He cleared his throat. “It seems that the client has been contacted, and they have agreed to your request.”
I should have been happy.God, I was happy.Yet, that emotion was swallowed up by relief and new waves of grief—I couldn't save my family, but I’d saved Josie. Yeah, maybe we’d been kicked out of the shelter as soon as we’d finally gotten a bed, but that was the past. I couldn’t change it. This time, I’d made sure I secured Josie’s spot. That was all that now mattered.
The tears came heavier, the aching pain in my chest exploded, and I dissolved into sobs which filled the room so swiftly that I thought the walls would crack against the pressure.
The only question in my mind, the only words that I could manage to think above the noise of my own emotional storm was:
How the fuck did I end up in this situation?
2
TESSA
A WEEK AGO...
I staredinto the dumpster for a heartbeat—my body teetering precariously as my stomach pressed brutally into the wide metal lip—and then I began to dig.There’s got to be something. I’m starving.I couldn’t get too overzealous though. One wrong move, and I’d fall inside. That happened a few weeks ago. I’d spent hours picking eggshells from my matted hair.
The dumpster smelled like last month's leftovers, which for me always translated into mom’s spaghetti bolognese with fresh basil, but only because of this one time my father wasso sickof eating it that he pushed a full container to the very back of our massive fridge. He’d hid it behind infrequently used fish sauce and hoisin. Mom found it the next month growing mold. My Omega mother didn’t often yell at my giant Alpha father, but she’d made an exception that day. She always took her pasta seriously. She was so fierce that my Alpha uncles intervened, holding her back. She probably would have calmed down faster, if my father hadn’t egged her on saying how cute she was when mad.
Thinking about their silly fight almost made me smile despite my current activity. Almost. Memories of my family were a double-edged sword providing brief joy chased by cutting pain.
Josie perched on a nearby ledge, her green eyes encouraging. She meowed loudly as if to say: ‘Come on, you can do it!’
“Obviously I’ll find something for us, silly cat,” I responded out of habit. "What kind of Omega would I be if I can’t even feed you?”
That was the question every day.What kind of Omega am I? Why am I still trying? Wouldn’t it be easier to... I shut down the depressing rhetoric before it could really gear up. I doubled down my efforts, even though I was one cracked nail away from giving up. It really wouldn’t take much these days.
Josie's meows echoed in the grimy alley. She was a mini, furry drill sergeant, always pushing me to reach further. It was easy for her to order me around. She was just sitting looking pretty while I did all the hard work. I pushed an empty pizza box aside and almost lost my balance when a family of roaches scurried out from the faded, greasy cardboard. My fingers ached so badly. They were raw and bloody from all the abuse I’d put them through, but giving up wasn’t an option.
My pack's stupid, never-surrender motto pounded in my head—Fortune favors the bold—as I pushed past wilted lettuce and questionable meat, pretending I was on a treasure hunt instead of a pathetic food drive. Almost two years on the streets hadn't broken me yet. But... when was the right time to give up?
"Victory!" I shouted, pulling out a barely touched sandwich still mostly wrapped in the signature logo paper of the deli nearby. I waved it like a trophy before my eyes caught sight of a jar directly beneath where the sandwich had rested. I thought I was going crazy, but it lookedfull. That wasn’t possible. I couldn’t remember the last time I found an unopened item in the garbage. I snapped it up, having to angle dangerously down and risk a fall. I got it though, swinging my legs down hard against the dumpster to pop my upper body skyward. I used the momentum to slide down the front of the mottled, rusted trash receptacle, and landed on my feet with only a little wobble. I’ve gotten really good at garbage gymnastics. I could be a trash superhero.
The jar was a month expired, unopened container of bread and butterpickle spears. It was like hitting the jackpot. I’d save it for later, for when midnight came and my belly was aching.
I popped the jar into my tattered bag, then stared at the loaded turkey on wheat. I searched for obvious mold and sniffed for strange smells, fighting the blurring vision and weakness flooding my limbs from lack of food. I should unfurl the wrapper and part the bread to really check. Looks could be deceiving when it came to discarded food, but hunger trumped caution today. I plopped to the ground, sitting crisscross and using my thighs as a prep surface.
Tearing the sandwich in half, I put the side with an obvious bite mark on my left thigh. Then I unwrapped the paper around Josie's share and placed it on the ground like a tablecloth before serving her meal. She jumped down from her perch, purring in triumph—as if this was her prize after hard work—and sniffed it with the suspicion of a pampered princess. Josie deserved the world, but this was the best I could do. At least I didn’t give her the chewed-on part. I peeled the paper from the other side of the sandwich, ready to inhale it even if it made me sick. I’d deal with the fallout later. Heaven knows it wouldn’t be the first time I’d gotten violently sick from bad dumpster food. My better senses took hold before I could shove the whole thing down my gullet though. I took one tentative bite, and I chewed like slowness was an Olympic sport and I wanted gold. I made myself savor it.
Josie was still sniffing at her piece by the time I was half-finished with mine.
“I know, I know. You’d rather have the raw tuna behind Umami House, but you’ll have to make do.” I nudged it closer to her. She gave me a look, and I swear she rolled her tiny cat eyes, but then she began eating. “See, Josie. A little turkey never killed anyone.”
I hope.I added mentally, because it always was Russian Roulette. One thing I never, ever, ever ate out of the trash these days was anything with seafood. I left that to Josie.
As I forced myself to chew slowly, I was struck—and not for the first time—with how much my life had changed. It was a long, hard fall from private planes and Switzerland skiing trips to trash diving for day oldsandwiches in Seattle. Sometimes, I tortured myself by walking past my family’s house, our old favorite restaurants, and even the big lot downtown where they set up the Seattle Christmas market. I went ice skating with dad there. I fell a zillion times, and he always picked me up.
It was a life I’d never have again. It was over.
If you’d told me two years ago that, before the ripe old age of twenty-one, I’d find myself homeless and penniless and constantly avoiding terrible fucking people who saw a young Omega and thought dollar signs, I’d have laughed in disbelief.
Twenty-one.
God. I’d be twenty-one soon. I’d turned nineteen right after the tragedy. My stupid birthday was part of the reason my parents had given in and let me stay behind for the concert. We were supposed to have a big party when they got home.
Then they never got home.
“I’m an adult now.”How many times had I whined those same words?“Don’t you trust me at all?”
