Page 90 of Knot So Social

I send the last commenter a personal message with a coffee voucher attached, thanking her for getting in touch and praising her for staying strong. From personal experience, I understand too well the temptation to quit, to wish you’d never been born.

Earmarking the topic, I note it down in my list of media ideas to circle back to. I haven’t done a positivity post in a couple of weeks. Probably because I had so many ups and downs with my body.

Then I keep reading.

Of course, mixed in with the grateful responses are the a few dozen comments from angry men demanding I stop putting ideas in their omegas’ heads.

They don’t need this bullshit, they have us!

“That’s precisely the problem.” I click over to my list of professional but firm responses and select an appropriate one that politely suggests they keep scrolling. Next comment.

You’re doing more harm than good.

Hmm. Not according to the percentage of comments from omegas and others claiming I’m helping them.

Just because you couldn’t please any alphas, don’t expect everyone to be like you.

That stings, a little, but I’m used to it by now. Many alphas out there want an obedient little pet who never talks back.

Just stop sucking everyone into your own daddy issues.

This one makes me pause. Do I have daddy issues? Maybe. I mean, it’s possible, since I never knew him. Mom was a junkie who couldn’t remember who’d siphoned through her bedroom. So long as they fed her addictions, she was happy. Right up until she died and I got sent into foster care.

I pop a note in my digital journal to discuss it with my therapist and move right along.

My PA sends a note through with a link, which takes me right into the center of a scandal blowing up in real time. Ginger’s Girl Code, an account focused on beauty tips and self-presentation, is under fire for the creator allegedly getting plastic surgery. I wince as I skim the comments, finding leaked photos of the woman coming out of surgery, with half her face covered.

I mean, a girl should be able to get whatever surgery she wants, but the cancel culture is real. It’s the main reason I’m so fanatical about my brand. Ginger and I have done a few stitches with each other. Mostly friendly, but there was one where I stitched something she said about how to attract a guy with, adding my own take suggesting omegas find their independence first.

My girl instinct says to reach out and offer her my support, but it would only take one screenshot of the message shared online for the outraged fans to come after me instead. Suppressing a sigh, I go through my accounts and hide half the videos I’ve done with her. It’s heartless, I know, but the first rule of influencing is self-preservation. My omegas need me to keep on teaching, not get dragged into a fan war.

It’s a cruel world, online. Well, not just online, when I think about it.

I check my phone and pause at the sight of a message from Jeremy. He’s sent a photo of a pair of crutches along with the caption, I got new legs! And of course, an emoji of a leg.

I chuckle under my breath as I type back Ooh! Are they fast? I hold my breath as I wait for the three dots to finish flashing.

They’re fast, but we’re having lack of coordination issues with the operator.

I blow a raspberry through my lips. He’s so silly. Does this mean you’re going home?

Yep, in the morning. But it will be a few days before I can collect my truck. Is that okay?

That’s fine.

If he’s going home already, that means his injury isn’t too serious. My heart pounded for a long time after the ambulance took him away, and I couldn’t get the feeling of falling onto his hand out of my head.

How’s your hand?

Missing you.

I scoff under my breath. In the few texts we’ve exchanged, he’s never missed a chance to flirt but I can’t let myself believe it’s anything more than charm acquired for his job. A little voice in the back of my head says I’m wrong. But it doesn’t matter; it’s not like I plan to start a relationship with the man.

Even if he is sweet, a great cook, and knows how to meet my every need. And built like a work horse.

I lean my elbows on the desk, resting the phone between them as I decide how to answer.

It sure is quiet without you here, I type.