2
Florian
"Florian!Get your ass out here now!"
The hoarse scream coming from downstairs woke me with a start. I gasped, shooting upright only to hit my head on a low wooden beam from the bunk above me. I mumbled a curse under my breath before reaching for my cane and taking my first few rickety steps of the day. Though I was awake, my muscles didn't get the message—I stumbled as they took their time waking up and I bumped into the empty bunk bed beside me.
A deep ache pulsed through my body along with little lightning jolts that made me bite my lip.
It was all too familiar. I couldn't go a single day without my pain flaring up, but there was nothing I could do except grind my teeth and bear it. There was always work to be done around the orphanage, and as one of the oldest orphans, much of it fell to me. My mysterious chronic pain didn't matter to Headmaster. In her eyes, I exaggerated and complained too much.
Even gripping the head of my cane sent a painful jolt up my wrist. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath to weather it, then slowly made my way downstairs. Every step was a hurdle. I already knew this was going to be a particularly bad day. But Headmaster didn't care. When she wanted things done, there was no refusing her.
As I approached the bottom of the stairs, I heard the rowdy sounds of children coming from the open front door. As usual, there was laughter and shrieking and rowdiness.
Despite the pain nagging me, I smiled. There was no better sound than children at play. It was like music to me, and it warmed my heart to hear.
The younger children at the orphanage meant the world to me. Their joy was worth pushing through the pain. As the oldest orphans, the majority of their care fell to me and my friend Pascal. Since Pascal was found abandoned outside the orphanage as an infant, nobody knew his true age. He was found by Headmaster a few weeks after I was admitted, so for all intents and purposes, he was slightly younger than me.
A child's mischievous shriek split the air. "You can't catch me!"
I recognized the voice. It was Kip, one of the naughtier little boys. No doubt he was evading a bath, as usual. I'd never seen that boy without at least a speck of dirt on him.
His taunt was followed by Headmaster's growl. "If you don't stay still, I'm going to throw you into the street!"
Kip didn't care. He kept laughing and dodging her.
I smiled but shook my head. Kip was too young to know that Headmaster was likely to follow through with her threat. Running the orphanage was solely her obligation. I assumed she received meagre funding from the city council to make sure parentless children didn't end up dead in a ditch, but nothing else.
Although I respected Headmaster and the important work she did, she wasn't a kind woman. She was tough as nails and as sharp as one. She said she had to be in order to keep the dozens of orphaned children in line. I didn't know if I agreed with that. The children listened to me and Pascal just fine, and we never raised our voices or hands to them. I wondered if it was because we were both omegas with a natural talent for child-rearing. Headmaster had no children of her own and never asked for this job. Even though I didn't see eye-to-eye with her, I felt that in a way, she was a victim of circumstance too.
"Florian!"
Headmaster screamed my name again. She sounded angry and desperate. I had to pick up the pace if I wanted to reach Kip in time. I didn't want her to take her frustration out on him.
"Coming," I called softly. Sometimes the pain constricted my breath and made it difficult to speak loudly.
But I should've known better than to rush. I always made mistakes when I hurried. The foot of my cane missed the wooden step and I couldn't balance myself in time. I cried out as my body fell forward.
"Florian, what're you—oh, geez, not again!"
Pascal stepped out of the kitchen just in time to see me falling. He dropped what he was holding—a lump of raw dough—and rushed to catch me before I hit the floor face-first.
I gasped and struggled to catch my breath as the adrenaline left my blood.
"Did you trip?" Pascal asked. He had thick eyebrows which, when furrowed like they were now, provided a humorous contrast to the rest of his round baby face.
"I'm sorry," I said between breaths.
Pascal huffed and patted me gently on the back. "Don't be sorry, Florian. It was an accident. It happens."
I grimaced at myself. As if tripping and almost injuring myself wasn't bad enough, I'd also caused another problem.
"Look," I said, nodding to the floor.
Pascal curiously glanced over his shoulder, then winced. "Oh."
The bread he'd been kneading all morning was lying in a depressing beige blob on the floor. I didn't know if it was salvageable.
