Forget : A Dark Omegaverse (Unhingedverse)

Gazing at my mother’s sightless blue eyes as she lays on the couch, I’m hit with horror and sadness. Life wasn’t always perfect with her, but I had someone who loved me fiercely. I never had any doubt about this.

Everything she ever did was for my safety, benefit, and happiness.

She worked hard for the meager food we have in the fridge, the threadbare apartment was always clean, and Mom was up in the morning to send me off to school, even if she’d barely had any sleep the night before.

I try to contribute too. I have an afterschool job that I’m really proud of, even if it is only part time.

On the other hand, we also keep a really low profile. Mom never wanted me in any clubs or performances at school that would call attention to us, because she didn’t want anyone to find us. I have no idea who my dad is either. He could be a deadbeat or a criminal for all I know!

God, what am I going to do?

My thoughts are spiraling, and I can’t afford to lose my shit when I know that reality won’t wait for my grief.

“Mom, if I tell someone, they’ll kick me out,” I whisper, shaking my head as I reach out with trembling fingers and gently close her eyelids. I read once that some cultures put coins on the eyes of the dead to keep them closed.

I pray she doesn’t open them back up, because I won’t be able to function.

“God, what happened to you?”

I’m sixteen, but today was an early release day due to a teacher planning day. I was excited to see if she’d want to go to the diner to have milkshakes and burgers, my treat. I aced my math test and I was excited to celebrate.

Everything was going so well today… until now. Sometimes, my mom would complain of severe headaches, and I would try to bug her to go to the doctor. She would tell me she was fine, that doctors just cost money that we don’t have, but I kept after her until she ended up in the hospital for three days last year.

We lost the apartment we were living in at the time because the landlord didn’t believe me when I said she would be home soon.

The guy was a swinging dick of an alpha, but as soon as Mom got out, she got us into another place, even if we did spend two days in a homeless shelter. It was a miracle she found a shelter to even take us, because some of them dislike the ‘drama’ that can occur when omegas are in a closed space with so many other people due to their pheromones. No matter what, I trusted her to fix it. Whatever “it” was.

Was she sick? Did she lie to me in an effort to keep me safe as long as possible? God, why couldn’t we have nice things like insurance and copays?

Falling back onto my ass, I stare sightlessly at the wall, as my mind reels with what this means. I can’t pay for this apartment alone. Fuck, I’m going to get kicked out, because I’m a minor. I can see it as plain as day now.

Closing my eyes, I lay my cheek on my drawn up knees, trying to think. Mom paid rent today, but that won’t mean anything to the meathead who is our landlord if he realizes I’m an underaged orphan.

Taking a hesitant breath, I will myself to get up and see if I can get an extra shift at Brewed Awakening, the coffee shop I work at. If I’m getting kicked out soon, I’m going to need to start getting a handle on my life.

Just get up and move… Blinking away the fire behind my eyelids, I lift my head, looking over at my mom. She looks so peaceful, as if she was sleeping before she died. There doesn’t seem to be any kind of head wound or reason for this to have happened.

She just… left me.

I don’t know whether to scream or cry right now. I should worry that her eyes were open, but I read in biology class recently that after the muscles relax after death, the eyelids can release and the eyes will open. It’s why I’m wishing so damn hard that they’ll stay closed now.

My mom’s shiny red hair curls in pretty ringlets on the pillow, and I struggle to remember every detail about her.

Her pretty blue eyes were so full of life, and she was tall and curvy. She loved to laugh, saw the good in bad situations, and was fiercely protective. Mom was notoriously clumsy, but when she danced, it was like magic.

We spent a lot of time dancing in our living room. I’m not naive enough, though, to believe it wasn’t the kind of dancing that brought money in.

I’m holding onto every single thing about her. I don’t want to forget.

“Why can’t I be older?” I rasp. Things would be so much easier if I was, but I unfortunately don’t believe I have a sensual bone in my body.

Blowing out a breath, I force myself to stand, gazing down at her. What happened to you Mom? Did you know this was coming?

