Omega Found by E.L. Rose
I would like to dedicate this book to the little girl I was who never thought we would get here, that we would never be able to something as extraordinary as writing our own book.
I would like to dedicate this to all the foster kids who have a dream. Don’t ever stop reaching for your goals, you can do it, just like I did.
Honey
Scratch, scratch, drip, drip.
I try to block out the noises of mice and the leaking ceiling, as I move around on the blanket trying to make myself comfortable. I can still feel some of the blood from my nose dripping down my face, at least I can open both of my eyes now. The shackle on my ankle prevents me from getting comfortable, and it’s so loud when I adjust myself, that I have to be careful how much I move.
Scratch, scratch, drip, drip.
The noises won’t stop. I slide onto my side to avoid moving the shackle and try to cover more of my legs with the blanket, even though that leaves me with the cold concrete floor. Sam, I miss you so much. I wish you were here. Every night I dream of my older brother, of my mother, and of happier times when we would run as a pack. I wince; I have not been one with my wolf in a long time. It feels so long ago that I was happy. In fact, the last time I was happy was a decade ago.
I still have faded memories of my mother and my brother. I remember her twinkling laugh and the way she would lean down and hug me with everything she had. She would call me her little wolf and tell me she was so proud of me. Her hair was always in a short bob hanging right above her shoulders. She would say that, that way she didn’t have to take time to mess with it. Sam, Sam was my best friend, from his beautiful green eyes to his honey brown hair like mom’s. He was the best older brother anyone could ever have.
Being wolves, my father would let us run with the pack once a month. We would gather in the woods and my father would kick off the run, all of us shifting at once. We did this until the accident and my father moved us. When I try to think much harder about them, my head begins to hurt.
Scratch, scratch, drip, drip…
Damn it! I smack my hand on the concrete as I debate if I want to risk waking up my father upstairs just so the noise will stop. No, Honey, don’t do that. If he comes down here, we don’t know what type of mood he will be in. My father used to be a nice man, always laughing and smiling. He would read Sam and I stories and then kiss us goodnight. Whenever he would find me curled in bed with Sam because I had a nightmare, he would let me stay there until morning.
The crash changed my father. He blamed me. My mother and Sam were picking me up from a dance class that I had begged for. A bunch of other wolves from the pack were taking the class, and I wanted it so bad, I begged mom until she finally relented and signed me up against my father’s wishes.
On the way home something hit our car, and we spun out and hit a tree. The tree collapsed on top of the car and part of the driver’s side impaling mom, while Sam had gone through the window. Mom always told him he should have his seatbelt on, and he never listened to her. When we had the funerals, moms was a closed casket, but we never found Sam. When he went through the window, the officers said he may have rolled down the hill into the river. They searched for him for months before finally calling it a lost cause.
Scratch, scratch, drip, drip.
The next thing I remember is a cop pulling me from the car and my dad rushing over to me. He wanted to make sure I was okay. For a year we were fine until he started drinking. Dad would start yelling and blaming me for my family’s death, saying that it was my fault that they were on the road. Then his fists became the way he would talk to me.
By the time I turned eleven, I was good at avoiding him; I would leave food on the table for him and go hide in my room. Until one night he came to see me in my room. He stood there hovering while I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to even out my breathing. He was always looming over me like a dark shadow.
“It's been so long; you look just like your mama.” I felt the covers shift as they were pulled back, baring my legs, and then I was horrified as he traced his hand along my leg. He stopped when he reached my hips, his finger dipped beneath the top of my underwear, and just sat there.
Scratch, scratch, drip, drip, scratch.
Honey, stop thinking about this, it's never good.I snort out loud. I relive the past every night, and every day I add more memories to what I call my spank bank of horrors. The second time he molested me, he had waited until it was late, and I was walking back to my room. I thought he had gone to bed, but like the monster he was, he was waiting by the stairs in the dark. He grabbed the back of my head, pulling my hair until I cried out. “Get on your knees, Honey,” he pushed me down to kneel in front of him. “Now, show daddy what your mouth can do.” He unbuttoned his pants and unzipped himself and pulled….
STOP!!!!! Honey stop…. think of mom’s smile, think of when Sam would tell you stories about the stars.
I could feel the tears leaking from my eyes. I should be grateful that man has never raped me. I am still a virgin. That night was the night I felt my wolf curl in on herself and sleep, I couldn’t blame her. I would too, if I had a choice.
* * *
“Honey, wake up!” he shouts from upstairs. I squint into the morning; I must have passed out. I look down at myself: at the old gray t-shirt that I could wear for bed. It was so stained with blood that it was no longer sanitary, some from last night, some from previous nights. I hear the door opening from upstairs. The sounds of his boots coming down have me scrambling to try to adjust myself into a somewhat defensive setting. I curl into myself as I wrap my arms around my legs, pulling them as close to my body as I can, but the shackle does not allow for much movement.
When he is standing above me, I hesitantly peer up at him, I wonder if he remembers that today is my birthday. He quickly reaches out and smacks the side of my head, “Here girl, take the key and unlock the shackle. You have ten minutes to get dressed and make me breakfast.”
I quickly grab the key and unlock the shackle from my ankle. When he walks upstairs, I quickly rush to the kitchen, pulling out eggs, milk, and bread from the fridge. I know he will be mad that there is no bacon, but we didn’t have the money for it when I went to the store. I start his eggs and run back downstairs to throw on my only pair of holey leggings and a maroon sweatshirt. I gather my long curly midnight black hair up into a bun and return to finish his breakfast.
“Breakfast is ready, Dad.” I put the plate in front of him, waiting to see what he will do when he realizes that there is no bacon, but surprisingly he’s busy reading a letter. I can’t tell what it says, but I can see the beautiful penmanship. His scowl becomes deeper and deeper until he quickly rips the letter in half repeatedly.
