Get Over It
~Lyra~
But of course, she didn’t move.
Of course she didn’t let it go.
She scoffed so loudly. Her arms crossed tighter. Her face twisted up like she’d just swallowed a lemon. And then she went off–just like I knew she would.
“You were pathetic from the start,” she hissed, voice trembling now. “Throwing yourself around the house. Walking around in his shirt like you belonged there. Acting like your heat made you special. You’re not special. You’re just a desperate little slut who spread her legs for the first Alpha that growled at her,” I stood still.
My pulse pounded in my ears.
My stomach twisted.
My chest rose and fell faster than it should’ve.
But I didn’t speak yet. Not yet.
Because she wasn’t done.
“And now you’re what?” she spat, her lip curling. “Hiding your phone like you’re not freaking out over something. Maybe you are pregnant who knows.
Maybe you’ll be the next little sob story who drops out before second semester and shows up in a year with spit–up on your hoodie and a baby on your hip begging him to remember you. You really think he’ll stay? You think he wants you? Please.”
That was when I laughed.
Like actually laughed.
Loud. Sharp. Rude.
The kind of laugh that made both of her little friends blink and shift uncomfortably.
And then I looked her in the eye and stepped forward, close enough that she had to tilt her chin me, and I smiled the way only an Omega who’s been claimed can smile.
o look at
“You’re right,” I said sweetly, “I did walk around in his shirt. You know what else I did in that shirt? I moaned into it. I came in it. I bled my heat into it while he held me down and filled me so deep I couldn’t walk straight
the next day.”
She flinched.
I kept going.
“Your breath stinks!” I snapped, heat rushing into my cheeks as I took a bold step forward, “Seriously, it’s like something died in your mouth, came back to life, and is now rotting all over again. I don’t know if it’s garlic o just jealousy decaying in your throat, but girl, it’s foul. So do us all a favor–get out of my way. Now
Get Over 11
I felt my chest rising and falling too fast. My hands were clenched. My body was vibrating with tension, but didn’t stop. I didn’t shrink. I stood straighter, chin up, heart pounding like a war drum. I looked Tasha dead in the eye, and I let my voice drop lower, cooler, sharper.
“I don’t think you want to get me angry.”
She blinked, looked me up and down, and then smirked. She looked like she was about to say something that she thought would hurt me, something she had stored up for weeks, but I was already prepared for it I could
see it coming.
“Or what, you little Omega?” she spat, her lips curling like I was something stuck under her shoe. “You gonna whimper? Cry for help? Maybe sob until my dad comes and carries you away like the pathetic little
heat–w***e you are?”
That was it.
Something in me snapped.
My hand moved faster than my brain could catch up. There was a loud, echoing slap as my palm collided with her cheek, and the force of it turned her face to the side…
Her hair whipped across her shoulder, her jaw dropped open in stunned silence, and for one long second, everyone in the bathroom froze.
I stared at her, breathing hard, and then–out of the corner of my eye–I saw my reflection in the mirror.
And I gasped.
My eyes.
They weren’t their normal color.
They were glowing. Bright gold. Burning. Like light had poured into them and stayed there. It wasn’t a trick of
the lighting.
I didn’t feel scared.
I felt strong.
“Yes,” I whispered to myself, heart racing. “I’m no longer a weak Omega.”
Tasha was still stunned, her hand pressed to her cheek, her lips trembling. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. She had no idea what she’d just triggered.
“I have had enough of your insults, Tasha,” I said, my voice louder now, rising with the heat inside my veins. Do you hear me? It’s choking me. It’s making me sick. You’ve always had a mouth. Always. Since I got to know you. You love to talk. You love to throw shade and act like you own the world becaus into it with a rich daddy and an attitude problem.”
were born
I stepped closer again. She didn’t move. Her eyes were wide. Her friends were frozen, watching the show with their mouths slightly open.
“But talk is cheap,” I went on. “Anyone can run their mouth. Anyone can throw insults and pretend to be a queen. But you? You never do anything. You never move. You never fight. You just talk.”
I raised my brows at her and tilted my head.
“Why don’t you do something instead of flapping your lips like a busted ceiling fan, huh?” I challenged my
Get Over It
voice drenched in disgust. “You can’t, can you? You know why?”
I leaned in, just enough for her to hear me breathe.
“Because your dad would rip your tongue from your mouth and tie it around your neck like a bow the second you laid a finger on me.”
I let those words hang in the air like smoke.
