9. Mila

Chapter 9

Mila

I t turns out that I'm a few years older than the other Omegas at the academy.

Some of them are still in their teens. There are hardly any twenty-somethings here, and I really am going to find it hard to fit in at this place.

Not only are they some years younger than me, but they are ridiculously feminine too, and wear the same pastel-colored dresses.

Plus, they all smile far too often. It's what they are told to do in order to appear more attractive to potential Alphas, and everyone is just so spic and span.

Even the teachers.

My first class was embroidery, and I've punctured my finger far too many times on the sewing needle.

Cooking was easy enough for me, and at least I excel in some aspects of being an Omega. They actually have cleaning classes too, where they teach the Omegas natural home remedies to remove stubborn stains from an Alpha's clothes.

Blood being one of those main stubborn stains.

What baffles me the most is that we are not forced to be taught self-defense. We're the most vulnerable designation, yet we're just supposed to sit back and expect an Alpha to take care of us?

No, instead, we are taught how to apply makeup and do our hair.

This place is something else.

I always appreciated the opportunity to do something feminine, especially as I trained in the military for most of my life, but this school just takes the cake.

No wonder Oliver was so miserable here. Once upon a time, he was training with his friends, learning how to be strong and dependable, and the next, he was shipped off to Pastelville.

Did they make him wear a pastel polo shirt too?

Most of the Omegas are female at the academy, but I have spotted several males too. Not many. At least four.

They sit at their own designated table, all wearing similar polo shirts.

I'm currently learning how to style my hair with a curling wand in Hair and Makeup, and it's harder than it looks. I end up frazzling my hair before my mirror, creating a stream of steaming smoke, and that's my hair burning.

The scent of burned kertain fills the air, and I gag.

I was never good at this girly stuff.

Several Omegas laugh at my shame, and I know the culprits.

The same gaggle of vicious Omegas who have been giving me a hard time ever since I arrived.

It's only day two of my training, and already, I have enemies.

I'm not surprised. I had enemies back at the Beta Academy, and now I have enemies here.

One male hangs around with them, and just like his female cohorts, he is beautiful beyond compare.

He has better skin than I do.

That's because I am useless at skin care regimes. I'm used to painting my face in mud and camouflage, not foundation and blusher.

I am never going to fit in at this place.

It's humiliating being here, being shown up by people four to five years my junior.

I'm practically an adult compared to these kids, and it's like I am going backward.

This is the price I paid, just so I could enlist as a Beta and join the army and take care of my father.

When it comes to hand-to-hand combat, I could run circles around these Omegas, but at this school, where perfection is paramount, they are kings and queens.

I have a lot to learn.

The teacher passes my station, shaking her head when she sees the mess I have gotten myself into, and if someone had told me that curling my hair would one day become a matter of life and death, then I may have taken them more seriously.

"Daisy… what have you done to your hair?"

She investigates my singed, wonky curl, and the snorts continue at the back of the class.

I blow a frustrated sigh through my cheeks, gazing up at her desperately. "I'm sorry… I just can't…"

She tsks, her salty disappointment almost palpable, it hurts, then peers at the back of the room.

"Bridget, would you come to the front and help Daisy with her hair? Show her how a proper Omega does it."

A proper Omega. Well, that certainly isn't me.

I glance behind my shoulder, and my stomach roils when I spy the girl who has risen from her chair at the teacher's request.

It's her. The apparent queen bee of my gang of bullies, and great. Just what I need.

For her to rub my shame in my face.

Bridget is blonde, like me, with periwinkle blue eyes and a perfect white smile. She seems to be the teacher's pet, the exemplary student that the others must live up to.

Her scent of vanilla cupcakes makes me sick, and she truly is poison.

I will never be like Bridget. Even if I live to be a hundred.

But I bet this school won't stop until I am her carbon copy.

The teacher wanders off to appreciate another student's wonderful styling skills, and now it's just me and Bridget.

With a malicious smile, she grabs my curling wand and loops it around my frazzled hair, and just like that I have the perfect curl.

"Just so you know… you will never fit in here…" she drawls, her voice like poisoned honey.

I roll my eyes, and she yanks on my hair, wrapping the strand around the wand a little too tightly.

My eyes burn with tears, but I hold my stance, refusing to show her any emotion. It's what she wants, and I'm trained enough to withstand her horse crap.

If I can put up with being screamed in the face by my sergeant, then I can deal with her saccharine bullshit.

"Is that so?" I reply.

Bridget looks at me next as if I just said the most absurd thing imaginable, and then she rolls her own eyes. "Obviously… you're never going to find a pack, honey. What are you? Thirty?"

She snorts, and I grind my teeth.

I eye her viciously. "I am twenty-three."

Bridget smirks. "Well, what does it matter? You're a mess, and you don't belong here. No pack will ever want you, so you may as well just give up now."

It's not like giving up is a choice, anyway. They're going to force me into a pack, regardless.

"Do you even know what happens to Omegas who don't find a pack, Daisy ?"

I don't. No one ever told me.

"Dare I ask?"

I hiss when she yanks on my hair with the wand, and what a bitch.

Why the hell has she got it in for me?

"Well, just know that it's bad. So, if you don't hurry and catch up with the rest of us… you're going to be left behind…"

My heart thuds, and I swallow a lump in my throat.

Either way, I'm screwed.

If I end up with a pack, then my life is over. But if I end up alone…

Bridget's threat looms over me like an omen of death.

What do they do with the Omegas who don't find a pack? Where do they go?

It's not worth thinking about.

Well, there's always one pack you could go to…

No. Never again.

I won't even go there.

So my inner voice can shut up.

They made their choice. They don't want me, and I have to move on.

Finally, she finishes my hair, blowing me a kiss as she heads back to her own styling station.

"See ya! And don't say I didn't warn you, dear."

She disappears, and now I am left alone, gazing at my beautiful curls in the mirror before me.

I hate to hand it to her, but Bridget is good. I almost look like a real Omega now.

But I will never be like her or the rest of these perfect dolls.

Forever an outcast. No matter where I go in life.

Yet there was always one place where I belonged, and that was with the Hart Pack.

But we can never be together, and I have to make peace with that fact.

I just hope Jeremy found Barret and warned him about Governor Lily.

That's the best I can hope for in life.

To keep Oliver safe.

At least then I can die happy.