Chapter 2 #2
At this point, maybe finding a pack to take care of me is the best option. I’m tempted to ask them to take pity on me and save me from the shit show I’ve put myself in.
I’ve spent years not wanting to live the lifestyle my mother has, the kind I grew up in. Yet, I took the money that was given to me, thinking I could buy myself time to become completely independent.
I was foolish to think it was that simple. A naive girl who didn’t have a grasp on the real world. Why the hell did Cecilia keep me around for so long?
Don’t be so hard on yourself, Addie. You’re still young, and it’s okay to make mistakes. You’re still growing. You have useful qualities! You’re kind and caring, you give everything you do in life your best, even if it doesn't always work out.
“It’s useless! I’m hopeless. Maybe I should just do what my mother wants and find a pack to take care of me.”
The chat goes quiet. Too quiet. I check the screen, and they’re still here.
“What do you mean?” Waffle asks. “Why would you need to find a pack? If you wanted one, wouldn’t you have found one by now?” Why does he sound panicked?
“Yeah. You don’t need some Alphas to come save you. You’re PastelPrincess. A badass Omega. You got this. We’ll find you something. No need to jump into something so rash.”
I can’t hold back my smile. Is it just me and my delusion over these guys, or do they sound like they dislike the idea of me being in a relationship? Does that mean they feel something for me? Something more than just friends?
“What do you think, Death?” Grim asks. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”
Right. I almost forgot about him. I hate that he doesn’t have his mic. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard his voice, and I miss it.
FatalDe@thWish: You’re good at gaming. Do something with that.
“Oh shit!” Waffle laughs. “Why the hell didn’t we think of that?”
“What do you mean? How would I earn money by gaming?” I ask.
FatalDe@thWish: Streaming. Open up an account on Streampunk.
Huh. I’ve never thought about that for myself, but I’ve heard about a lot of gamers who make good money streaming while they play.
I look at my setup and see that I already have everything I need to be able to do it. The webcam is a little on the older side, but if it still has good quality, it could work until I make enough to get a better one.
“I don’t know. Doesn’t that kind of thing take time to build up followers?”
“You’re a girl,” Grim points out like it’s obvious.
“Really?” I gasp. “Is that why I have tits and a vagina? I thought they were just for show.”
Waffle snorts. “Haha, little Omega. Very funny.”
I suck in a soft gasp, thighs clenching together again. Holy fuck. Why did he have to say that? And why do I like it so much?
Relax, Addie, before you cream your damn pants. Is my heat starting soon? It shouldn’t be for at least another month.
“I mean it. You’re a girl. Once they see you online, the followers will come flowing in,” Grim says, then pauses for a moment. “You know what? Nevermind. Men are pigs. Let’s find another idea.”
That has me laughing. “How do you know I’m even attractive? You’ve never seen me on cam or a photo of me.”
“We can tell by your voice. Soft and sweet,” Waffle whispers. “It's impossible that a voice like that doesn’t belong to a beautiful woman.”
Yeah, at this rate, I’m going to live in delulu-land and be in love with these men for the rest of my life. I’m going to die old and alone.
“But if I stream, I’ll be on cam, and you’d see my face. I thought we agreed to keep this part of ourselves private? No revealing identities, remember?” Grabbing FooFoo, I place her in my lap and nervously pick at her ears.
“That was a deal a couple of young teenagers made. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding who we are,” Grim says.
My stomach is in knots, hope swelling to the surface.
“Or!” Waffle rushes in to add. “We can agree not to watch your lives. That way, we don’t know what you look like.”
And that little bit of hope comes crashing down.
FatalDe@thWish: I agree with Waffle. We won’t watch. You do your thing. Earn your money.
Him too? Why don’t they want to know what I look like? What my real name is? Who I am?
Are we always meant to stay as a mystery group of friends? Does this friendship mean more to me than it does to them?
Did we drift too far apart over the last few years due to my lack of playing, and I just didn’t realize it? Why did I think I could come back on after all this time, and things would just go back to normal?
Because you have a hard time letting go and moving on, Addie. Maybe it’s time to let this little fantasy go.
“You know what? That sounds like a good idea. I think I’m going to give that a try. Can’t hurt, right? And if it doesn’t work out, I’ll deal with it then. At least this is a solution for now.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. We can help get the word out and get you some followers,” Waffle offers.
