A WEEK AGO...
I went left,away from the shelter.
I didn’t feel like repeating the script—that too-familiar scene which always played out when I went there asking if they had space.We wish we could accommodate you. We’re so sorry. Regulations don’t allow us to go past max occupancy.Despite the pain of it, I still tried a few times a week, including Wednesday after the public shower time and soup kitchen. If I hadn’t found the pickles, I might have made a different decision today. Usually, the good sisters arm me with a snack before they send me on my merry way.
It’s a solitary march to the underpass. It was only a few blocks away, but I found myself walking slower and slower with each footfall. I wasn’t sure why.
I kept my head down. I didn’t make eye contact with passing strangers. Josie kept quiet too. She knew the drill. If someone was hungry enough, they wouldn't shrink away from cooking cat over one of the scattered night fires of tent city. Open flame was illegal, but there were enough rotted out, discarded oil drums to go around. People would burn anything, especially when the nights turned cold. My own stench was nothing compared to plastic burning.
I was almost there, and now I sped up, which made no damn sense. If I’d been so worried about losing my cozy box, I would have run the entire way. Or, hell, I’d have foraged closer... or even just let myself starve. Desperation was weird though, the way it tricked your mind into random behavior.
If I was lucky, as I had been for a short while now, my box would still be my sanctuary. If my luck had finally run out, some other poor street rat would have claimed it as their own. I was actually surprised it hadn’t happened already.
The box was, blissfully, empty. I let out a sigh of relief, and Josie followed suit. She was smart, smarter than most people I’d met in the past two years.
“Home sweet home,” I mumble, relief warring with broken resolve that this really was where I’d rest my head again tonight.
Lifting the jaggedly ripped ‘door’ that I’d fashioned with a sharp tin can lid, I crawled inside. I set the messenger bag down gently so the glass jar wouldn’t hurt Josie, and then I parted the opening to invite Josie out. She took her time, stretching and giving little cat yawns, before padding over to her usual corner of our home and curling into a small, furry ball. I envied how she fell asleep so quickly, like she truly didn’t have a care in the world.
My stomach growled again, low and guttural. Insistent. The half-sandwich wouldn’t tide me over till morning. Pulling my bag close, I fished out the jar, swiping bits of leftover dumpster debris from its glassy surface. I checked it over once more, finding the seal still intact. Twisting the top off took more time and effort than I’d freely admit to anyone. I might win first prize for dumpster diving these days, but I’d never been a very athletic or muscled person. Not having enough food hadn’t helped my physique. The top gave a satisfying pop of defeat, and I grinned as the vinegary, yet sweet scent of bread-and-butter pickling juice wafted to my nose. I hadn’t had a fresh pickle,well almost fresh pickle, in ages. Josie lifted her head just long enough to sniff the air, but then she wrinkled her nose and made a point to shift her body in the opposite direction. I guess pickles weren’t the cat’s meow.
“Cheers,” I mumbled to myself, bringing the jar to my lips and tipping it back.
I cringed as the slightly sweet, very acidic contents slopped down my throat. Unpleasant, yet also wet and wonderful. I drank deeply, even as my cracked lips began to sting and the liquid began to slosh unpleasantly in my belly. When I pulled it away from my mouth, I burped softly. There wasn’t much juice left. With a shaking hand, I pinched a fat, briny spear between two fingers and pulled it out. I shook it gently, letting any clinging liquid plop back into the jar for later, before bringing it to my lips. I was salivating, despite how unpleasantly the sugary sour juice had already made my belly feel.
Biting my lip, I wondered if I was about to overload my stomach. I’d learned that overeating after being too hungry for too long, was also a bad idea. It could make you sick, just as quickly as expired food. But to have such a bounty and not feast? Impossible. I bit into the spear, the crunch unexpectedly loud. Out of habit, I froze, waiting for someone to get curious about what I was doing inside my makeshift haven. Cars thrummed over me, crossing the overpass. Feet shuffled on the overpass sidewalk. I heard a cough nearby, likely one of my fellow street companions. When no one knocked on the box, I took another bite. God, I should savor it. I should slow down. But, unlike with the sandwich, I couldn’t help myself this time. I took bite after bite, swallowing down half-chewed chunks of bread and butter pickle.
