3
Scar
“Hey, check this out!”
“Dude, fuck off! Haha!”
“Throw it at his head, like this…”
I scowled at the large, rowdy group of alphas that came in earlier who were currently in the middle of throwing peanut shells at each other like a bunch of cavemen. The pile of shells scattered all over the floor. Just one more chore for me to do at the end of the work day, as if I didn’t have enough shit to put up with.
Fridays were usually busy, but this was ridiculous. The bar was absolutely packed. More people meant more business, but it also meant more resources gone and more sticky floors to pick up given the inevitable drunken disgustingness.
Sometimes I wondered why I even ran a damn bar.
Still, money was money, and no one could argue that I was good at my job, at least.
“Hey, waiter, can we get som’ more drinks over here?” one of the alphas called as he raised his half-filled beer.
At first I didn’t realize he was talking tome.Usually nobody made the mistake of calling me a waiter, given that I stoodbehindthe bar and clearly wasn’t hobbling around handing out food. But judging by the couple of empty beers on the table, I gave him the benefit of the intoxicated doubt.
I got to work pouring a new round of drinks for the alphas at that particular table, the largest one in the center of the lounge. There were at least ten alphas, all friends apparently, and easily the loudest group of people in the entire bar. Although their raucous laughter and over-the-top voices grated fiercely on my ears, I wasn’t about to kick out ten alpha men just for being loud in a bar—especially with the amount of money they were going to spend in total tonight.
I placed all the drinks on the tray and carefully balanced it between my real arm and prosthetic. Even though I’d gotten used to wearing one, it still was no substitute for my real flesh and blood. I had to move carefully to avoid spilling anything.
When I approached the table, the alpha who had called for drinks openly stared at me.
“Hey, wha’s wrong with your arm?” he asked loudly.
I scowled. One of his less drunk friends elbowed him and said, “Mav, dude, you can’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not?” He waved his hand. “It’sh not a big deal, Stephen.”
“Wetoldyou before we came here that this guy doesn’t look normal.”
A ripple of anger and shame surged through me. Leave it to intoxicated people to say what they really think. At least they didn’t beat around the bush. It was true—Ididn’tlook normal. But to hear it come from one of my customers inmybar, right in front of me—it felt like a physical slap to the face.
Wishing I was back behind the counter already, I quickly dished out the drinks and began to walk away when the alpha named Mav grabbed me by the prosthetic arm. A horrible itching feeling spread over my skin. Instinctively I snatched myself away from him and snarled, “Let go of me!”
“Whoa, it’s not real,” Mav said obliviously, ignoring my outburst. “So weird…”
I half expected the other alphas to tell Mav to fuck off and apologize for grabbing me but they did no such thing - they lost sight of everything else as soon as their next round of drinks arrived. Still seething, I stormed back to my place behind the counter, the only place that afforded me some modicum of privacy and safety.
Although it wasn’t my own skin, the prosthetic seemed to burn and tingle where Mav had grabbed it. I growled and rubbed my hand over it, trying to relieve the unpleasant sensation, but it didn’t go away. The feeling of having my boundaries ignored and violated lingered. There was nothing to do but wait it out.
Thankfully, the new round of drinks appeased the rowdy group of alphas for a while, since they were too busy guzzling booze to make a ruckus. But from years of experience at this job, I knew they would reach their limit pretty soon and if they didn’t leave on their own, I’d be forced to kick them out. Which was always fun.
And by fun, I meant horrible.
To get my mind off the impending chore, I began to tidy up behind the counter, putting away glasses and cleaning spills. It was doing a good job of distracting me until the shopkeeper bell rang and a new group of alphas walked in. I scowled again.
Great. As if I didn’t have enough problems to deal with right now…
But then realization struck me. I recognized the alpha in-between the other two. His name was Ryu.
And at that moment, Ryu’s eyes caught mine.
Suddenly feeling awkward, I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I should have waved, or smiled, or performed some kind of act of recognition. Instead I was mostly surprised to see him. He wasn’t exactly a regular, but Ryu did come in from time to time to get a drink. But the last time I saw him was when that kid omega Gabriel saved Stoneheart pack with his magic, and Ryu came by to tell me what happened. I didn’t really care either way, but I had to admit I did appreciate Ryu going out of his way to tell me about it when he didn’t have to.