“How? Tell your friends or something?”
“Something like that,” Grim mutters.
“We should get going,” Waffle sighs heavily. “Got an early morning.”
“Okay,” I whisper, soft and sad. “Goodnight.”
I log out quickly, hating myself for the tears that form in my eyes.
They’re a fantasy you’ve built up in your head, Addie. Time to move on and get in tune with the real world, or you’re going to be alone forever.
The next week flies by. The day after the guys suggested I start streaming, I made an account with Streampunk.
After watching a few videos online, I determined the best way to start was to just play a game that I love and enjoy, not one that's popular. I’d hate to grow my account and base it on a game I’m not passionate about, and then be stuck having to play it.
So, I pick Twisted Valley: Solo Invasion.
It’s pretty much the same thing as Twisted Valley, but instead of forming a team, you’re on your own.
The whole point is to build yourself from the bottom to the top, and become one of the world leaders in this post-apocalyptic racing game.
I spent hours trying to decide what my online image would be, debating what would draw people in.
Once again, I was overthinking. I don’t want to be anyone else but me, so why not embrace that mindset in this area of my life, too?
I fought so hard to be myself, wear what I want, act how I want, to be free without judgment. Why would I hide that now?
So, I’ve been wearing my cute pink outfits with my pink cat ear headset.
That choice turns out to be a bigger hit than I thought it would be. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. My style isn’t all that different from a lot of female gamers.
Apparently, I’m the definition of the gamer girl stereotype, but I don’t care. I like what I like, and fuck everyone else.
I’ve been kicking ass on Streampunk for the last week, that’s what really matters.
My follower count is already up to one hundred.
How that happened, I have no idea, but the money is rolling in.
I’ve been wanting to thank the guys for pushing me in this direction, but with the number of hours I’ve been streaming, any free time I have to log into our game is not when the guys are on.
People have jobs, they get busy, and I’m starting to understand that for myself.
I’m sad, though, because I just got them back into my life, but I’m trying to take this job seriously.
Unfortunately, today is the day my mother gets back. She just texted me that she was on her way home from the airport and that I’m to meet her downstairs so we could talk.
Would it be childish of me to hide in my room and act like I’m not home? Maybe if I get ready quickly enough, I can be out of the house before she gets here.
“Stop being a pussy,” I mutter to myself in the mirror, toothbrush dangling from my mouth as I stare myself down. “You can do this. She’s just your mother. You're very scary, Omega mother.”
I spit the toothpaste out and sigh. “Fuck me.”
It’s still early, close to nine, and I didn’t get much sleep last night.
I was up streaming until two in the morning.
There was an influx of people who joined my stream, and I felt like if I left too soon, I’d lose my audience.
So I stayed until my eyes burned to call it a night, letting people know I’d be back tomorrow.
Normally, I’d have a full face of makeup on, my hair done, and a cute outfit picked for the day, even if it was just to sit at home and do nothing.
This morning, I don’t have the energy for that.
So, I stay in my sleep shorts and top, and throw on a baggy pink crew neck that has a wide neck hole. My pink hair is brushed out and then tossed up into a cute, messy bun.
Without a face of makeup, the freckles on my cheeks really pop. I love my freckles. One of the things I hate about wearing makeup is that it covers them up, so I add fake ones.
I grab my phone off the bedside table as I leave the bathroom and slip on a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. I’m just about to leave my room when I turn back and snatch FooFoo off my bed. I’m going to need her for emotional support.
I’ve been out of my room a few times, but not nearly enough.
Not wanting to bother the cook on their day off, I set to work making myself something to eat.
I connect my phone to the kitchen’s Bluetooth speakers and choose my favorite playlist.
Smoochie Girl by Ashnikko is playing all around me, and I start singing along, grabbing everything I need to make eggs and bacon from the fridge.
I cook the bacon first, nibbling on it while I fry up the rest of my food. I’m in the middle of flipping my egg when a shadow looms over me, and a hand reaches to snatch a piece of bacon from the plate.
Startled, I let out a high-pitched squeal, dropping the egg onto the floor.
Shocked eyes stare up at the perpetrator who caused me to murder my egg.
“What the fuck?” My breathing is short and shallow, and my heart is pounding in my chest.
Damien doesn’t move, rooted where he is. He’s so close I can feel the body heat coming off him in waves.