Humiliation

The grey sky had sunk so low that it seemed to be pulling the trees along with it, bending them to the ground with the weight of the clouds. The cart, loaded with silence and dampness, shuddered at every bump, clinging to the muddy road, as if it did not want to move forward any more.

The horses, exhausted and covered in foam, pulled the harness with doomed obedience.

Alpha, sitting in front, did not urge them on. He allowed the world to resist him, with the same cold patience with which he broke someone else's will.

Omega sat on the edge, huddled into a ball, feeling how the moisture soaked the rags of his clothes, how the damp cold crawled under his skin, filling his lungs. His hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was afraid to move, afraid to attract extra attention. Only his breathing, short and uneven, betrayed his presence.

When the wheels of the cart sank into the black, rotten mud with a dull sob, the whole world seemed to shake. The cart tipped to one side, creaking under their weight, and the dead silence of the forest seemed to hang even thicker.

Alpha jumped to the ground. His steps, heavy and sure, left deep marks in the wet clay. Without a word, he leaned his shoulder against the side of the cart, the muscles of his back tensed like ropes, but the cart did not even flinch.

Omega watched him. Something stirred inside, beneath the layers of fear: an impulse, an instinctive desire to help, to lighten the burden, to be more than just a burden, if only for a moment.

He slid off the cart. The mud sucked his feet up to his ankles, the cold pierced his bare feet. As he came closer, he lowered his head and placed his hands on the boards, silently, next to the Alpha's, ready to apply his strength.

But before he could press, before he could become part of the effort, his body froze.

The Alpha turned.

The gaze was hard as stone, with contempt frozen in every feature. The Omega felt it pierce him, revealing all the insignificance, all the dirt that covered him not only outside, but inside.

The silence lasted, stretched, like a string stretched to the limit.

Then the Alpha spoke.

His voice was cold, clipped, like metal sliding over rough stone:

"You are insignificant, do not touch. You dirty everything you touch." The words cut deeper than a knife.

Omega winced, instinctively pulling his hands away as if they had been burned. His heart thumped dully and heavily, as if it had been knocked out of his ribcage.

He stood there, unsure of what to do. Should he wait for the blow? Kick the cart himself? 

Alpha, without giving him another glance, gave the cart a sharp push alone. The muscles in his arms and shoulders bulged, the mud squelched under his boots, and with a jerk the heavy structure broke free, spraying black sludge in all directions.

Omega was left standing in the middle of the road, shaking, splattered with mud up to his chin, feeling the mud run down his cheeks like tears he had no right to shed.

Alpha stepped back toward the cart, lightly, as if the mud under his feet had no weight for him. He climbed up to the front, took the reins and with a quick movement touched the harness.

He didn't call the omega.

He didn't even make a gesture.

He just rode on.

The omega stumbled towards the cart, caught up with it, grabbed the side board and, with difficulty pulling himself up, climbed back inside, dropping to his knees like a dog buckling under the weight.

He sat there, wet, humiliated, pressing his dirty palms to his chest, trying to warm himself. He was hurt to tears by such treatment of himself.

And again a halt.

The cart stopped in a small clearing. Alpha threw the reins to the ground, jumping down heavily, and did not turn around for a moment to check if the omega was following him.

The omega rose slowly, his legs numb from sitting for so long. He climbed out of the cart, immediately digging his bare feet into the wet, icy ground.

Alpha lit a fire with short, quick movements.

The omega froze at the edge of the clearing, not daring to approach. His instincts told him not to impose himself.

Alpha did not even glance at him.

He took a piece of meat from his pack, impaled it on a branch and placed it over the fire. It smelled of fat, smoke, bitter bark. The smell was so strong that the omega's stomach twisted into a cramp.

He pressed his fingers into his stomach, trying to stifle the traitorous growl of hunger.

The Alpha ate silently, as if performing a ritual. His movements were devoid of haste or pleasure.

And he did not throw a bite, a gesture, or even a glance in the direction of the one who was trembling a few steps away from him.

The Omega watched from the darkness, frozen between life and emptiness. Every crackle of the fire, every faint smell of meat was torture for him. But he did not take a step closer.

When the remains of the meat were eaten and the fire burned brighter, the Alpha finally looked up. And his gaze, sliding over the Omega, was colder than the forest itself.

A short, sharp shake of the head was a gesture, clear without words.

"Far away," he said.

And he added, turning slightly:

"There."

A finger smeared with grease pointed in the direction of the forest.

The Omega cringed, but obeyed. His obedient body went in the direction indicated.

He stumbled between roots, between wet stones, until the weak warmth of the fire was left behind.

He lay down on the ground where his master had ordered him.

The cold immediately grabbed hold of his body, penetrating to the bones. The ground was damp, smelled of rot and dampness. He pressed his cheek to the ground, feeling the moisture seep through the fabric of his clothes, smearing over his skin.

He prayed to die tonight.