want to rot here. I was forgotten once. I can’t go back to that miserable life.
“They wouldn’t rescue us just to forget, right?” Journey asks with a tremor in her voice.
“I heard Dominic was fired,” I blurt out.
As soon as the words tumble out of my mouth, I suck in a breath, wishing I could take them back. This is not information I should have anyway, and saying it feels like I’m just scaring everyone even more.
“Where did you hear that?” Nova lifts her eyes from the paperback in front of her.
“I accidentally eavesdropped. I didn’t mean to.”
I’m small, and I try my best to stay on the sidelines to avoid conversation with others.
Sometimes I hear things I shouldn’t. People only notice I’m around when they do something wrong.
Then I’m the first to shout out a curse.
I wish I wasn’t that quick to anger, but I am, so I make sure to keep it together when I’m in control of myself.
“When did you hear that?” Salem whispers, eyeing me suspiciously.
I wince. “A while ago. It didn’t feel like it mattered.”
“Of course it matters!” Journey’s jaw drops. “The man who rescued us is gone. So we are at the mercy of people we don’t know.”
“We don’t know Dominic,” I remind her. “We saw him once.”
“And he killed our rapists and set us free.” Journey blinks at me like I’m crazy. “He’s my favorite person in the world, for all I care.”
My face heats with shame. I don’t like to upset Journey. I know what she means, and I want to be grateful, but it’s hard to just open my arms and believe. Especially when we know so little about what is actually happening.
“It’s not a good sign that they fired our rescuer.” Nova cleared her throat, cutting into our semi-argument. “Do you think it had anything to do with the rescue?”
“It’s weird as fuck that they brought us to this abandoned motel,” Salem added. “Shouldn’t we be a big-ass deal? But they put us in an abandoned motel in the middle of nowhere, and that’s it?”
She’s right. I’ve been so scared that our rescue is not a rescue after all and that I ignored the obvious red flags. Regardless of whether we are the reflection of the Goddess like Manuela taught me, Omegas are still the pillar of our society, so I have to wonder.
Why aren't they making a big deal out of us?
The question never leaves my lips, but I can tell we’re all thinking the same thing.
My bland breakfast loses its already shitty appeal, and I push the bowl away from me.
My eyes trace every wall with peeling paint, destroyed furniture, and overall dismay of the place we are.
Decor hasn't been at the forefront of my mind, so none of it bothered me, but now, it screams abandonment.
“We should ask them,” Salem says at last.
“Ask them?” Journey’s voice trembles.
She shrugs. “Why should we be in the dark? They should tell us what is happening.”
Yet none of us make a move to approach an Alpha and start an interrogation.
In the breeding houses, we were treated as less than the mold growing in the walls.
We had no rights, no voice, no room to question.
If we ever asked anything, even if it was something that didn’t feel like it was sensitive information, they would laugh in our faces.
I bring my legs up on my chair, and I hug my knees, trying to look as small as I feel.
The moments tick by, and the subject changes, but my mind doesn’t rest. Maybe they can talk about something like this and move on to other businesses, but I can’t.
I push on my feet, and the three of them stop talking and gawk at me.
“Not hungry anymore.” It’s all I say as I move away.
My heart hammers, begging me to turn around, but I don’t. If they are telling the truth that we don’t have to fear anything, what is the problem with marching to the office and asking what is going on?
The packs are using the office behind the front desk as their business center.
I never wanted to know any of the Alliance business, but now I see how naive I was.
I shouldn’t be passive like this, not when I’ve been held hostage for my whole life.
With rebellion in mind, I march to the front desk, only hesitating for a second before I shake it off and round the counter.
I’m just going to knock on the door and ask them about our situation.
I’m not doing anything wrong. We are allowed to know if suddenly they will drop us into the world with no money and no security numbers or birth certificates.
The reality of our situation slams against my chest, and the decision becomes clear. I definitely want to know what their plan is.
The office is not directly behind the front desk like I imagined, but instead, at the end of a small corridor, which I follow. My fist rises to knock on the door, only to find it slightly open.
My steps halt, and I approach it carefully, planning to announce my arrival, but everything stops when I hear Nash saying my name. I don’t catch what he says, but my name is loud and clear. My fist falls, and instead, I edge closer without making any sound.
“What do you mean by that?” Hank’s harsh tone startles me. I didn’t know he was the one there with Nash.
“Last night. I asked what really happened between you and Indigo.”
“I told you,” Hank grits out. “I thought she was drowning.”
“Jesus fuck, man,” Nash breathes out. “Did you think she was—”
He never finishes his sentence before Hank growls, “Don’t go there.”
“Since the moment Dominic called us to come here, I’ve been afraid it was going to trigger you.”
“I’m not triggered.”
I scoff. Even I have to admit he sounds triggered as hell.
“I know it’s not the same situation but—”
“Exactly. It’s not the same, so stop bringing it up.”
Eager to know what Nash would say next, my lips close in a line, afraid that even the beating of my heart will alert them to where I am.
From this angle, I can only see Nash through the gap.
He’s tall, not as tall as Hank, but most humans aren’t.
Nash has a softness in him that makes me uneasy.
His short hair is curly, and his five o’clock shadow looks inexplicably soft.
There’s a glow within his dark skin, and his eyes are so light hazel that they shine gold.
I don’t fully understand how someone can be so masculine and soft at the same time, but I catch myself transfixed by him.
His expression changes with the words Hank is spilling, as if he doesn’t blame the other man for being rude.
His acceptance of someone’s bad mood does something to me.
I have never been so interested in what someone has to say, but I miss his next words when two warm hands close around my shoulders, and the soft masculine voice whispers in my ear, “Got you, little mouse.”