3. Broken Promises
Broken Promises
Evangeline
The busy corridor swallows me into the crush of Omegas trying to get to class. Sounds combine into a symphony of defining ringing. I keep to the shadows, but I can still feel their eyes.
They’re watching you.
I shake my head and squint, trying to block the voice in my head.
I keep going. Forcing my feet to shuffle forward.
My hair drops in front of my face, blanketing me with a black curtain.
It feels safe behind it. Pivoting at the exact right time, I swing into the classroom and slip into the back row of seats.
“He was into me, but I’m not going to mate with a guy whose idea of a first date is a lame coffee shop.” Omega Gabrielle sits in front of me, her pleasant floral scent wafting back into my nose.
Last night must have been date night.
My chest tightens.
Will I ever get an Alpha?
Alphas are dangerous. You’re not safe with them.
I squeeze my eyes shut and force the thought out of my head.
“I was so nervous. They’re kind of scary up close.”
I’ve been a lot closer than she has. Alphas aren’t scary when they’re choking on their own blood. The thought brings a smile to my face, and that unquestionably makes me broken. What kind of Alpha would want that?
I wonder if I can talk Auggie into letting me mate.
He would hate it. The Council would hate it more.
They like me close, where they can monitor me.
I’m not made to be free. I hinted at the idea last year when everyone was making mating contracts, but it was shot down before I had a chance to ask properly.
Something about being covered in blood and standing over the corpse of an Alpha made them really grumpy. And a little unreasonable.
Maybe I should ask again. The Council has changed in the past few years and they might actually listen to me.
I can’t live with Auggie forever. Right?
They have to have a plan for me once I graduate.
Who knows? I’m not technically a student here.
Maybe they plan on keeping me here forever.
I’ll be the weird Omega at the back of the class that no one talks to. Oh, wait, that’s already me.
For the first time in years, I move out of my back corner seat so I can listen to their dating experience. Maybe I’ll learn something.
“—noticed she smells of nothing?”
“Do you think she uses scent deodorisers?”
“That has to be it. But why? What’s wrong with her scent?”
“There’s so much more wrong about her than her scent. I want to know why she doesn’t have to be at school all the time like the rest of us.”
Me. They’re talking about me.
“She’s so weird.”
Weird.
Not like other Omegas.
Different.
Words that have been used to describe me my whole life. It would be worse if I let them see me, the real me, my scent, my thoughts. None of it is normal.
Before my thoughts take over, I run.
My legs carry me out of the room and down the now empty halls. The silence is deafening.
I run.
And run until I get to the clock tower that sits at the back of the school property, up against the wall holding us in.
It’s my safe place. No one comes here. I can be quiet, look out into the forest and breathe until I can make myself go back to class.
But on days like today, it’s for an easy escape.
There’s a window on the way up the winding staircase that I jimmied open years ago.
Pushing it wide, I slip onto the ledge, which lines up with the trellis.
The splintering wood bites into the palms of my hands, but slowly I manage to slip low enough that I can jump onto the brick wall keeping me confined.
The gap is narrow, and over the years I have become desensitised to the height.
I jump. The air carries me. The wind sweeps my hair like ribbons billowing in the wind, and I land with a hard thud on my stomach.
That’s going to bruise.
But I’m nearly out now. My feet find their footing and dig into the grooves in the stone.
Once I’m stabilised, I pull myself up and over the wall.
The second my feet touch the ground, I’m off.
The world blurs around me, nothing but trees, wildlife, and the crunch of leaves under my feet.
Turning from a chaotic mess to a magic painting of nature in transition, greens to oranges and blistering heat to soft breezes.
I know these woods better than anyone. When I was ‘adopted’ the first time, I ran away and found my way here.
The woods took care of me. I didn’t have to deal with people staring or calling me names.
I could just be. Then August found me. He was my social worker back then, and he took me back to a different home.
I didn’t last long there either. Except that time, I knew exactly where to go.
I know these woods intimately now. I could find my way in the dark and with my eyes closed.
I move aimlessly, mindlessly, whistling and circling trees until my legs ache and my chest doesn’t. The darkness starts to crawl into the forest, and I know I’ve been here for too long. Auggie will have been notified already.
I broke my promise.
On day one.
Fuck.
Well, too late now. I can’t say I didn’t try. I can think it though. I did not try.
My shed comes into view, and I don’t have it in me to care about anything else.
The little wooden shelter was my home before I knew the difference between a house and a home.
She held me, warmed me, kept me safe. The faded purple violets painted on the cracked door frame, and the uneven, mismatched stones I dug into the ground line a path towards it.
I make a note of the dirt layer on the glass of the one window and promise her I will clean another day.
It’s been a while since I’ve been here.
But it’s all still the same.
The door creaks, and I have to pull harder to get it open. The weather changing must have warped the wood again. Thankfully, the roof stayed intact, or the inside would be a lot worse than dust and a musty smell.
The single, small room doesn’t have much going for it, but over the years I have done what I could to make it what I needed it to be.
The space is essentially one big nest, though not traditional in any sense, and would unquestionably give me a failing grade if tested.
It’s everything to me. Piles of fabrics, blankets, repurposed curtains, and pillows have been thrown haphazardly around the room.
Draped from the ceiling and pinned on rusted nails half stuck out high on the wall, fabric encases me.
A safety bubble that is more than necessary in the cold winter months.
Strategic gaps are left around the door and window to create a breeze in the summer. I really have thought of everything.
Except for a bathroom and electricity.
My limbs shake as the exhaustion from the day sets in and my vision blurs. Kicking the door closed with more force than probably needed to get it back into the door frame, I let myself collapse into the pile and bury myself under.
I wiggle until I find the deepest part of my nest, and finally, when I’m pinned under the weight, I can settle.
A quiet chittering pecks at my subconscious, but the cocoon of warmth is making it really hard to give a fuck.
Soft fur slides against my leg, and I really should check what that is, but my brain shuts off without so much as a thought, and my eyes follow, pulling me under.