Chapter 1 #2
Why do I do this to myself? Oh right, because I have “standards” for my future pack. Wait. Future pack? Girl, you can't even commit to a coffee order. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
I transition into downward dog, feeling the stretch through my hamstrings and shoulders.
Outside, the sky is starting to shift—still dark, but with that particular quality of pre-dawn darkness that promises sunrise is coming. The birds are getting louder, more insistent in their morning songs.
Child's pose. My favorite. The one where I get to rest and pretend I'm being productive.
I stay there for a long moment, forehead pressed to the mat, breathing in the lingering scent of yesterday's lavender spray I use to "set intentions". The anxiety from the nightmare fades to a dull ache rather than a sharp panic. Progress.
You're okay. You're safe. Kael can't hurt you anymore. You left. You survived. You're building something new.
I finish my routine with some gentle hip openers and a final savasana that I may extend into a brief nap.
Sue me. It's 5 AM and I earned it.
Showering in my tiny bathroom is always an adventure.
The water pressure fluctuates between "gentle spring rain" and "pressure washer set to stun," and the temperature has exactly two settings: arctic and surface-of-the-sun.
But today, I manage to hit that sweet spot of perfectly warm, and I stand under the spray longer than necessary, letting the water wash away the last remnants of the nightmare.
I use my favorite body wash—something called "Sugar Cookie Dreams" that makes me smell like a bakery explodes on me in the best possible way—and take my time with my hair, working leave-in conditioner through the honey-gold and orange lengths.
The steam fills the small space, carrying the scents of vanilla, brown sugar, and the faint coconut from my shampoo.
Skincare is next.
My elaborate routine that Kael mocks as "excessive" but that makes me feel fancy and in control.
Gentle cleanser. Toner that smells like roses and probably costs more than it should.
Hyaluronic acid serum. Vitamin C serum. Moisturizer with SPF because even in November, sun damage is real.
Eye cream that claims to reverse time but mostly just feels nice and cold on my under-eye bags.
I catch my reflection in the steamy mirror and stick my tongue out at myself.
Take that, anxiety. I'm adorable and I have great skin.
Back in my main room, I pick out my outfit for the day: oversized cream sweater that says "Book Bros Before Book Foes" in glittery letters, dark jeans that make my curves look good; Kael's opinion be damned. Then, my favorite fuzzy socks with little coffee cups on them. Cozy. Comfortable.
Very on-brand for a girl who works part-time at a cafe and spends the rest of her time creating chaotic holiday content.
By the time I settle at my tiny kitchen table with my second cup of coffee, the sky outside is doing that gorgeous thing where deep indigo starts bleeding into purple at the edges.
I open the balcony doors all the way despite the cold, and the November air pours in, crisp and sharp and smelling like winter's promise—pine needles and wood smoke and that particular metallic scent that comes right before snow.
My heater is cranked up to "small sun," creating this perfect contrast of icy air on my face and cozy warmth on my back. The juxtaposition feels almost meditative. Balancing opposing forces. Finding peace in the contradiction.
Look at me being all philosophical before 6 AM. Someone give me a medal.
I pull out my journal—the current one, a deep burgundy leather-bound thing with gold edges that I splurge on because it makes me feel like a Victorian heroine writing dramatic letters—and open to a fresh page.
The first rays of sunrise are starting to paint the sky now, soft pink and gold creeping across the horizon like watercolors bleeding together. Absolutely beautiful. Absolutely making me feel things I don't have names for.
I put pen to paper and just... write.
Had the nightmare again.
Kael's voice, his pack, the way they made me feel so small.
Woke up at 4:30 with my heart racing and that awful feeling in my chest like I couldn't breathe.
I hate that they still have this power over me.
I hate that I ran away and built this whole new life and they STILL show up in my dreams.
It's not fair.
I should be over this by now.
But maybe healing isn't linear?
Maybe it's okay to still be scared sometimes?
Surely, running away wasn't weakness—it was strength?
God, I sound like a self-help book.
But also...I did my Pilates.
I showered.
I'm sitting here drinking coffee and watching the sunrise and I'm OKAY.
That counts for something.
I pause, pen hovering over the page, and try not to acknowledge the thing I've been avoiding.
The loneliness that sits in my chest like a stone. Not the dramatic, sobbing-into-my-pillow loneliness, but the quiet kind. The kind that whispers in the spaces between breaths.
Will a real pack ever fill this void?
Or am I too broken?
Too damaged?
Too much work?
