8. Indigo
eight
Indigo
“You’re coming for dinner?” Journey asks, her head tilted to the side.
“I’m coming soon. Just go ahead and save me a seat.”
I manage to curl my lips in a trembling smile, and Journey breathes out, nodding and blindly believing everything is okay.
Once she’s gone, I unfold my legs from under me, knowing this is the time to act.
The packs will be at the dinner, so this is the best chance to try the office for the keys.
I’m fucked beyond belief if it’s not even there, but I have to try.
My wobbly knees are unsteady, and I have to hold on to the wall not to fall on my face as I follow the path down the hall, avoiding everyone’s eyes once again.
Omegas don’t have the sense of smell of an Alpha, and most of us have never seen an Omega going through heat, so I’m not scared that they will find out, but I don’t want anyone noticing how ill and crazy I look.
The office’s door is unlocked when I arrive. I know how to pick a lock, and I was prepared to do so, but the innocence of leaving the door unlocked makes my stomach churn with unease.
This is wrong. Stealing is wrong in any circumstance, but I can’t live like prey anymore. I don’t have anything even after months of being rescued. No ID, no bank account, no way to get a fucking job.
No last name.
The heat claiming the pit of my belly grows into rage and takes over my heart. I don’t want to be cornered anymore. I want autonomy, and I can’t ever get that if I stay with a pack. A nameless, jobless Omega and a pack who holds all the cards?
No. I can’t.
The fear of never really leaving the breeding house is enough to push me over the threshold, and I’m rooting through the drawers before I can stop myself.
It doesn’t take long for me to find the keys.
They aren’t hiding anywhere but right in the first drawer, alongside some office supplies and a wallet.
My hands are trembling when I take the keys, yet I don’t move.
Eyes glued to the wallet until they are welled up with tears.
I’m not an asshole. I don’t want to do this, but what are my chances of survival if I leave without any money?
I don’t even know if the truck has enough gas to take me far from here.
With a curse slipping past my lips, I take the wallet, open it, and find myself staring at Nash’s driver's license.
Nash Anthony Brooks.
His name sounds good, but it cracks my tough exterior. His full name is a reminder I’m not really a person, so I can’t play by the same rules. I open the back compartment and breathe out in relief when I find a couple of hundred. If I get out of this, I’ll pay him back, I tell myself.
I make all kinds of promises to Nash right here.
I think about leaving a note explaining my desperation, but there are not enough words in me to conjure what needs to be said.
Besides, part of me wishes them to realize how fucked up I am and never go look for me.
Scent-match or not, I wasn’t born like the other Omegas.
Ugh, even as the thought comes to my head, I roll my eyes. The words make it sound like I’m just so different and special, but god knows I’m everything but. I’m bitter and mistrusting. I don’t feel that overwhelming intuition guiding me that Manuela always talked about. I’m broken beyond repair.
They should be thankful they don’t need to stay with me. I rush from the office, never looking back until I’m in the main building and my feet bring me to the cafeteria. I’m late, but it’s wise to make an appearance. Plus, I don’t know when it’s the next time I’ll be able to eat.
With that thought in mind, I load my plate as if I’ve never seen food in my life, and make sure to take a couple of apples and put them on my tray to bring with me. That can be my breakfast tomorrow.
“Wow. Hungry?” Salem says as soon as I sit down with them.
I shrug, “First day of period.”
The excuse is perfect and has the effect I thought it would.
They all nod sympathetically and don’t ask about my clammy complexion or my horrible mood.
I eat in silence as they talk. Salem tells us she asked Beau a few questions about what they plan to do to us, but she didn’t get anywhere.
To think I felt like Nancy Drew this morning and marched to that office to get answers is comical.
Right now, I couldn’t care less. All I want is not to be mated.
We finish our food, and I take both apples and my bulging stomach to the bedroom.
Journey stays with them, but doesn't wonder why I’m leaving in a hurry.
It’s pretty obvious to anyone here that I’m all over the place.
Even though I can’t leave until everyone is sleeping, I also can’t stay here and pretend I’m not about to hurl everything I just ate.
The anxiety is building to a level I’m about to vibrate off the seat.