“You know he can, right?” I added, just for good measure. “You know what he is. What he does. What he would do to protect me. So f**k off, Tasha. Before you push me–or him–any further.”
There was silence.
And then, finally, one of her friends spoke up in the quietest voice I had ever heard come out of a girl with glitter eyeliner.
“Let’s go, Tasha,” she said quickly, stepping in and pulling at her arm. “You know how your dad is…”
Tasha didn’t move at first. She looked shaken. Her face was still burning red from the slap, her expression
cracked with a mixture of rage and disbelief. Her lips parted like she wanted to scream, but nothing came
out.
So she just glared at me.
Hard.
“This isn’t over,” she hissed.
I rolled my eyes, slowly, dramatically, like I was auditioning for the lead role in a teen villain soap opera.
“Yeah,” I muttered with a bored sigh. “Typical line of every movie villain right before they fall into a pit of their
own stupidity.”
And with that?
I walked past her.
~~
I didn’t even pause when I walked out of that bathroom. I didn’t look back. I didn’t check if Tasha was still glaring or if her girls were whispering behind her. I didn’t care. My hands were shaking. My heart was pounding. My chest was tight. And all I knew was that I needed to see him.
Damon.
I needed to see his face. Hear his voice. Feel his arms around me and bury myself in that scent that always
ate period. made the whole world fade. I needed to tell him. About the test I hadn’t taken yet. About About everything. I didn’t want to say it over the phone. I didn’t want to explain it in fragments. I needed to be
near him.
Would the school let me leave without closing?
Hell yeah, they did.
No one stopped me. No one asked where I was going. No one even looked me in the eye. Because they knew. They could feel it. Damon wasn’t just my protector. He was fear. He was dominance. He was power. And anyone with a working brain cell knew not to cross his line–not even the front gate guards. I walked straight
3/5
Get Over It
out without even blinking.
I was outside, standing on the sidewalk, trying to flag down a cab when I grabbed my phone and called him. My fingers were trembling. My throat felt tight. I pressed the call button before I could talk myself out of it. And the moment the line connected, I heard his voice.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Hey, kitten,” he said, and his voice was so warm and deep and full of concern that I nearly burst into tears right then. “Talk to me. Are you okay? The school hasn’t closed yet, has it? It’s not time. Talk to me. Did Tasha touch you? Did any guy look at you? I swear to the Moon Goddess, if anyone laid a finger-”
He was about to finish that sentence–voice rising, protective, furious–but I cut in before he could spiral.
“It’s okay, Damon,” I said softly, blinking back the tears I hadn’t even realized were forming. “I’m fine, okay? I just… I really need to talk to you about something.”
My voice cracked.
And then, just like that, it happened.
I burst into tears.
I didn’t even know where it came from. One second I was standing under the sun, phone pressed to my ear,
and the next my throat tightened and my chest caved in and I was gasping like I couldn’t breathe.
“Kitten,” he said immediately, his voice going soft but sharp with panic. “Why are you crying? Tell me. What’s
wrong? Talk to me.”
“I’m scared, Damon,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell you on the phone.
It’s too much. I… I need to see you. Where are you? Can I come meet you?”
There was a pause on his end.
Just a breath.
Then he said the words I needed more than anything.
“Yes, kitten. Come meet me,” he said gently, like he already knew I was breaking. “I’m in the middle of a meeting with some of the leaders from the surrounding packs, but by the time you get here, I’ll be done.
Come to Daddy, okay?”
I wiped my tears with the back of my hand and nodded, even though he couldn’t see me.
My breath was still shaky. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. I opened my mouth to say okay again–but then his voice dipped lower.
“And Daddy’s gonna wipe those tears away with his dick.”
I choked.
Like actually choked on my own breath.
The tiniest little laugh ripped right out of me, halfway between a sob and a wheeze, and then I covered my mouth with my hand as more tears spilled down my cheeks, but I was smiling now.
“You’re such an asshole,” I whispered, my voice wet and shaking but laughing, because only Damon would say something like that while I was literally crying in the street. “I’m serious, Damon.”
4/5
< Get Over it
“And I’m also serious,baby,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “But I made you laugh.”
I sniffled.
Then laughed again.
Then wiped my cheek with the back of my sleeve as my voice broke all over again.
“You’re the worst,” I said, giggling and crying all at once.
“No, baby,” he murmured with a husky voice that made my thighs twitch. “I’m yours. And I’m waiting.”
And just like that, I wasn’t just scared anymore.
I was running to him. Let’s see what he has to say.
Royalty Writes
Thank you all for your support
