25. Amaya

25

AMAYA

E verything has happened so fast. Too fast. It was just a month ago that I moved in with Paul. Two weeks later, he had me sign the deed to a house. One week after I became the new owner of said house, I moved in. And now, two days after moving in, I'm beyond lonely.

It's a different kind of lonely.

At the academy, I felt like I had lost everyone and everything. Which I had. I was surrounded by students my age also living the same horrors as me. But it didn't unify us.

The alphas and betas kept away from us, as was the requirement. I preferred it actually, because no attention from the other designations was better than their ire and testing out the abusive behaviors they were being taught.

Hell, I watched one alpha on the football team almost drown a female omega in a puddle of mud, then rip her back open with his metal cleats, all because he felt he was above her and could do whatever he wanted.

The cleats were illegal, and she was badly injured, but from what I heard, he got off the hook pretty easily. Just a slap on the wrist because he damaged the academy's property.

Property .

My fists clench, wrinkling the cream-colored sheet curled around me on the couch. A whimper slips free, and I wince. "Sorry," I whisper, and release the fabric.

Great, now I'm talking to my omega .

At the academy, the main goal was to force us to separate from our omega side. Literally tear our brains and souls in half so we could learn to control our instincts. An omega ruled by their instinctual feelings and behaviors is a wild card, and in the name of science, that's unacceptable.

So we were manipulated and forced to shutter that side of ourselves, leaving us vulnerable to their abuse. I don't think I'll ever get over their endgame. Those fucking people were molding us into becoming completely submissive to their whims.

I shudder, thinking about the possibility of my heat being controlled by another person. It's biological and natural, but they wanted to learn how to control basic fucking nature to turn us into breeding machines.

Sex slaves.

Another whimper slips free, making me jolt and burrow deeper into the thin material I've allowed myself.

Rehab may have helped mend my connection to my omega side, but since leaving the facility she's been slipping from me again. It doesn’t help when my mind feels like I'm wading through mud just to find a single purpose.

Since seeing Samuel, I think I'm losing a grip on reality. Every natural instinct I should have feels like it's someone else's. I should be getting better, but I don't think I am.

Maybe I am. I don't know. I hurt less like this, so that's a good thing.

I don't care that I never had the conversation with Paul about his motivations for moving me out. He hasn't come to visit, but that's okay, because I'm not much of anything right now.

Part of me knows how I'm feeling is wrong. But since Vincent left on Wednesday, he's only stopped by to bring me food. I guess it's my fault; I haven't invited him in which might have to do with my sad excuse for living.

I've barely moved in my new house. The couch has become my bed, this one sheet my comforter, and the coffee table that serves as my kitchen thanks to Vincent's offerings. A lot of it has gone untouched.

I just don't know. Can that be a feeling?

I know I should be nesting and making this place my home, but if there's anything I'm getting from my omega side, it's that she's uncomfortable here. This big, beautiful house is meant for a family, and it's glaringly obvious that I will never have one.

Maybe I should reach out to my dad. Actually no, he doesn't want to see me like this. I'm sure Kate will show up sometime soon since I've only been giving her short replies.

‘ Mate ,’ my omega pleads in my mind.

Disappointment flares in our feeble connection. She's not happy with the distance I've forced between us and Vincent. It's for sure not about the other three scent matches. Sam's betrayal hit too deep. Bruised too permanently for her to pine after them.

God, this is wrong. She's never been so separate from me. It's like having a split personality. That thought sends a spike of fear through me. Everything I've seen on split personalities is terrifying. Please don't let that be me!

Ding dong!

The doorbell has my omega fluttering in my breastbone and pushing forward in my mind. It's Vincent. I know because nobody else would be stopping by at nine in the morning on a Sunday.

My bones creak as I unfold from the couch and my hands refuse to let the sheet go, so I drag it with me to the front door. I stifle a gasp when I see my greasy hair and bloodshot eyes in the mirror hanging in the entryway. My cheekbones look way too sharp beneath the shadows of my bruised eyelids too.

I swear I didn't look this bad yesterday. It looks like I'm dying or dressed up for Halloween, which is still a few months away.

Disgusting .

Maybe I've finally gotten low enough for Vincent to realize I'm too much of a hassle.

Releasing a heavy sigh, I unlock the door and open it to reveal the mouthwatering sight that is my mate. Too bad he'll probably run screaming in the face of my grossness, because his tight black T-shirt, backwards cap, and ripped jeans are glorious.

Forget the coffee and muffin in his hands; I'll just eat him for breakfast.

"Oh my god. Amaya," he breathes, eyes widening right before the paper bag hits the ground.

That's okay, I wasn't hungry, anyway. Plus it looks like the thing I actually want to lick is about to run screaming.

That's okay, too. I'm used to being starved.