It feels wrong to rifle through the paperwork in her room, but it may be what needs to happen, so that I can get answers. She can’t tell me anything anymore. Steeling myself for what I’m going to have to do, I hurry to my room to call my boss, to see if he needs the extra help. It seems callous to be focused on this, but I’m on borrowed time.

I haven’t come into my designation yet, but Mom was an omega. I’ve always craved blankets, comfort, and cleanliness, which are all omega traits. I’m also very pragmatic. I can’t afford to have feelings right now.

Brushing away the tears still trailing down my cheeks that call me a liar, I take a deep breath as I pull my burner phone from my back pocket. No matter what happened with our finances, Mom always made sure we could communicate.

Calling my boss, I force huge lungfuls of air through my chest as I try to make sure my voice sounds calm and collected. Mr. Lars isn’t exactly the most patient of people.

“Hello?” he says gruffly, making me swallow hard. Damn, he already sounds annoyed. “I’m a little busy here, Aisling.”

“I know, that’s why I’m calling,” I explain, speaking quickly before he hangs up. “My plans changed. Do you need an extra pair of hands today?”

An extra six hour shift will at least help me put away some money, since Mom went grocery shopping yesterday. My landlord is a busybody. I’m sure he’ll notice soon that my mom isn’t coming and going from the apartment.

A part of me also thinks he pays too much attention to her, but my mom is polite and firm when she refuses his continuous requests for a date.

God, I can’t believe this is happening.

“Aisling?” Mr. Lars asks, and I can tell he’s been trying to get my attention. Shit.

“I’m sorry, I’m here, Sir,” I say quickly. “Did you need help today?”

“Yeah, I do. You sound… odd. Why?” he asks.

Why is he being a decent human? I can’t handle people being nice to me. I’ll crumble.

“No reason,” I insist. “I’ll be there soon. Just need to get settled since it was a half day at school. Thanks for letting me come in, Mr. Lars!”

He didn’t actually say that he would, but sometimes you have to fake it, a lot, to make it.

“Yeah, okay, kid. If you say so. You can help Rachel on a register,” he mutters.

Hanging up, I change into a pair of basic black pants and my uniform shirt. Stopping in the bathroom, I wash off my makeup that’s now ruined, but carefully apply some concealer to hide how swollen under my eyes are.

Scraping back my blonde hair into a ponytail, I secure it and then put little flower earrings in. Anything to find a little happiness.

March will always be marred for me now. Glancing at the time, I rush out of the bathroom and grab my keys, purse, sweatshirt, and phone. Minneapolis is cold and unpredictable in early spring.

I’ve seen weather in the upper seventies, and snow drifts that have forced schools to close other years. It’ll only get worse, to be honest. I’m not looking forward to being homeless here for long.

I don’t want to turn into a popsicle because I couldn’t find shelter one night. Homeless shelters when you’re alone and a minor can get dicey. As long as the intake people don’t show too much interest and threaten to call child services, you’re fine.

It’s the nosy do-gooders that are the problem. They ask too many questions.

Thankfully, it’s in the upper forties, and my sweatshirt is very warm. Pulling the hood over my head, I huddle inside of it, shoving my hands into my pockets. I have to leave now so Mr. Lars won’t yell at me for being late.

This is why I always try to be nice to people. You never know if someone’s mother has dropped dead on them unexpectedly, or what they’re going through in their lives.

My footsteps slow as I see my mom lying on the couch, I blink rapidly to dispel the emotion threatening to take me over again. My landlord is technically allowed to enter the apartment without permission at any time, which means he could find her here and kick me out. My heart pounds as I let the full meaning of what that means flow over me. Please, please don’t come in.

Tip-toeing past Mom as if she’ll sit up and start to talk to me, I slip out the door to head to work. I’m a good kid, but I still worry about getting into trouble. Hell, I’m not supposed to close the coffee shop since I’m sixteen.

I have a hard time saying ‘no’ to Mr. Lars though, so on occasion, I’ll do it.

