It came out smoothly. Polished. Like a résumé written in bruises.
“That’s not who you are,” he said quietly. “That’s who you were told to be.” The words landed like a soft blow.
I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to. No Alpha ever wanted to know the true version of who we are. Omegas were only ever objects to be used and taken apart. Over and over again.
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “I didn’t ask for your file. I asked foryou.”
My throat tightened.
I could recite rules. I could list punishments. I could catalog every correction I’d ever earned. But I didn’t know how to speak myself into existence.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. The words didn’t come in order. They came in pieces.
“I like quiet,” I said finally. “It’s easier to think when no one’s watching.”
Alpha Harris didn’t interrupt.
“I used to read,” I added. “Before… before things changed.” That was true. But it wasn’t the whole truth. I still read when the quiet got to be too much or when I had any sort of downtime. Which, sadly, wasn’t as often as it once was.
I didn’t say what I read. Or why I stopped. Or how the pages started to feel like lies when the rules became louder than the stories.
“I don’t like loud voices,” I went on. “Or closed doors.” Another truth. Another fragment.
Alpha Harris nodded slowly, like he was listening to the shape of what I didn’t say.
“What’s your normal day look like?” He sat back, body slack.
Did he really want to know?
The words came slightly easier, but they still felt strange on my lips as I spoke them aloud to the quiet room. “All Omegas are to be up by six thirty sharp, breakfast at seven. Then we have studies and chores for some of us. Lunch is at noon for our age group, then more studies, chores and clients. Once a month, I have an appointment for my hair and other needs.”
“What do you study?”
How to be the perfect Omega to an Alpha,I thought. Instead of saying that, though, I spoke different words. My voice low, “I don’t, Sir. Studies are no longer needed at my age. I am to be of service in whatever capacity that I can be for those around me. Let it be to help with the younger children, clean, or meal prep. Or service a client.”
“I’m an Omega. I exist to serve. Whether it’s you or any other Alpha.” The words tasted like ash. I’d said them before. Memorized and lived them. But this time, they scraped something raw inside me.
My heart recoiled, aching against the shape it had been forced to hold. Wanting didn’t change anything. It only made obedience hurt more.
“You said you liked to read.”Liked,past tense. I only nodded, a simple dip of my head before he went on. “What did you read?”
Halfway thankful for the change of topic, I answered quietly. This time, I was less unsure about my word choice, not having to think so hard on how to reply.
“Fiction, mostly. I don’t get many options at Lockswell.” And for good reasons. The guards and teachers didn’t need Omegas thinking that they could escape and have fairy tales like lives in the wild. “But otherwise, it was the rules and history of how Omegas came to be. The few books that were more adventurous are there, and I read them multiple times over the years.” Until about a year ago when a guard got his feelings hurt and thought he needed to check every Omega’s room for counterfeit items. Not that I had anything of that sort, but that didn’t stop him. Or himfindingsomething that wasn’t mine.
Truthfully, I read whatever I could get my hands on. The tiny library was mostly filled with children’s books, but there were a few older books hidden in there. Ones that were given to Omegas by Alphas over the years and left behind.
None of the books contained things that would jeopardize the view of the world for an Omega. Just simple books about times before Omegas were kept in boardings houses, or about nature and landmarks around the world.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t tell me I was wrong. Instead, Alpha Harris reached into the side table drawerand pulled out a small object that was worn, folded, familiar.
A book.
Not one of the regulation texts. Not protocol. Not obedience training. It was fiction. The cover, although dull, had bold words engraved into the leather top.
He set it on the cushion between us, the spine cracked, the pages soft from use.
“I used to read this when I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “It’s not about Omegas. Or Alphas. Or rules.”
