Forced To Marry The Alpha

Nope, I'm Good

"Is this really necessary?" I asked my mother dryly. She nodded with a broad smile and I took a step back, cringing at the click my heels made on the marbled floor. "I never knew dressing up was a requirement for being your daughter."

At this, she took one giant step towards me and I tried not to follow my instinct and step back. I was never one for persons crowding my space. Thank goodness I was the last child and my brother was too old to bother me. He was eight years older than me. The more "mature" one apparently, but I was more inclined to disagree. Yet who was I? The girl in a red mini dress and skyscraper heels with a face caked with make up.

"Just because it reaches your knees and is a little closer to your body than your sweatpants and t-shirts doesn't mean it makes you look cheap," she said, rubbing her arms affectionately on my upper arms. I was never one for affections, but I forced a smile there anyways. Maybe I was exaggerating. I mean, it wasn't that short compared to what I saw Jasmine and the other girls at school wear. But am I the only one that hates dresses? They make it difficult for me to be comfortable. It's like torture, forcing me to sit properly so I don't expose my bits and everything. What is wrong if I like sitting with my legs open? I really don't think I can ever give up pants. "Anyways, don't be so cruel. It looks absolutely beautiful on you, especially with that mascara and lush lip gloss along with that shimmering eye shadow."

"So what you're saying is that I look like dog poop but it's okay because my face is already covered with dirt?" I inquired quickly in a kind of understanding tone.

"Yes-wait..." Her smile turned into a frown and I took that moment to move away from her. Sadly, she grabbed me back into her grasp just when I was slipping away. "No...you could never be that. How could you think that? Is your confidence that low? Do I need to bring you a therapist or something?"

A worrisome expression crossed her face and I wondered when since seeing therapists became an option. I mean, aren't we all crazy? Was she trying to say I was crazier than everyone else?

Before I could say anything, the man of the house stepped in and snagged his wife away from me by her waist. She gave a girly squeal which made me want to avoid her all together. Who gave her the right to act as a teenager? Not even I acted like that and I wasn't the old person here.

"Okay, let's get going," my father said after leaving a sloppy kiss on my mother's cheek. Absolutely yucky. "We got a deadline to meet."

They headed out the door and I silently followed behind them. There was a couple black vans, similar to the vans that I saw pick up Victor the other night. Boy, did that seem like yesterday? But wasn't it weeks or even months ago?

My parents slid into one and usually I drove with them, but I was stopped by a bodyguard-what else do you call a gigant of a man in a black and white suit with an earpiece in his ear- that I didn't notice before.

He led me to another van behind the one my parents were in. I climbed up into the vehicle and I frowned, determining it was an Escalador. It had to be. Although I wasn't all that good with vehicles, but I did have a thing for them. Another sign that I was and would always be a tomboy.

As soon as I got my entire body into the van, the bodyguard who hadn't said a word to me, slammed the door shut and the next thing I knew, the vehicle was moving. My stomach formed into knots, my body visibly trembling.

It should have all been the signs leading up to a torturous death. The pain behind the eyeballs, the sweaty brows despite the air conditioner, the black surrounding me from the windows to the leather seats, the dim light and the sinking of the stomach. It all felt strange yet familiar at the same time. I knew what it was. I knew what all these things meant.