My mom would have to hide a smile whenever I came home begging for forgiveness because I broke a rule. She wanted me to be safe, happy, and not have to worry about getting into a situation that I couldn’t handle.

I appreciate that she was always my safety net.

I already miss it.

“Bye, Mom,” I say softly out of habit as I lock the door, walking quickly down the hall.

I make it downstairs when my landlord calls out to me from his apartment on the first floor. Why can’t he just leave me alone? He’s such a fucking busybody.

“Yes, Mr. Coons?” I ask politely, even though the man makes me stabby. Sometimes, I feel as if there are multiple Aislings inside of me. The outside world usually only sees the polite and helpful side, because it makes me less memorable.

Mom said it’s dangerous to be extraordinary for us, though I don’t know why. A part of me wonders if it’s because she thought I’d be an omega too.

I could find out at any time, and that’s terrifying as someone who may be living on the streets. My slick and pheromones could call to alphas for miles if I am an omega, even though I won’t have my first heat until I’m closer to eighteen.

Everyone is so fucking uncertain, but slick happens.

“Where’s your mom?” he asks as I turn to face him. He’s a large beta, and his stomach hangs over his pants. I’m pretty sure I can see a stain or two on his white shirt as well.

He seems to have decent enough hygiene though, since I can’t smell him from where I’m standing. Since I haven’t come into my designation, my sense of smell isn’t hypersensitive yet. Thank God.

“Why?” I ask, keeping my answers minimal. I don’t want to get caught in a lie, just in case he saw her walk upstairs earlier today. She had the day off, but I know she still ran errands.

“I wanted to ask her something,” he says with a shrug.

“Oh. I’m headed to work. I haven’t had a chance to chat with her,” I tell him. Even if he was an alpha and could tell if I was lying, everything I said was true.

“Yeah, alright, kid,” he mutters as I turn and walk away.

I refuse to run, even if he does give me the heebie-jeebies. Mario Coons’ only volume level is set to yelling, he breaks the rules without any hesitation, and while I haven’t lived here for more than six months, I’ve witnessed fourteen evictions, so he can charge higher rent to the new tenants.

Needless to say, he has a very high turnover rate for this thirty unit apartment complex. I’m so fucked.

My boss doesn’t give me more than a passing glance when I walk in, and I’m grateful that it’s busy. A few hours of normalcy will help the gnawing sadness inside of me, while I smile at my customers.

I have a decent autopilot when necessary, can hear every question, and respond appropriately. It’s a neat trick, huh?

Even if my mom shielded me from the worst parts of life, we still moved at least once a year. We never left Minneapolis for some reason, though I’m not sure if it’s because this city is good for work or for an entirely other reason.

Mom never told me, and when I asked once, she said Minneapolis reminded her of someone. I think a lot of her secrets are dying with her, because there’s no one who can tell me her story now.

I know how to use public transportation, and how to pay our bills online, but without money for any of these things, none of it matters. I’m too young for the world to hire me, yet there are no services for the forgotten youth.

When I grow up, I’d love to change that.

At the end of the shift, the world encroaches back in, and I sigh as I hang up my apron.

“What’s going on with you?” Mr. Lars asks, exasperated. I didn’t realize he was behind me and jump with a yelp.

“Oh my God,” I complain, placing my hand on my chest as I turn to face him. “Think you could be a little louder when you walk? You’re like a freaking ninja.”

“There. That’s the girl I hired,” he says with a nod. “Bring her back. I don’t want the girl who came in today with a perfect little mask. Now, I don’t need the entire truth, but what the hell, Aisling?”

“I need another job,” I tell him hesitantly. “I know I have school, and I’m only sixteen, but I need hours somewhere that won’t care about my age.”

Mr. Lars glares at me for a second before he disappears into the back office. I closed today with Rachel, which means Brewed Awakening is spotless. He can’t complain when I work the last shift of the day.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but as long as you keep working here as well, it’s your business,” my boss grumbles as he returns. He’s a large alpha, smells vaguely like hazelnut, and I’ve never seen him insert himself to help his employees.

