1
Scar
The blaring of my mid-afternoon alarm shocked me from my nightmare-riddled sleep and forced me to face another shitty day.
Growling, I ripped the blanket off and crawled out of bed to prepare for work. I’d been counting off the days until my only day off during the week—Sunday—and unfortunately, today was Friday, the busiest day of the week. More customers meant more money, but it also meant more drunk alphas stinking of alcohol and asking, “Hey, Scar, ain’t you got a mate yet?”
To which my usual answer was, “Fuck off.”
To which they’d respond, “Ah, whatever, pass me another ‘un.”
And so on.
Even though the people asking were usually regulars, it still wasn’t any of their business who I was or wasn’t fucking. And if they took a single look at me while sober, they’d realize that no alpha in his right mind would ever want to sleep with me anyway. What kind of alpha, primed and fertile and ready to start a family, would want to sleep with a thirty-five year old omega covered in scars and missing an arm and a leg?
Nobody.
And that was never going to change.
After getting dressed and slipping on my prosthetics, I left my run-down apartment for the bar. It wasn’t much, but it was the only thing getting me out of bed these days.
Sad, I know.
As usual, everyone on the street avoided even looking at me. Walking anywhere in public when you’re covered in scars and injuries is a struggle. Most of the time I preferred it that way, since when peopledidlook at me, it was only to stare with curiosity or pity—neither of which I wanted.
People at the bar weren’t as bad. Being the bar’s owner granted me some kind of respect at least. Either that or the customers were too drunk to care what I looked like, which was fine by me. But the protective bubble I got at work all but disappeared the moment I stepped back onto the streets of Cinderhollow, where I became the local grouchy, un-mated omega once more.
Seeing as I couldn’t go back in time and stop myself from being abducted and mutilated by humans, there was nothing I could do about my appearance, so everyone else was just going to have to live with the way I looked. Tough luck.
Still, I could have lived without every single person within five feet of me acting like I was contagious. Don’t worry, folks, you can’t catch being ugly!
My bar, the Drunken Dragon, was built into the side of the mountain before I even arrived in Cinderhollow. It was an old dragon’s cavern hundreds of years ago, and then turned into rental space when the dragon moved on. Nobody knew what to do with such a strange space, so the rent was dirt cheap. All I did was clean it up, toss a couple of tables and chairs in there, and I had myself a bar. Thankfully, it lived up to its name and soon it was filled with regular customers—mostly dragons—looking for a casual place to grab a drink.
Opening a bar in a dragon tribe turned out to be great for business, since apparently dragons take alotof alcohol to get drunk. Who knew?
Most flying customers just landed on the wooden dock in front of the bar, but for the rest of us, we had to walk.
And for me, with my missing leg and janky prosthetic, the journey back and forth from work wasa ton of damn effort.
The time straddled the point between late afternoon and early evening now. People milled about in the streets, going to restaurants, or home, or stores, or maybe even my bar. It was probably my least favorite time of day, since more people in public meant more staring and gasps of horror. I grit my teeth and tried to ignore the bustling noise and crowds.
Just as I stepped in front of a jewelry store, the door flew open and a group of women charged out, all holding bags in one hand and their child’s hand in the other and talking excitedly. They were too distracted to notice me until one of them bumped into my shoulder.
Not wanting to snap at a lady, I held my tongue - but quickly wished I didn’t.
As soon as the woman realized she ran into someone, she began to say “sorry”—but as soon as she saw me, she let out a gasp and frightened yelp. She shuddered, as if she touched something slimy by accident, and clutched her bag tightly to her chest as a makeshift barrier between her and I. Without another word, she backed up towards the rest of her friends and they all murmured and whispered away like a bunch of terrified mice.
Not even asorry. But after living like this for so long, I knew better than to expect one at this point.
Now in a foul mood, I scowled and trudged down the street. Who did she think she was, anyway, a fucking princess? Sorry that I breathed your damn air and contaminated your skin.
I decided to take a sideroad to avoid running into anyone else since I was now thoroughly pissed off. But a loud, child-like sniffling made me stop in my tracks. I searched for the source of the noise and noticed a shape huddled beside the dumpster underneath a tattered awning. I approached cautiously and said, “Hello?”
The shape turned out to be a child, whose forehead rested on his knees as he continued to cry quietly.
“Hey, kid, are you lost?” I kneeled to be on eye level with him, which took a lot of effort given my old prosthetic, but tried to keep my distance at the same time so I didn’t scare him. “Where are your parents?”
The young boy raised his head from his knees to reply, but once he saw me, his eyes widened with fear and a whimper left his throat.
