And Jasper, the other Alpha in their pack, just watches it all happen with those dead, disinterested eyes, like I'm a mildly entertaining reality show he'll eventually get bored with.
The belittling.
The ridicule.
The way they make me feel like a fundamentally broken individual in their presence, like there's something inherently wrong with me that no amount of trying can fix.
Until I finally shatter completely and leave.
Because nothing—nothing—can be more humiliating than staying with a pack that only uses me for their own gain and social dominance. A rejected Omega is tragic, sure, but at least a rejected Omega has her self-respect intact.Mostly.On good days…
I grab my phone from the nightstand, squinting at the too-bright screen.
4:30 AM.
Doesn’t my anxiety have impeccable timing?
Outside my balcony doors, I can already hear the birds starting their pre-dawn chorus—that peculiar 3 AM bird convention that technically happens closer to 4:30 but whatever, birds don't care about accuracy. Their cheerful chirping feels almost mocking in contrast to the heaviness sitting on my chest.
But you know what? This is fine.
This is good, actually.
November mornings in Oakridge Hollow are perfect for my pre-sunrise routine.
The darkness lingers longer now, wrapping the town in velvet shadows and the kind of quiet that feels almost sacred. I can do my whole Pilates session in peaceful darkness before the first creep of sunrise starts painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that always make me feel inexplicably melancholic.
See? Silver linings. I'm practically a professional optimist.
I swing my legs out of bed, my toes immediately recoiling from the cold hardwood floor. My apartment is basically a glorified attic—all slanted ceilings and quirky angles and a bathroom so small you have to decide between showering and breathing—but it'smine.
Every fairy light, every mismatched throw pillow, every candle in a ridiculous holiday scent —current favorite, "Candy Cane Forest," which smells exactly like what would happen if a peppermint married a pine tree and they had a very enthusiastic wedding.
I pad toward my tiny kitchen alcove, the November chill raising goosebumps on my arms despite my fuzzy pajamas.
The apartment smells like vanilla and cinnamon from yesterday's candle-burning marathon, with an undertone of the caramel body lotion I slather on before bed. Comforting. Safe.Mine.
First things first:coffee.
The world’s finest blessings.
I pull out my favorite mug—the one that says "Powered by Chaos and Caffeine" in swirly gold letters—and start the coffee maker. The rich, dark aroma of French roast immediately begins filling the small space, mixing with the vanilla-cinnamon-caramel situation I have going on.
If my apartment has a scent profile, it would be:Cozy Disaster Who Tries Really Hard.
While the coffee brews, I change into my workout clothes—high-waisted leggings covered in tiny crescent moons and slices of pie —because why choose between celestial and dessert themes?— and a soft purple crop top that makes me feel cute even when I'm sweating through Pilates poses that definitely violate several laws of physics.
I catch my reflection in the mirror hanging by my closet and pause.
Honey-gold hair with those pumpkin-spice orange tips I impulsively add last month, currently looking like a bird's nest that survived a tornado. Big, still-slightly-panicked eyes that give away everything I'm feeling, even when I don't want them to. Soft curves that Kael's pack alternately fetishizes and criticizes, depending on their mood.
Not going down that road this morning.
I grab my coffee—blessed, life-giving coffee—and take a long sip.
The warmth spreads through my chest, chasing away some of the lingering anxiety. I learned the hard way that mornings after nightmares require extra gentleness. Pushing too hard, moving too fast, only makes the anxiety worse. So today will be slow.Intentional.A moment of stillness and calm to ease myself back into the happy persona I build.
The Reverie everyone online gets to witness.
