Not Anymore (BoyxBoy)

Picture of Oliver

Oliver's POV

I could tell it was early when I woke. For one my dark room, that I first inhabited three years ago, smells good. It didn't smell like coffee and dread, it smelt peaceful; which was rare in this pack. Considering that most of the packs days were spent in destructive fights and useless arguments.

Sighing I rolled to my side.
It was only a matter of time before Alpha George, my father, is awoken. Once he's up he'll storm down stairs, fuming about how breakfast wasn't already made.

I can never tell what he wants me to say. "Sorry that I haven't made you pristine golden pancakes, yet; it's just... that I'm locked in this freaking basement!" I snorted at the thought. If I did that I probably wouldn't survive the beating that followed. Shaking my head I stood up off the torn mattress that I've used for the last three and a half years. Stretching out my exhausted limbs, I sighed. My entire body hurts. Sometimes I doubt that I'll even make it live to another day.

Stop, thinking like that foolish boy! My wolf yelled at me.

Sorry, Alex.

Alex, my wolf, disliked talking. Since my third birthday, we've been together and I still have no clue why she doesn't. She'll only intervene when necessary; or when she deems a necessary. I would question her about it but I can tell the subject makes her uncomfortable.

Loud foot steps brought me out of my thoughts. It was Alpha George. He was storming down numerous flights of stairs. He most likely had on an outraged expression as he flashed down each step.

Despite hearing the loud thud that each angered stomp brought, every morning, I don't think I'll ever get used to it. It makes me want to submit, to curl up into a ball and plead forgiveness. Which is crazy! I didn't do anything wrong in the first place, so why should I apologize?

Despite the omega instinct inside of me that's turning on all of my red alarms and screaming for me to run, I slowly walk towards the bottom of the stair case.

Alpha George is always quick. He'll be at the top of the old staircase, swearing me up and down for not making him a delightful meal within minutes.

God, I love mornings.