Retail Therapy

The days following the rejection passed in a blur of silence. It wasn’t that I couldn’t speak; it was simply that nothing felt worth the effort of moving my lips. Home had become quiet in a way that didn’t feel peaceful, just heavy and still. I stayed in my room most of the time, staring at walls that felt like they were closing in. Inside me, Nyx was a ghost. She didn’t speak, didn’t growl, didn’t even pacing. It was the kind of silence that felt like something vital had been ripped out and hadn’t figured out how to grow back yet.

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, lost in that hollow space, when my father knocked lightly on the door. When I didn't answer immediately, he stepped in slowly. He wasn’t cautious like my mother, who treated me like glass; he was thoughtful, as if he knew exactly how fragile words could be when your world has just ended. "I have something for you," he said, breaking the quiet. I frowned, my voice raspy from disuse. "If it’s advice, I’m returning it."

That managed to coax a small, genuine smile from him. "No," he said, "better than that." He held out his tablet, and I took it reluctantly, expecting a bill or a pack notice. Instead, a bright notification stared back at me: ART SALE CONFIRMED $500. I blinked, my brain struggling to process the numbers. My father nodded once, his eyes warm. "Your painting sold, Livana."

I stared at the screen for a long time, letting out a small, breathless laugh that wasn't quite happy, just deeply surprised. "Well," I said slowly, leaning back against the headboard. "At least something in my life likes me." My father chuckled and said "what I planned to do with the money?" I shrugged, the bitterness of my rank bubbling up into sarcasm. "Buy a Porsche. Leave home. Disappear. Also, maybe buy a condom so I don’t accidentally repeat this miserable family cycle."

There was a beat of silence where he just looked at me. He sighed eventually, murmuring that I was dramatic, but I just fired back that I was coping. He shook his head, leaning down to squeeze my hand. "You’re still our daughter," he said softly. "Omega or not." That word Omega still stung like a fresh burn, but hearing him say it made the fire feel a little quieter.

After he left, the word continued to circle in my head. Omega. Weak. Rejected. I turned on my side, whispering "Why me?" into the empty room, but no answer came. Nyx remained curled deep inside me, awake but distant. It felt like we were both waiting for a sign that the world hadn't actually stopped turning.

Later that day, my phone rang, vibrating against the nightstand like an intruder. I saw Aurelia’s name and answered with a flat, "What?" She didn't miss a beat, gasping at my tone. "Wow. That’s how you answer your best friend?" I told her I was recovering from an emotional collapse, to which she dryly replied that it sounded expensive. When I finally told her about the five-hundred-dollar sale, she let out a scream that nearly blew out my speakers. "GIRL. WE ARE GOING OUT. Retail therapy. Now."

An hour later, I was standing on the sidewalk as Aurelia buzzed around me like a caffeinated hummingbird. She insisted I needed color, while I argued I needed peace. "Same thing in fabric form," she claimed, dragging me into shops I hadn't asked for and shoving dresses at me I hadn't agreed to. She called every bright silk and soft cotton "healing energy." At one point, watching her argue with a mannequin, I actually laughed. It wasn't forced, and the sound of it surprised me more than the money had.

We eventually ended up at a small ice cream place, sitting under the shade of a striped umbrella. Aurelia had something bright and sugary while I stuck to something simple. The lightheartedness of the shopping trip faded into a comfortable quiet until I looked down at my melting cone. "You ever think about packs?" I asked softly. Aurelia paused, noting the shift in my mood. "All the time."

"I mean mine," I added. I leaned back, the secret weight of my family history pressing on my chest. "My dad wasn’t always an Omega, Aurelia. He was an Alpha from another pack before he met my mother." She didn't interrupt, her eyes wide as I explained how Alpha Alistair Bane’s father didn't like the idea of another Alpha marrying into his territory. To stay with the woman he loved, my father had been forced to accept a demotion to Omega rank.

"So he wouldn't be a threat," I said simply, taking a bite of ice cream that suddenly tasted like ash. "Now he just lives a quiet life. No power. No challenge." Aurelia stared at me, her face twisting in disgust. "That’s... messed up." I just shrugged; it was normal for the world we lived in. Power was the only currency that mattered, and if you didn't have it, you were a footnote.

She nudged my shoulder, her voice dropping to a cautious whisper. "You still think about him?" I didn't have to ask who 'him' was. Bane's face was burned into the back of my eyelids. "No," I lied. It was a small lie, one I hoped would eventually become true if I said it often enough.

As the sun started to drop over the New Orleans skyline, casting long, purple shadows across the street, something felt lighter. The ache wasn't fixed or healed, but it felt less like a lead weight in my stomach. Aurelia bumped my shoulder again "you are not  broken." she said quietly. I scoffed, calling it a bold assumption, but I didn't disagree. For the first time since that day in the woods, Nyx shifted inside me. She didn't speak, but she was awake, and that alone felt like the first breath after being underwater.