The question sits there on the page, stark and vulnerable and more honest than I usually let myself be.
Because what if Kael was right? What if I am too much? Too needy, too emotional, too fundamentally flawed to ever be someone's first choice?
I take a sip of coffee, letting the warmth ground me.
The sky is getting lighter now, soft gold spreading across the horizon, touching the edges of clouds and making them look like they're dipped in honey.
Down on Maple Street, I can see the first lights flickering on in shop windows. The town is waking up.
And you know what?
Screw Kael. Screw his pack. Screw anyone who makes me feel like I'm too much or not enough or anything other than exactly who I'm supposed to be.
I'm Reverie Bell.
A talented Omega who rebuilds her life from scratch. Who makes people smile with her ridiculous content and her genuine enthusiasm for the small joys in life. Who shows up every single day and tries her best, even when her best looks like crying in the shower and eating cookie dough for dinner.
That's pretty damn brave, actually.
I close my journal and pull out my phone, opening my notes app to my daily affirmations.
Yes, I have daily affirmations. Yes, they help. No, I will not be taking criticism about this coping mechanism.
I read through them, speaking softly to myself in the quiet pre-dawn:
"Today is going to be a good day."
Because I'm Reverie, and I get to decide that.
"I am a talented Omega with so much to offer."
Take that, imposter syndrome.
"I will spread joy and happiness because being a good person in this world is free and can change a life."
This one always makes me emotional. In a good way. In a 'maybe I do have a purpose' way.
"I am not too much. I am not too little. I am exactly enough."
Still working on believing this one. But fake it till you make it, right?
"My past does not define my future."
Kael Draven is a footnote, not a chapter. And definitely not the whole damn book.
I set my phone down and wrap both hands around my coffee mug, savoring the warmth.
The sunrise is in full effect now—the sky painted in shades of rose gold and soft lavender, the kind of colors that make you believe in magic and second chances and the possibility that today really could be different.
Outside my balcony, Oakridge Hollow is coming to life.
I can smell bread baking from Cocoa & Coal down the street—Theo must be starting his morning bakes. The scent of fresh sourdough and cinnamon mingles with the pine and wood smoke, creating this perfect small-town breakfast symphony.
A few early risers are already out walking their dogs, bundled in puffy coats and scarves, breath visible in the cold morning air.
Mrs. Chen from the flower shop is putting out her display of winter plants—holly and evergreen wreaths already, because in Oakridge Hollow, Christmas season starts the day after Halloween and no one apologizes for it.
And honestly? I love it.
The excessive holiday cheer, the twinkling lights that stay up year-round on Maple Street, the way everyone goes absolutely feral for seasonal lattes and themed events. This town embraced me when I arrived broken and scared, gives me a place to heal and grow and become someone I actually like.
I'm going to pay that forward.
I take one last sip of coffee—now lukewarm but still delicious—and smile at the sunrise.
A real smile, not the performance smile I give my phone camera. This one is just for me.
Okay, universe. Let's do this. Let's make today good. Let's spread some joy and pretend I have my life together and maybe—just maybe—actually start believing it.
Because that's what I do.
That's who I am.
Reverie Bell: Sunshine Omega, chaos creator, professional optimist, survivor of toxic packs and bad decisions, spreader of holiday cheer and aggressive positivity.
I stand up from my table, energized by caffeine and determination and the kind of manic morning energy that either leads to great things or spectacular disasters.
Either way, it'll be entertaining.
Today is going to be a good day.
I have a shift at The Book Nook, some content to film, and a whole town full of people who appreciate my particular brand of enthusiastic chaos.
Plus, it's November, which means the countdown to Christmas officially begins, and if there's one thing I excel at, it's spreading holiday cheer with the intensity of someone who's been personally victimized by the Grinch and takes it as a challenge.
I grab my phone, my journal, and my tote bag covered in book-related puns, "I like big books and I cannot lie" written in glittery pink letters, and take one last look at the sunrise painting my small apartment in shades of gold.
You've got this, Rev. Just keep swimming. Just keep spreading the joy. Just keep being you, even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard.
I pull on my coat—a cream-colored puffer that makes me look like a marshmallow but keeps me warm—and head for the door, ready to tackle the day.
Ready to tackle the day by spreading the Christmas spirit.
Because that's what heroes do, right?
They show up.
They try.
They make the world a little brighter, one ridiculous video and genuine smile at a time.
And if along the way I happen to catch the eye of some Alphas down the road…
Well.
That would just be a very festive bonus.