I'm an omega wolf and I fucking hate it.
I sighed, the sound louder than I expected in the cramped box I called a room—more like a closet someone shoved a mattress into. It wasn't being omega that I hated, exactly. It was what being omega meant.
In wolf society, omega equals no control. Over anything. Not my body, not my choices, not my damn life. Sure, sometimes I was thankful I didn't have to make tough calls like the alphas did, didn't have to fight for position or prove myself over and over. But deep down, a part of me screamed, Fuck that. I wanted to choose. My future, my mate, my damn breakfast if I wanted to. I wanted the freedom everyone else seemed to just be born with.
Wishing for more while living in my parents' house was beyond foolish, but what else could I do? All this time in solitude just left me with thoughts that clawed at me. I was trapped. Cornered with no way out.
And yeah, I've tried.
