Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Noble
The first job I considered after my long stay at the hospital was mascot. Maybe at sporting events. Except, I didn’t really like sports.
Or crowds.
Couldn’t do a cartwheel to save my life.
Promotional gigs were sparse and paid like shit, but that would also require a mask. A costume.
My options were limited. I needed to wear something over my scars but had none of the specialized job requirements.
Night shift at a convenience store it was. I had no experience. No job history other than a stint in a coffee shop and my high school job at the school snack shack.
That and my modeling career didn’t translate to anything much in the real world.
Another slap in my already-wrecked face.
At least I had a place to live. And things to eat. I’d learned to be grateful the hard way.
The owner let me lease the apartment above the convenience store for cheap. He and his wife had lived here when they were starting out. Then their kids while they were in college. And now me.
I put on a clean T-shirt with the Dave’s Quickie Mart logo over my heart and bounded down the steps after three coffees, none of which did anything to relieve me of sleepiness.
“There you are,” Dave himself, the owner, announced. He was nearing seventy but worked his ass off. Open until ten at night. Every damned day of the week.
“It’s fifteen till,” I said, checking my phone. “I’m early.”
He turned and looked at the worn-and-faded clock above the register. “Huh. That’s right. Seems like it’s been my time to leave for three hours. You’ve got this? I can duck out early?”
Not waiting for my answer, he grabbed his cane and, despite the late hour, poured his own cup of coffee from the bit left over in the pot for customers. I had to empty it and refill it anyway.
“Of course. Have a good night. Please tell Wendy I really appreciated the cake she made the other night. Ate the last piece of it tonight before my shift.”
He nodded. “She does love cooking for people but, with my high sugar, I can’t have it anymore. Take care, Noble. Call me if you need anything.”
I nodded and watched him leave. He enjoyed being at the store. Taking care of customers. Visiting with friends. Seeing people grow up, have families, and bring their kids back in.
It was a good life. I only hoped I could find one as joyful, but I knew better.
No good life for someone like me.
Only pain and hiding.
I flipped the closed sign for the only fifteen minutes during the twenty-four-hour day that Dave allowed.
I had to get things done during that time to prepare for the night.
Make new coffee. Restock popular items. Reset things.
If I was lucky, run the broom through the place.
Despite not having a lot of experience in retail work, I took to the job easily. Had a routine down.
Routine was important. At least, that was what my psychiatrist once said. I didn’t see her anymore.
She claimed I was healed. On the inside.
She was wrong but, eager not to see her on a regular basis, I foolishly agreed.
Fifteen minutes went by in the snap of two fingers, and soon, I opened the door and flipped the sign to open again. A few teenagers walked in. Nothing out of the ordinary. But they were some I’d never seen before.
The greatest part about this job? Not many people came in at night. A handful of regulars who knew better than to look directly at the train wreck of my face. They looked down or pretended that something on their phone was important. Dug through their purse or wallet.
Didn’t matter to me. I wasn’t so fond of looking at myself either.
“Hey, how much are…” The young man with glasses approached me. I put the book down that I was reading and looked at him. He didn’t run screaming. Points for him.
“The sodas? Dollar apiece,” I answered, raising the book back up until I got the signal he was ready to pay.
“Dude, what…” He stared right at my face.
“None of your damned business. You want the sodas or just the free freak show.”
“Um…” he stammered. “Here. Keep the change.”
He tossed a balled-up five-dollar bill on the counter for three sodas he and his friends had.
They wouldn’t be back. I could almost guarantee it.
Or, worse, they would be back with more friends.
Either way, I was left alone with my book and my wrestling feelings. Those never ceased. Overthinking. Catastrophizing. Blame games. Mostly aimed at myself.
I shouldn’t have gotten in the car that night.
I knew he’d had one too many.
By the time I’d run myself over the coals one too many times, Dave was back. Chipper as ever. The sun was beginning to rise, and I felt like a vampire who needed to hiss and dart back into his cave before he was burned alive.
“Morning. Anything good happen?”
‘Not really.” I chuckled and handed him the keys.
“Here. Wendy sent you breakfast. Said you work really hard.”
“Thank you.” I accepted the gift of a loaded croissant breakfast sandwich and carrot cake. My favorite. Wendy was intent on fattening me up, as she called it. Said I was entirely too skinny for an omega.
If she only knew there was a time when I weighed at least thirty pounds less than I did now and was encouraged not to eat unless I was on the verge of passing out.
By my boyfriend. My agent. The modeling agency. Photographers. All of them.
Stout was out. Bone thin was in. That was what they said I needed to be to make it in the business.
I laughed as I made my way to my apartment for another day of hiding and skulking and sleeping the day away. If they could see me now. I wasn’t stout or skinny, but I was ugly as fucking hell.
As I went to bed near noon, I did so in good spirits despite my circumstances. Fridays were my nights off. Dave had a young man who could only come in then due to his college schedule, and it worked out fine for me.
Friday nights were for Crowned. I glanced at the chair in the corner and saw my mask hanging there, ready for my night of freedom—release.
Most omegas and alphas went to Crowned to have fun within the privacy of the club’s walls. Some had hopes to find their mates.
I went to be myself. No one stared at my scars. They only saw the omega with a mask.