The man reminds me of a curmudgeon, even though he’s in his thirties with dark curly hair and thick black glasses that shield his gray eyes from the rest of the world.

“Here,” he grunts, handing me a card. “My brother needs a waitress and a bartender. You’re not old enough to bartend, but if you wear your hair down and more makeup, you could pass. Caleb doesn’t care about following the rules, which may be why he thinks I’m so feral about it. I don’t feel like being psychoanalyzed though, so do you want the job or not?”

I have a feeling he doesn’t feel comfortable with this conversation. If someone is willing to teach me how to mix drinks, I’ll learn quickly. I have no other choice.

“I do! Yes, thank you,” I say, nodding so quickly, my neck twinges. “Doesn’t he have to interview me or something?”

“Nah,” Mr. Lars says with a snort. “I texted him that he’ll have an extra pair of hands and I recommended you. You’ll start tomorrow.”

I’m quitting school as of tonight, so it works for me. I can’t work, go to school, and navigate life without falling apart. I’m smart enough to know my limits.

“That’s good,” I mutter. “What time, and where?”

“Finnegan’s Bar, and the address is on the card as well,” he says, slightly amused as I glance down at the information. “Six o’clock should work, and it’ll be a decent trial by fire. Remember what I said about looking older, kid.”

“Yeah,” I say, feeling overwhelmed and extremely grateful. “This is amazing, thank you.”

Grabbing my things, I wave as I walk out of the cafe. I know he’ll finish locking up and leave out the back door. He lives above the coffee shop in an apartment. It’s close enough for me to be able to make it here after school, without my legs falling off or having to catch a bus.

Ten and a half city blocks is a piece of cake, or it would be if it wasn’t pitch black outside. Thank God for streetlights. I don’t dawdle, I pay attention to my surroundings, and slip into my apartment safely.

Turning on a light, because I forgot earlier, I stifle a scream. Mom’s eyes are open again, staring blankly at me.

“Oh fuck,” I whimper, locking the door behind me. Knowing I won’t be able to sleep in my room when it’s so close to her, I run to hers. Maybe being surrounded by her things and wearing her pajamas will help.

And perhaps I’ll be able to find some answers.

Two days later

“Look, kid, you can’t stay here,” a police officer grunts, blowing out a breath.

My luck finally ran out. I was coming home from my new job at the bar, only to find the door wide open and the apartment full of very official looking people.

“The apartment is paid up,” I say, breathing hard as tears threaten my view. “My mom paid it. I saw the receipt online!”

Just in case of this, I made sure to fact check what Mom did and didn’t pay as a last ditch effort to get my money back. Mr. Coons is snarling at me from against the wall, knowing exactly what I’m doing.

“If you’re going to kick me out without any other family, you should at the very least give me back the rent money,” I insist.

“Your name isn’t on the lease,” the landlord says callously. “The person I rented to has been dead for God only knows how long, and now she’s starting to smell! You’re illegally squatting, kid.”

No she doesn’t. I made sure the apartment is set to ice box mode. It’s as cold as I could possibly make it, and I don’t miss the shivers from the paramedics as they wheel my mom out of the apartment.

I don’t know how long they’ve been here, but it can’t be long if she’s still here.

“Minors can’t sign a lease,” I remind him stubbornly. “Otherwise, Mom would have put me on it. I’m sure there has to be some exception.”

I’m very close to begging, and the policeman looks annoyed. He’s a beta as well, appearing lean and strong, just doing his job. I don’t want to be a pain in the ass. I’m inherently a people pleaser typically.

It’s fucking hovering around thirty-nine degrees and I don’t want to figure out where to sleep at one in the morning. The shelters are closed, no one will rent out a hotel room to a minor, either. My options are limited, and I’m running out of time.

I made a hundred and twenty dollars tonight in tips while training. It’s not enough to get a new place.

God, all I needed was one more day, dammit.

“Kid, do I need to pull social services out of their beds to deal with you?” Officer Blake asks, making me flinch.

