You know how people say sleep is the cousin of death?
Well, last night, I think I died about six times. Not in the peaceful, 'rest in peace' kind of way but in the I'm going to have a heart attack because the psycho Alpha is standing over my bed again for no reason kind of way. I hadn't slept a wink. Not a single. Blink. Of sleep. My eyebags had gone beyond the normal "tired omega" stage and entered the "did you get punched in both eyes?" territory. They were swollen, dark, and I could feel them sagging like they had gained their own weight and gravity.
Why? Because he kept talking to himself well, not exactly himself. His inner voice. The one that apparently, for some evil reason, only I could hear.
Inner Voice (low, mocking):
"I wonder if she knows how funny she looks. Two black moons under her eyes. Like a raccoon that's been crying all night. Or maybe a corpse that refused to stay in the grave. He said in his inner voice
I froze mid-step.
