Jasper's POV
It was an agonizingly slow morning. After cleaning up after breakfast, I ran into my father, literally. Falling backward, I winced as my back hit the ground. It was sure to leave a bruise.
"Watch where you are going-" he said, reaching out a hand to help me up, "Oh never mind, mistake. Get your jobs done and meet me on the floor at 3 pm." He retracted his hand and glared at me.
Without making eye contact, I nodded. The floor is what we call the torture room, one of the few we use to get information out of rogues or enemies. As I heard his footsteps retreat, I picked up the supplies and went about cleaning the house. Seeing as we had over 200 pack members, this was a huge task for one person alone. Why would anyone want to clean, when they can force the omega to do it. As soon as I was able to walk, I was forced to clean. It went from everyone trading off tasks, to me doing them all. They only have one omega, and why would they lessen the load.
Some of you may be thinking about how horrible this is and that that is not how you treat someone. The truth of it is, this is all I have ever known. My parents are both Betas and were thrilled to have their first child. However when I was born, I wasn't a Beta, I was an omega. They were immediately disgusted with me and thus my horrid life started. I am the first omega the pack had seen in over 100 years. Seeing other pack members interact with each other, I quickly realized that this was not how everyone was treated. I quickly accepted my role, as any defiance resulted in being beaten, and have not defied any command since.
I cleaned my way through the house and eventually came to the training room. This is the worst one to clean. The blood, sweat, and tears were absorbed by the mats and even the concrete underneath. There are times when I scrub my hands raw, trying to get it clean. If I don't, there is a big beating in it for me and I lose eating privileges for a week. The pack so graciously allows me table scraps every Wednesday. Water is allowed every day to keep me upright to clean. That is the schedule I have grown up on, resulting in my body showing every bone. I do tend to have a decent amount of muscle from my tasks, but other than that I am extremely thin. Sometimes the scraps are generous and other times there is little to none.
By the time I have cleaned the house and training room, I have 3 hours before I have to be on the floor. My next task is to tend the garden, my favorite task of the day. Being out in the sunshine, and seeing the flowers and all the insects and animals always calm me down. There is a rabbit's nest hidden under one of the hedges, which I happen to have befriended. Gardening allows my anxiety to fade almost completely. I have always had a green thumb, effortlessly pruning, cutting, and planting all sorts. There is a greenhouse in the back garden, in which I have managed to grow the medicinal plants, which the pack doctor uses regularly. Sometimes, she leaves something special for me there, a book or sometimes even a coloring book. I use them when my tasks for the day are done, and I can't sleep. The escape is wonderful and needed.
By the time the last weed is pulled and the hedges are pruned, it is almost 3. Rushing into the house, I nearly trip on my own feet. Regaining my balance, I quickly put all the supplies away and headed down to the floor. I knew that he may already be waiting like he normally is. Even if I am early, he always manages to make me late. It is the game he likes to play.