AMELIA
What the hell am I even doing here?
Guilt was real, constantly clenching my chest, and the effect was clusterfucked.
I wished I could just stab myself for penance, maybe, inflict the pain so I would suffer instead of his, but life didn’t always go as we wanted it to be.
Instead, here I was at the bar alone when I should be at Ryden’s side, self-loathing— I kept recalling what happened in my head, and I wished I could go back there and change it.
“Give me the strongest you have,” I told the werewolf bartender. It was disgusting that I could smell a woman’s arousal from him. I hoped he washed his hands before he got back to work.
“ID, please?”
I groaned before I let my eyes glow. Couldn’t he smell me?
He nodded and poured me a shot of Tennessee whiskey.
“Thanks.” I gulped it