Mom told me never to go with those people. Bad things happen to kids there, and even though she didn’t go into detail, I don’t want to fall through the cracks and end up at an auction.

I’d rather fucking die, which is saying a lot for the state of things.

“I need to pack a bag,” I growl, glaring at the asshole with a uniform and a badge. He simply smirks, puffing out his chest. “And I want my money.”

Yes, your knotless cock is huge, I’m sure, for kicking a kid out onto the streets. I may be a virgin, but I understand biology. My mom taught me all about the birds and bees for omegas, betas, and alphas, so I wouldn’t be afraid of my body. Come to think of it, she started discussing this all with me two years ago.

Did she know she had polycystic kidney disease back then? I found the paperwork in her dresser drawer, shoved angrily as if she didn’t want to face it again. Why couldn’t she have just told me? I would have done anything to help save her.

That’s probably why she didn’t. Time just… ran out for her.

“John, it’s your call, man,” the police officer says. Of course they’re buddies. The police are here more often than not for eviction notices. It makes sense that Mr. Coons would ingratiate himself into their graces.

“I’ll give you fifty bucks to get one backpack and get the fuck out,” he snarls.

Heat flushes over my body in anger, and I’m sure my face is also red. It’s why I try to keep my emotions in check. Otherwise I’m an open book.

No one deserves to have that much control over me. From what I understand, some omegas live to serve their alphas.

I’m not a doormat. I don’t want to be treated as one either.

Sweat beads on my forehead, making me frown. It’s freezing in this apartment. I’ve been wearing hoodies to stay warm. To be honest, the weather outside is probably only slightly cooler than the apartment. I’ll manage.

Especially with this weird fever I seem to have. It came out of nowhere.

“Fine!” I yell, sticking out my hand for the money. “I’ll be out in five.”

“One backpack,” he reminds me. “Some of this shit I can use for the next tenant. Your couch was really nice.”

The couch my mom died on. Fuck, that hurts. We went thrift shopping together to buy that couch, and he’s right, it is nice. We got lucky, and the irony is killing me right now.

You’re an asshole! I scream to myself as he slaps fifty bucks into my palm. Walking quickly to my room, I grab the largest backpack that I have, and begin packing. Mom and I hiked occasionally, even camped multiple times because it was cheap and fun.

Even though my mom was an omega, she loved exercise and the sunshine. She told me not all of them do, but she taught me to enjoy it too. Stuffing my sleeping bag at the bottom of the bag, I begin to pack as if I’m going for a long term trip. I’ll sleep in the regional parks, use their showers, and no one will ever know what’s happening.

One month, I promise myself. I’ll find a way to get somewhere safe in that time period. It seems more manageable if I give myself a deadline. I can do this.

Closing and locking the bedroom door, I strip off my clothing, changing into two long-sleeved shirts, a heavy sweatshirt, long johns, jeans, and heavy socks with my shoes. While the apartment is freezing, I always dressed warmly, snuggling under several blankets while I was home.

I’m exhausted. I worked at the cafe this morning, and then had my shift at the bar. I’m currently dragging ass and don’t feel great.

Next, I sigh as I move to the bathroom to scrub my face of all my makeup, the cool water helps a bit before I throw my hair into a messy bun, and try to appear unmemorable. I want people to forget they saw me entirely, maybe even the moment they pass me.

My large backpack has clothes, a pair of heavy boots, one photo of my mom and I, my makeup which is an important part of keeping my job, and her medical papers inside of it now. I also found a tiny spot for travel-sized body and hair care products, because cleanliness is impossible without them.

The pack is as full as I can get it without it overflowing, ready for whatever life may throw at me, I hope. I also have a few basic camping supplies like a pocket knife in my pocket, protein bars in case I get hungry, a reusable water bottle, matches for a campfire, etc.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

The money I’ve made over the last few months are in a crossbody bag across my chest along with Mr. Coon’s fuck off money, a phone charger, my phone, my identity card, and all the other odds and ends I need.

My entire life somehow fits into two bags. I’m leaving so much behind that isn’t going to mean anything to anyone but Mom and I, and I’m the only one still alive.

