Beg Me Back, Alpha

"Ouch." My first spoken word of the day and it's a word of pain, of course. Another beautiful morning starts by pulling my duvet away from my now-shivering legs, and plonking them onto a floor colder than a penguin's toenail. There's a miniature alarm clock in the corner, I glance at it. Six a.m. It always reads six a.m. My internal alarm clock is as precise as a Swiss watch, every morning, my brain gives me a rude awakening, my eyes dawdle, and by the time they reluctantly open, my body is already in 'get-up' mode. Lurching up from the floor mattress—don't let the term 'floor' fool you, it's my bed—I shuffle towards the bathroom, giving the judgmental mirror on the wall the cold shoulder. A splish-splash of freezing water to the face takes the sleepiness down a notch. With my face now wide awake, it's time to unleash the icy shower water, which, after five minutes, turns into a stream of warm caresses. A quick lather-rinse-repeat with coconut shampoo and I step out, wrapping myself in a towel smaller than a postage stamp. Dressed in a pair of black jeans ripped from excessive use, and an off-the-shoulder grey top, I'm ready to face the day. Armed with an artificial smile, I mutter my mantra, "Selina, it's a new day." Climbing down from my attic bedroom, I join my best friend and fellow Omega, Susan, in our kitchen, or as I like to call it, the culinary utopia. "Morning, Su," I mumble, spotting her busy with the toaster. "Morning, sleepyhead. Now, less sitting, more cooking. We've got a feeding frenzy at seven-thirty," Su replies, her hand perched sassily on her hip. "I'm tired," I whine, but Su is no-nonsense, and complaining gets me nowhere. So, like a good little soldier, I march into battle against breakfast. After 30 minutes of a culinary skirmish, a feast fit for a hundred is ready—complete with all the trimmings. Just as I'm about to sit down and sample our morning masterpiece, I hear the cavalry—footsteps and chatter outside. My cue to retreat. Back in the safety of the kitchen, Su hands me a bowl of porridge and fruit. It's not the hearty breakfast we've prepared, but it's all we're allowed. As we sit at the corner table in the kitchen, eating in silence, I feel Su's curious gaze on me. She doesn't need to voice her question—I already know what it is. And she knows my answer. Yes. "So...what's the latest in the saga?" Su asks, pushing her bowl aside to give me her full attention. Despite her 5-foot frame (which I, at 5'4'', never miss an opportunity to tease her about), she can be fiercely assertive. "I'm not in the mood for storytime, Su," I reply, spearing a blueberry with my fork. "Did he do something?" she prods, her tone softening. 'He' — Alpha Jacob. Why I'm his chosen target of derision remains a mystery to me. Evading his contemptuous gaze is challenging when you share the same Pack House. "You're drifting away," Su's gentle laughter pulls me back to the present, my eyes rolling in response. "Come on, you promised you wouldn't hide things from me," she coaxes, prompting yet another eye roll. Picking up our bowls, I head towards the sink. "Just the usual Jacob antics," I reply nonchalantly, tossing the bowls into the sink for later cleanup. "Show me. I'll grab the ice," she instructs, moving towards the refrigerator as if our routine is as commonplace as a morning coffee. Reluctantly, I lift my sleeve, revealing the burn marks scarring my skin — Property of Alpha Jacob. From the moment I stepped into the Blooddiamond Pack, Alpha Jacob has been a thorn in my side. Ironically, he was the one who accepted me into the pack. Several times, I've considered going rogue to escape his clutches, but like a relentless shadow, he's always there. Watching. Waiting.