1. One - Rebel

one - rebel

. . .

I hadn't known that night what would become of my future or what even the next span of time would hold. If I had, maybe I would've fought harder to stay with Shirley and Dan.

I'd been in the foster care system since the day after that fateful night. Everyone these days wanted to adopt a baby, and sadly enough, a baby I would never be again. I'd been through multiple homes, passed around from foster home to foster home, before I ended up with my current foster parent, Eberly Gretchen.

She was in her late thirties, and she loved to hear herself talk. I'd swear it on my dying breath. I'd lived in her house the longest and realized that it wasn't only the wealthy who treated their children like shit. There were four of us adopted kids who lived in the house with her; Savvy, Mervin, Drake, and me. Savvy had been good at manipulating people. Mervin excelled at hacking into companies' websites, and Drake… well, Drake was a hockey star, a goalie.

I excelled in reading, it was basically the only talent I could speak of. I was about as athletic as a grizzly bear in a tutu in a very small room full of glass. My life as a useful criminal would never pan out because I refused to do anything illegal.

Eberly never trusted me to stay at home by myself, so I ended up spending a lot of time at the hockey rink watching Drake practice or play games.

Drake and I were inseparable. He was the only kid in the house who was nice to me. We'd spent a lot of time together. One summer love turned into my first kiss and some light petting. Oh, the curiosity of teenagers.

When I'd perfumed on my 17th birthday, we were no longer allowed to be alone together. Miss Gretchen said she wouldn't be party to kids getting up to all manner of salacious things, and she had no intentions of letting kids bond with each other under her roof. If only she knew what happened under this roof of hers.

I hated the distance between us. If there was ever a ride or die friend for me, it was Drake. But all of a sudden, he was gone like a ghost from my life. Halfway through my seventeenth year, he'd been drafted by the Tallahassee Tornadoes.

His skills were unbeatable, but the coaches thought he had to learn a little more before he played in the pros, so they'd sent him down to the farm team, The Fury, to craft his skill. Unfortunately, what that meant for me was that he'd be moving away from us, and I'd be left here with the other two dimwits until I was old enough to move out. Only a few months left until I was officially eighteen.

I hated her house as much as the rest, more sometimes. A few months after Drake moved out, he moved in. A facade of caring and doting. A new boyfriend to my foster parent. Even his name left a bad taste in my mouth.

I'd become afraid of the nighttime. I barely slept, and when I did, it was restless at best, my eyes always focused intently on the door, listening for the tell-tale signs of the footsteps of my foster mother's boyfriend.

He was doting all right. Doting right into my bed, where he wrestled me into a position where he could pin me down and take what he wanted, night after night. For a while, I cried every time he laid his hands on me. I'd beg and pray on every single kernel of hope I could find that one day he would stop.

Some nights, I'd squeezed my eyes shut so hard, hoping that if I couldn't see him, everything would go away, but it never took away the feeling of those cold, wandering hands all over the private parts of my body. Parts I knew he had no permission to touch.

I should've pushed him away or tried to run, but my limbs froze. Almost in shock that it was happening again and again.

Maybe I wouldn't have been able to run. I was a newer omega, a prize to be taken, with or without approval. He was an alpha with a deep bark. One my omega could never turn away from no matter how wrong it was. She cowed to him because an alpha was giving us the attention she so desperately craved after the years of neglect.

All my life, I'd been starved for attention, and now, I wished that was still the case. I didn't want the attention. I wanted to go back to being invisible. The invisibility kept me safe. If no one noticed me, then they couldn't hurt me more than I would let them with their deplorable words.

Words.

They're a funny thing. It's amazing how one or two words can really cut a person's self-worth down, even if you try not to let it. Those words creep into the crevices of your mind and devour every good thing you've ever thought about yourself.

Every day, I prayed.

Every night, I realized, yet again, that my prayers wouldn't get answered.

Not by orphans like me.

Not by sinners like me.

Not by children that should never have been born… like me.

I hoped on every fucking shooting star I saw that, one day, Miss Gretchen would walk in and see what her loving boyfriend was doing to her foster kid. Was I the only one? Or was he taking his time breaking Savvy like he'd done me? Or was I his favorite piece? The toy? The special flavor of the month?

I wondered how many other kids in the foster system dealt with this shit. Was it a continual cycle? Did no one else feel the need to say anything?

There wasn't one person willing to speak up? Did everyone turn a blind eye?

How did people like Eberly Gretchen even get accepted as legitimate caretakers? If anything, they were clearly far worse predators than strangers on the street. These ones lived under the same roof as you and creeped around in the night like lowlifes, preying on those weaker than themselves.

Alpha men, like my foster mother's boyfriend, who preyed on pretty, little beta girls and those who present as omegas.

I remember the first few times he'd come into my room. He was nice to me. He groomed me by bringing me gifts and treated me like I meant something. The first time he touched me, and I said no, he smacked me. Told me to be the lowlife foster kid everyone expected. He'd laughed. No one wanted me, he'd said. No one would care. He'd told me he was just taking what was on offer because I'd never find anyone better. I owed it to him because Miss Gretchen was allowing me to live in her house scott free.

He preyed on my conscience, knowing full well my fear of being alone. I started to believe what he said; that maybe I would never be good enough.

I became his prize. Something for him to claim . He could have my body. He could knot me and make sure it hurt every single time. Sure, but he'd never have my heart or my mind. I'd locked that shit up and thrown away the key.

I never wanted to know what a knot felt like less. The pain consumes my mind as I remember the first time he shoved it into my young, already overstretched, omega pussy. To pretend I wouldn't be gun shy over taking a knot in the future was an understatement.

The few times, he'd had buddies over, and they'd leer and smirk at me as they demanded more beer like they knew what he was doing to me. I'd see them pat him on the back in reverence of the fact that he was able to "give it to me." I'd heard the remarks of how much I liked it, being an alphas little omega whore.

I became even more of a shell of myself.

My happiness had been torn away at a young age, followed by the death of my parents, the treatment of one Eberly Gretchen, and finally, the horrors of the foster houses and children I'd lived with since their death was almost unbearable.

I finally started planning my escape. I was broken. Staying in this hell hole had me spiraling toward certain death, whether it be because I fought back one day or because I took a razor blade to my wrists. It wasn't the brightest idea, but when you're a teenager, most of your ideas aren't that great.

A few months later, I met Brad. Anyone would've fallen for him, really. He'd given me everything I thought I wanted; safety, comfort, security, and even love. Or what his twisted version of love would be.

I told myself I'd never again be a prize for anyone else.

But, sometimes, we tell ourselves the prettiest lies…