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Stay silent and small.

I gaze at her dispassionately as she huffs out in frustration. My mother wants to fight, but I won’t let her pull me into an argument.

“Fine,” she grumbles. “Go away then. I made some updates to your room. I hope you like it.”

Ice fills my veins at her words and my heart pounds. I feel sick. I have so little that belongs to me. What the fuck could she have done?

Turning, I give my mother my back as I jog upstairs, away from her. My skin crawls until I step inside of the room.

What’s different?

There’s still no doors or curtains, and I can see there’s a different color duvet on the bed. Is that all she’s done?

It’s a bright yellow and hurts my eyes, but I suppose it isn’t completely terrible outside of the fact that it’s the only place to sit in my room. Ignoring it, I glance at my phone.

I had noticed some messages from Cassidy earlier, but I didn’t have time to answer it. Glancing through them, my lips twitch with mirth at the last one.

Cassidy:

Was the dick good, little brat? My pack is withholding from me, so I think I’m going to tease them into fucking me.

Me:

Be careful what you wish for. I’m told brats get punished.

Cassidy:

That’s part of the fun! How is it to be home right now? It won’t be for long, I promise. No matter what you hear, please stay upstairs in your room, okay? We’ll send Carter to you.

Anxiety claws at me from her words, but I remind myself that I’m fine. No one is hurting me, I’m mostly safe, and my heart needs to stop telling me that I need to run.

Ugh, why can't I be normal? It would be nice not to feel as if my heart was trying to escape my chest during conversations.

Me:

Okay.

Needing a distraction from the anticipation of what’s to come, I walk into my closet to find something to wear. I want a pair of cloth shorts and a t-shirt, but gawp at the sight of all formal clothing.

I don’t even have pajamas!

My fingers move over the different shelves, but anything that can be considered loungewear or comfortable is gone. Even my leggings and tunics have disappeared. My mother’s version ofchanging things in my room is the equivalent of an omega’s nightmare.

My makeup is moved to a completely different section of my closet, my jewelry as well. Fuck my life. Just because I hate this room and closet doesn’t mean I want everything moved.

Scowling, I begin to touch all of the different fabrics in my closet in an attempt to find something that won’t be tight or scratchy against my skin. Finally, I pull off my clothes and get dressed in a maxi dress that’s as soft as butter. If I had a door in my bedroom, I’d wear my underwear and nothing else.

I really do hate it here.

Dumping my clothes into the hamper, I walk to my bed and sit on it, only to jump up with a cry. The material is obscene! It’s a micro fiber of some kind, and makes my skin feel as if I need to scratch it off.

Sometimes, the people who are able to torture you the most are the ones who know what you hate because they hate the same things. As an omega, my mother has inside knowledge about the things that drive me up the wall.

This place is officially a prison. There’s not a soft blanket in sight.

Thankfully, my e-reader is still on my nightstand. Picking it up, I find all of my books still there and I take it to the balcony to read outside. Curling up against the railing with the window open, I lean my head back to read.

No one bothers me out here, there’s a light breeze, and I read until the sun completely sets. My eyes feel heavy, and I yawn as I gaze out at the dark lawn. Something drops over the edge of the gate at one point, forcing me to blink hard as I wonder if I’m seeing something.