Page 50 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
It’s not his fault he doesn’t get it.
It’s society’s. The Royal and Omega Councils are the rotten core of spoiled fruit. Omegas are the fleshy pulp. The alphas are flies.
Trev glances away, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think Camila knew—”
I scoff, cutting him off. “That bitch knows. She doesn’t give a fuck, that’s the problem. No one does.”
“I do,” Hayden and Asher say at the same time.
“Now you do, only because I’m here in your living room as proof. What about before? What about when I’m gone?” I laugh. “This whole world would be lost without omegas and look at the way we’re treated.”
“There are good packs,” Trev says, sighing. “I hear you. The way we follow along with the Compatibility Ceremony is feeding into the narrative that it’s fine. How do we stop it?”
Therein lies the problem. The only people who can stop it are the idiots who made the ridiculous laws to begin with. The Royal Council, for all their riches and fancy education, are stuck in outdated and inhumane practices.
“I don’t know,” I confess.
Asher’s dark green eyes fill with pity. “If I had more influence, I’d do something.”
“You have influence.” I stand and step toward him. “Use your voice. Stand up for what’s right.”
“You sound like the protestors.”
I’m not the only one who hates how our society operates. Groups of low packs have begun petitioning, fighting out against the unfair treatment. They’re not fighting for omegas though. No one fights for omegas.
Perhaps it’s time we start fighting for ourselves.
“Maybe,” I say, stepping back. “But at least I don’t sound like I’ve been brainwashed.”
True, I wanted a pack. I wanted to escape my mother’s reach. I wanted to be far away from her and my fathers. All of that was driven by survival. If all of that didn’t matter, I wouldn’t want to be matched. It’s so… cold. There’s no passion in being assigned to a pack because you fit with their personalities.
If I dig down deep to what I would want, I’d want passion. The kind of love that steals your breath, makes your heart sing, and heals your wounds. The fictional sort of romance that gives you butterflies.
“It’s late,” Trev finally says. “We should sleep. You can stay in my room.”
I deflate. He won’t let me out of his sight now that I tried to run.
Hayden squeezes my leg. “You’re exhausted. I’ll make sure you’re safe from Trev. He’s all bark and no bite.”
Trev raises his eyebrows, like he disagrees with that statement, but he doesn’t correct his friend.
“Fine,” I say. I am tired and my attempt to escape only made me more so.
Tonight I’ll give in.
Tomorrow I’ll figure out a way to get out of meeting with Camila.
