But I would get my Kasey.
One way or another.
Chapter 4
Kasey
Time slipped the way it always did—soft around the edges, unreliable. One moment I was somewhere, the next I was coming back to myself hours later with no memory of what happened in between.
It happened again.
The last clear thing I remembered was leaving the gym; still shaken by the way an Alpha I’d never met had spoken my name like he knew it. Then everything blurred.
And now… I was standing in a hallway, staring at a closed white door, no idea how I’d gotten there.
A shove from behind got my feet to move forward as the door opened, as though whoever was on the other side expected my presence.
“This one again so soon?”
Again?
I didn’t bother to reply; didn’t bother to look up to see which handler was now in charge of my body.
“Lockswell requests that this one iscleanedinside and out. Special occasion tomorrow. Special treatment.”
My eyes went wide, thankful that these two men couldn’t see my expression right at that moment.
The termspecialaround here was anything but that. It meant pain. It meant that I got the attention I didn’t ever ask for.
“Sure thing,” the handler huffed, a little too pleased to be the one in charge of my being.
Why couldn’t the blank moments come now, when everything hurt too much? Why did my mind only drift when life was tolerable, never when I needed an escape the most?
The past year had been nothing but a steady slide downward, each day heavier than the one before.
I’d stopped keeping track of how many times I’d been brought to this room, how many times I’d been pushed past the point of feeling. Numbers didn’t matter anymore. Time didn’t matter. I didn’t matter.
I didn’t want this life. Not the pain, not the fear, not the constant ache of existing in a place that stripped everything away. And standing here now, I couldn’t shake the thought that maybe I wouldn’t make it through much longer.
Maybe that was the only mercy left.
“Strip.” The order was given with a snap of fingers. The sound was loud in the room, and I couldn’t stop the jerk of surprise.
With my heart in my throat, I did it as an order. Each layer, shirt, pants, underwear and socks, each taken off my body and folded into a neat pile, placed on a metal table nearby. This wasn’t unnormal.
Monthly, Omegas were to be weighed, measured, and assessed. It was always marked down in the system, along with any notes that were needed.
I remember the first time I was documented. I was eight, afraid of my own shadow and confused about what was going on.
Going from a happy moment with family to a moment of cold and sterile room wasn’t a thing any child should have to go through.
Yet, I had been.
I’d been made to undress before, stripped without ceremony; my clothes taken from me like they were never mine to begin with. The handlers back then, just like now, didn’t care if I cried or begged. As long as I followed orders, my emotions were irrelevant.
So, I learned.
I learned to swallow my tears. I learned to stay silent. Most of all, I learned to obey.