“Honey, go get some money and buy me some damn bacon.” He dismisses me and I run to the bathroom to take a courtesy look in the mirror. My skin is caramel like my mother's, only mine is littered with bruising. The one on my left eye is the worst that anyone can see, along with my busted lip that was reopened when he hit me this morning. I’m severely skinny and lacking any form. My eyes are a dull brown, showing the signs of the pain that has plagued me over the last ten years. I have to figure out what I need to do to get money today.
Stepping outside the run-down house, the sun blinds me for a minute. Damn, how long has it been since I have been outside? When it finally clears, I notice a gorgeous sleek black car parked right across the street from my house. What is a nice car like that doing in this neighborhood?
Snap out of it Honey, who cares?I continue my path to Grady’s house; I know he will help me out. Walking, I feel like someone is watching me, and when I look over my shoulder, I can still see the car. It looks like it has moved, but maybe that’s just in my head. At the end of the block, I can see Grady’s place, which is a lot nicer than mine. It’s a one-story small blue house with white steps leading up to the door. Looking at the house you would think that a nice elderly couple lived there, but I am awfully familiar with the monster behind the closed doors, although this monster is not as bad as my own.
Skipping up the stairs, I open the screen door and knock lightly on the door three times, then tap twice in quick succession. “Grady, it’s Honey, open up please.” When the door swings open to reveal Grady.
He’s wearing low hung gray sweatpants and no shirt. I gulp, looking at him. Grady is a gorgeous man. He is five years older than me since I’m turning twenty-one today. He has jet black hair like mine, that is always styled to the side. He has deep blue eyes that show the hardships and wars he fights with his demons every day. Tattoos cover his entire body, including his fingers. On his right hand, he has a portrait of his father.
I’ve always had a small crush on Grady, but I’m too scared to try anything; compared to the women he’s brought home, I look like trash. I am also not experienced enough to really be of notice to anyone. Who wants damaged goods, a woman whose father keeps her captive?
“Hey Honey, what brings you here today?” He moves aside so I can step into the house and closes the door behind us.
“I need some cash; can I do a run for you?”
“Honey come to the kitchen so I can fix that lip for you. It needs ice or the swelling won’t go down.” He doesn't wait for me to say yes, just pivots on his foot and goes to the kitchen. He pulls out peas from the freezer when I ask again.
“So, can you help me, please?” I bounce on the balls of my feet while he walks towards me and sets the peas against my mouth. This thing with Grady was always weird: he cares for me whenever I come over and have visible bruises, but he never asks me where they came from, he only helps them feel better.
“Yeah, I can use some help, but not with a run.”
“So, what do you want me to do?”
“This will be a major drop off, I will give you a few hundred for it. All you need to do is take the merchandise to the club. No one should be there right now, knock on the door, tell them Grady sent you, head up the stairs, and give the package to the man in the office. Come back to me and collect.”
“What is in the package?”
Grady arches an eyebrow at me, “Didn’t you ever hear that curiosity killed the cat?”
“Yes, but I still want to know, so I know how much danger I am in if I get stopped.”
“Honey, it's just some odds and ends, nothing big, just go straight there, then come back.”
“Fine, thanks, Grady.” I wait until he pulls out a smaller rectangular box and shoves it into the book bag.
“Take my bike out back. You can ride it.”
“Thanks.” I reach out and take the bag from him, put it on, and head out the back door. I know Grady is a wolf, that much my senses can still pick up on. What I don’t know is why he is here. When I move the black bicycle to the street, I notice that the car has crept closer. Please do not let that be the cops, I can’t afford to be stopped now. I peddle and continue to look over my shoulder all the way to the club, it seems like the car stayed where it was at.
The drop off was easy enough after I told them that Grady had sent me. I went back to Grady, handed him back his bag, and parked the bike out back. He gave me five hundred for the drop, of which two hundred I quickly pocketed. The rest I would give to the monster known as dad since I knew he was expecting me to have done a drug run and not a drop. I go to the store, buy his bacon and some milk, and go back to the house. On my way back, I notice the car still sitting in the same spot.
The house smells like beer and weed when I enter. I immediately drop my head and my eyes, I know what the smell means: tonight, is going to be an awfully long night, he is reminiscing again.
“Come here, girl.” My father slowly stands, and I can hear the belt he always wears sliding from around his waist.
“Dad, I can just go, please, I can get out of your way.” I am praying to whoever that he lets me move past him. I take a chance when he says nothing and inch closer to the basement. When I am close enough to reach the handle, I feel the first hit of his belt, it hits my back and feels like fire going down my spine. My knees buckle and I slam my hand over my mouth while whimpering into my hand. The more noise I make, the more he hurts me.
“You’re a stupid, selfish brat. You cost me everything.” He steps closer to me, yanking at my hair until my head strains back. When he balls up his open fist, I try to struggle, I do not want to be punched in the face again. He swings, clipping me under my right eye and my lip, as he stumbles and releases my hair. I curl into a ball in front of the basement door and wait out his punishment. He stomps on me a few times and kicks me in the side. I can feel my wolf seizing, she can feel my pain and is trying to help or trying to stay asleep.
When it feels like he is done I make the mistake of looking up and he slams his fist into my left eye. “Get on your knees, Honey.” I hasten to my knees and close my eyes tight. I let my mind wander to my mom, and what she would think of this situation. She would be so upset this would probably kill her. After what feels like forever, he lets me go and tells me to go to the basement. I limp my way down and change into the gray t-shirt and cuff myself.
Happy birthday, Honey… you survived another night. Keep fighting.
Passing out from exhaustion and pain, I fall into a deep sleep.