“Girl!” Mr. Coon screams, making me yelp. My body emits a burnt sugar cookie scent as I whimper. I get even warmer, and I gasp in horror as I start to realize what this all means.

“Why is this happening now?” I whisper. I’m cursed. I must have been born under an unlucky star.

I’m an omega, finding her designation, while being kicked out into the world. Fuck me sideways. Actually, that could be the worst thing that happens, despite the warmth and slick coating my panties.

This isn’t my heat, but it’s still really, really fucking bad.

Straightening, I decide I’m just going to get the hell out of here and then make my next move, once my favorite Converses hit the damn pavement.

“Rest easy, Mom,” I murmur. “Love you.”

Bursting into motion, I walk quickly through the apartment, weaving around the official personnel inside the place I used to call home for the past six months.

“There you are,” Mr. Coon complains as I dodge under his grabby hand, and through the door.

“She smells like sugar cookies,” a paramedic groans, and I force my legs to move even faster.

The trains are still running, even though it’s almost one thirty in the morning. It took half an hour to get in and out of the apartment, although it felt like both an eternity and a blink of an eye.

Time seems to move funny when your entire life is crumbling before your eyes.

My feet pound down the stairs until I’m almost running through the tiny lobby and out the front door. Pulling air through my lungs, I force myself to keep going.

I’m going to the station three streets down because it’s headed in the direction I want to go in, and then I’ll jump the fence at one of the regional parks Mom and I used to go to. I need to stay isolated as my body temperature continues to spike and makes my life difficult.

Riding public transportation is a big risk, due to the possibility of calling any and all alphas in my direction. I just need to stay small, be quiet, and buy scent blocking panties tomorrow, so I never have to deal with this again.

Thankfully, I have my public transport card, so I can ride the metro wherever I need to for the rest of the month. I’ll renew it on the first, because it’s a lifesaver.

The streets are a ghost town as I walk, much to my relief, and then I’m jogging into the tunnels to catch my ride. Luck is still on my side as my body continues to awaken with its biology.

My smell is steadily getting sharper and the train hurtles through the tunnels at high speeds toward my destination, and my nose wrinkles at the varying scents of the people who have ridden before me, the trash and refuse they’ve left behind.

People are gross. It’s probably for the best that I’m spending the night in the woods, as long as I can get over the fence and don’t run into anyone that is. My luck seems to be spotty today.

As the train comes to a stop, my eyes dart around my surroundings, and then I’m bounding out and up the stairs to the street. I can hear people laughing behind me, goosebumps rise on my skin, though not because I’m cold.

“Awww, little omega, come play with us!” a man’s deep voice yells, and my breaths come sharper.

I can’t hyperventilate. I need to keep my shit together. Come on, Aisling. Almost fucking there.

Surprisingly, no one pulls me back from the stairs like in the horror movies I used to love to watch. I have a feeling I won’t be able to anymore for a long time though. Real life is scary enough for an omega like me.

The park isn’t far from here, and I keep a fast pace, my body still attempting to stop me, as it gives me boiling hot spells, and then lets me feel the cold wind whipping through the city.

My body can’t figure itself out, and I’m just along for this messed up ride. Climbing up and over the gate is easier than I thought it would be, though I’m sure there has to be security somewhere.

I’m hoping they’ll ignore me. I need an isolated spot. Please, just forget I’m here. I don’t want to hurt anything.

Finding just the place in the woods, I snuggle into my hooded-sweatshirt, my eyelids droop even though my body is making me squirm with feelings that I’ve never felt before. I’ve never even touched myself before, and the books I’ve read since Mom told me about the birds and the bees, make omegas out to be very sexual beings.

Whimpering as I ride out the uncomfortable slick pumping out of my pussy to stain the inside of my thighs, I add finding a laundromat to my never ending list.

I need to sleep. Please, God, just give me a break. Finally, just a few hours before daybreak, my eyes shut and I dream about my mom and dancing in my living room with her.

Fly high, Mom. Fly high.