Once I’m in the bedroom, I get everything ready to go, stuff the apples, money, and keys right with my clothes in the trash bag under my bed. I remove my shirt and put it under my pillow since the simple white tank I have underneath looks more like pajamas.
Denim shorts and socks, I lay in bed and cover myself with a thin sheet even though I’m burning up. An hour later, I’m sweating buckets, but I refuse to move, and that’s when Journey comes in. I close my eyes and pretend to be sleeping while she moves around the room and prepares for bed.
My eyes fill with unwanted tears when I think I will never see her again.
I have known Journey since we were little, and she’s the sunshine to my grumpiness.
She’s dresses, daydreaming, and brightness.
I admire endlessly how she never let any of the bad things that happen to us change her.
She’s still sweet and a true friend, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not scared that I’m going to go all the way to bitter without her by my side.
Tears drop from the side of my eye, soaking my pillow, and I hope that it's dark enough so Journey can’t see it. That’s it, I tell myself, even without her I will make sure to always keep her voice alive in my head. I promise to always try as hard as I can to find the good in every situation.
Soon her breathing turns heavy, and I realize she finally fell asleep. I don’t jump into action. Maybe part of me still can’t fully accept what I have to do. I remain right where I am with my eyes closed and fear growing inside until it hurts to breathe, and I have to open my eyes to the darkness.
The only light comes from the Motel sign in neon right at the front, coming through the gaps between the curtains.
It creates a creepy vibe. I always thought so, but especially now that I depend on only them to see.
I take the trash bag under the bed, wincing when it crinkles as I move.
I glance at Journey, waiting for her to open her big brown eyes to me and ask what the hell I’m doing, but she sleeps on, so I stand and put my shirt and Chucks on.
I make the bed. I don’t know why. I don’t have time to do this, but it feels worse to leave Journey to wake up to a crumpled bed, so I smooth the sheets and fluff my pillow.
When there’s nothing left to be done, I take my toothbrush from the bathroom, the last item I didn’t dare to pack so as not to raise suspicions.
My friend moans in her sleep and turns to her side, but her eyes are firmly shut, and I shake myself off and sneak out. Finally. I’m a trembling mess, but I’m out.
As far as I know, a couple of Alphas check the motel during the night too. They are always by the front desk and the back entrance. But I’ve been to the pool at night enough times to know no one guards that exit, so that’s where I go.
It’s not exactly an exit, not in any way official. It’s a pathway that should lead back to the kitchens, made to be used by employees, but it also leads to a small hole in the fence. My escape won’t be glamorous, but my whole life wasn’t exactly nice, so this matches.
I make it to the pool without being seen, and it’s easy enough to reach the side path.
All I have to do is lift the metal fence and bend it in the middle so I can pass under it.
I cut through the bushes, foliage scraping my legs and catching on my clothes, but after squeezing myself a little, I reach the parking lot, and I see the truck waiting for me.
My mouth is dry, heart beating so fast I feel it in my ears as I cross the parking lot like I’m allowed and reach the truck. One glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is watching, and when it becomes obvious I’m completely alone, I unlock the car and slip into the driver’s seat.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The curse keeps me grounded when my hands shake as I put the key into the ignition.
Dying now would be bad, right? All this and I just crash in the first building? Yeah, I have to drive.
Oh god, I have to drive.
Teenagers learn how to drive, so I probably can. Though they usually have instructors by their side and all that I have is my will not to be a prisoner once again.
Rolling my shoulders back, I push all the uncertainty out of my body, and I test everything I learn from the videos online.
“Brake is left, gas is right,” I murmur to myself. “Brake is left, gas is right.”
It’s the mantra I chant as I push on the gas and start rolling forward. I gasp in surprise, as if I don’t expect to actually accept my command. It lurches, and I use the brake abruptly, cursing and looking at both sides to see if I attracted any unwanted attention.
I didn’t, so I breathe in again and try once more. It takes time, but I manage to leave the parking lot through the back, successfully avoiding everyone. My heart is still palpitating, my hand sweaty when I make it to the highway.
“If there’s a goddess,” I pray for the first time, “and if I’m part of you, please help me. Please keep me alive.”
She doesn’t reply, but the highway is mostly free, and I start growing in confidence that I won’t die in a crash. Maybe I can make it. Maybe I can be free.
And it’s with that thought that I drive until the sun is up.