Finishing the first pickle, I snagged another. I ate it even faster. The explosion of flavor almost brought tears to my eyes, though that might have been from sheer exhaustion. A person can’t know what tired is like until they’re in survival mode twenty-four seven.
As I fished out a third spear, I found that I couldn’t lift it to my mouth. Pickles in a cardboard box, that was my life now. I’d never known hardship until my family died. I’d been pampered. The only Fortune Omega daughter in a pack of Alpha sons. That might have changed. If we were all together right now, all alive, mom would have had another little girl. Would she have presented as an Omega? These questions haunt me, even though I know rationally that I didn’t cause the fatal crash. The onlything I did was stay behind and stay alive. I’d lost my appetite. I was still starving, but I couldn’t eat another bite.
I let the third pickle fall back into the jar and closed it loosely, so I didn’t have to struggle again later.It was for the best, I told myself.If I had kept eating, I’d have ended up puking.Shoving the jar into a corner of the box, I sat still as a statue for a heartbeat. I listened to the night moving around me. The traffic was dying away. People were settling into their homes, whatever homes they claimed. Apartments. Hotel rooms. Houses. Tents. Boxes beneath an underpass.
I wrapped myself in newspaper and a soiled blanket I’d found behind a hotel when they were updating linens. Gently, I fall to my side, tucking my knees against my chest so I can fit.
“Think tomorrow will be good too?” I whispered to Josie. She’s sound asleep, purring loudly. “It’s got to be. It’s Wednesday after all. If nothing else, we get a real meal and a shower.”
As I typically did before falling asleep, I watched my angelic cat for a moment. My dreams were better if she was the last thing I focused on. It wasn’t going to be enough today, though. I could tell.
The moment I lost consciousness, the memories attacked. I’d thought about the past too much today. It was inevitable.
I hardly recognizedthe girl in my dream.
It was like looking at—or becoming—a better, prettier version of myself. This girl didn’t need a shower. She looked plump, well fed. Her hair was long and glossy. She was laughing, her voice a melody floating along with the music that wound through wall-mounted speakers. Crystal wine glasses clinked nearby as pack leaders toasted. She was an Omega princess—no, I was.This was me, right?And… I was oblivious to the storm ahead. Carefree. Excited to buy a new purse. I was telling the Alpha boys circled around me that Oblivion Haze was the best bandeverand I didn’t care how unseemly it was to shriek at a concert. The boyswere charming, laughing at my jokes and refilling my glass. They hoped I’d spare them a glance one day. Maybe I would. They seemed like nice guys. Rich, polite, and Alphas of affluent families my own pack father trusted. I couldn’t say that any of them enticed my inner Omega. Their scents were like every other teen Alpha’s. Body spray marred their natural musk. A taint of beer, because drinking was cool at that age. Pizza. They always smelled ever-so-slightly of pizza too. As they got older, more confident, that would change though. Their scents would develop and become unique, at least that’s what mom said would happen. And then maybe my Omega scent would spark with one of them.
All those future thoughts. The hopes. The expectation to match with an Alpha of the ‘right kind’.
This girl, this me back then, didn't know how it was all going to implode soon.
I didn't know yet that none of these Alpha guys could ever compete withhim, or the memory of that ill-fated kiss.
She’s laughing again… no, it’s me that was laughing. The old me.Why am I laughing? Don’t I know that everything is about to change? Don’t I know that soon all of this will be gone?
The party seemed to last forever.
The crowd built thicker, the music rising and falling with each change of song. Appetizers floated around almost magically, carried by quiet, graceful caterers. I startled when someone popped a bottle of champagne nearby. The cork shot to the ceiling, ricocheting off the chandelier.
Another pop. I turned around in circles, trying to find the source.
