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There is a park across the road, and I drag myself there, grateful that it is dark now. Sitting on one of the empty swings, I grab the steel chain and stare across the road at the bar. In the eyes of the Moore family, I am no more than a dog. In fact, dogs are treatedbetter than I am. I put on a strong front, but inside, there is an emptiness, an agony that nothing can fix.
Jonathon thinks Norman has what it takes to become Alpha? Is he really this blind?
His son is useless.
He is the scum of the earth, and the pack is more than aware of it.
Sometimes I wonder if just ending myself would be a kindness. This is the first time I've sat in a park in years. I can't even go to a bakery or anywhere without being monitored and controlled. Today is the first time I've had a few minutes to myself.
But soon enough, I'll have to call Tony and––
My hand pauses on its way to my bag, and I blink.
Why do I have to call Tony?
He thinks I'm at the bar with Norman.
My eyes narrow, and I pat my pocket, which has at least a couple of hundred dollars. There's a lot that can be done with a hundred dollars.
I get to my feet.
The night is still young, and for the first time in years, there is no one watching over my shoulder.
My smile broadens.
*** **
My silver hair is easily recognizable, so if I want to enjoy myself, I need to first disguise myself.
The woman staring back at me in the salon chair is unrecognizable. Her hair is midnight black, and her icy blue eyes are filled with childish excitement.
“Now, don’t you look fine, honey?” The woman fixing up the wig sighs. “Although, your natural silver is so rare and gorgeous. I don’t know why you would want to hide it.”
“I just want something different.” I smile.
She’s put the wig hair in a beautiful knot and, pairing that with the small black dress that I bought at the thrift store not twenty minutes ago, I don’t look like Cynthia Rose in the least. I doubt even Jonathon would recognize me if he saw me right now.
Pleased, my heart stops, trembling with anxiety. I'm taking a risky step going out on my own, but this might be my only chance to experience some freedom. I don't even know what I want to do. I just wanted to look pretty for once.
Leaving the human-owned salon, I walk to the closest train station and get a locker, stuffing my belongings inside. With my wallet and phone with me, I take the train, getting off a few stops later only to find myself in a brightly lit street. Bars and clubs litter the street, crowds of young humans moving about, some drunks, some heading off to get tipsy. I don't smell any of my own kind here, and my body relaxes. Besides, with the human stench, my own scent is bound to get drowned out.
I decide to follow a large group into a bar that looks like it'll be a little fun if the music coming from it is any indication.
Most of the shifter-owned establishments are quiet places, if you don't count the clubs that have been popping up all over Seattle. The clubs are mostly underground and are strictly controlled because of how wild young shifters can get when they're drunk. Human alcohol doesn't give us anything more than a buzz, and only selective brands can accomplish that much. I kind of want a buzz to get rid of the tension coiling in my stomach, so I order a glass of scotch, making sure to ask about the brand of the bottle first.
The bartender gives me an odd look but shows me the bottle before pouring me a glass.
"I'd also like the fries." I study the menu. I didn't know you could order food in bars. Shifter bars don't have food on the menu.
"Sure." The man nods and puts in the order.
Sipping my drink, I turn around on the stool and look around. The place is not as dimly lit as I expected, and at the back of the room, I can see a few people dancing along with the music. I watch them, finding myself relax as the minutes go by and no one comes barging through the door screaming at me.
By the time my order arrives, I ask for another glass of scotch and dig into my food. I have to ration my food at home because I usually get a specific amount of groceries delivered to me. It's rare for Jonathon to let me get groceries by myself. I'm allowed to eat at his house, though that’s something I avoid. Therefore, making fries at home is a waste of oil and potatoes.
I bite into the crispy fry and close my eyes in pure happiness.
Nothing beats fast food!
