Middle fingered
1231 Words
MIA
Sigh.
Just another night at Red Moon Bar. Just another creep who thought my boobs came with a price tag.
The reek of whiskey hit me first, then the hand sliding across my arm.
I was nineteen when I held my mom’s hand as she took her last breath, my stepdad drank himself stupid, and the universe shoved me behind a bar with an apron and said, ‘Congrats, you’re now officially trash.’
“The day mom died was the day life flipped me the biggest middle finger and left me rankless, broke and officially nobody.” I whispered to myself as I wiped off spilled beer off the bar table.
Mom was gone, dad was dead before I was even born, no money, no future. Just an omega dragging herself through Starmoon Pack like some leftover trash nobody cared to pick up.
The only thing that halfway made sense was Mason. My mate. My safe space. He was the shoulder I leaned on when the world decided to spit on me again. The guy who showed up with flowers or chocolate whenever he noticed my mood had gone gray.
He was planning to cook for me tonight at his place, and honestly, the thought of him was the only reason I didn’t clock out of life already.
Because the rest of my life was Tom…my stepdad drowning in pills and bottles of whiskey, two dead-end jobs, and a going-to-school dream stuffed in an envelope under the floorboard.
Tom gambled away our savings, drank through my college fund, and left Mom to rot with a kidney disease that could’ve been managed if he’d given half a damn.
All she needed was dialysis and surgery, you know, things money could’ve bought if he hadn’t pissed it all away.
I hated him for it. Hated him so bad I sometimes hoped he’d choke on his next pill and save me the trouble of pretending I still had a family.
But until I found my way to school, I was stuck tolerating his ass.
Survival meant two jobs. The first was at a little diner called The Cheeky Fork. The name always cracked me up because it sounded more like a strip club than a place to serve pancakes, but hey, tips were tips.
The second job was worse. Nights at Red Moon Bar, where the beer was always stale, the bass made my ears bleed, and I was basically just eye candy for drunks who thought my uniform meant “touch me.”
Every penny I made, I stuffed into an envelope under the floorboard in my room. That was my escape fund, my one-way ticket out of Starmoon.
But dreams don’t feel real when you’re standing behind a sticky counter wiping up beer foam.
Tonight, I just wanted to be done and make it to Mason’s place alive.
Then a rough hand brushed my arm. I looked up, and saw him, an older man, maybe fifty, with bloodshot eyes, and a crook grin.
The whiskey on his breath was strong enough to kill flies. He pointed at my boobs, grinning like he was shopping for melons at the damn market.
“What’s the price on these, sweetheart?”
My stomach dropped, but I forced a smile. Omegas can’t afford trouble.
“Sir, don’t touch me.”
“What? You work here, don’t you? Everything’s got a price.”
I slammed the bottle down and leaned in so we were at eye level.
“f**k off,” I said, louder than I meant to.
“You touch me again or say one more thing about my body and I’ll rip your spine out with a butter knife.”
Inside, I was screaming. Because I knew if this turned to a scene, Fred would make it my fault.
Fred had this twisted philosophy that any decent girl shouldn’t be working in a bar. Translation: if I didn’t let perverts treat me like trash, I didn’t deserve a job.
His hand clamped around my arm just as my wonderful boss strolled in while I slapped the man’s hand off me.
“Mia,” Fred groaned like I was the problem.
“Can we not do this every week?”
“You’re overreacting.”
“Are you kidding me?” My mouth dropped open.
“He’s drunk, not dangerous.” He said flatly.
“He’s groping me with his f*****g eyes and touching me inappropriately!” I shot back.
“Customers are always right. We don’t turn away business.”
“Even when business wants to shove his hand down my shirt?”
Fred narrowed his eyes. “I’m warning you…”
“Yeah? Well warn him to keep his wrinkled d**k to himself.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Mia?” Fred’s voice cut through the music.
I wanted to say, “Protecting myself like any sane person,” but omegas don’t talk back. Not if they want to eat.
I dropped my gaze while Fred leaned in so close that his spit hit my cheek.
“Apologize to my customer. Now!” He barked.
I swallowed the acid in my throat and forced the words out. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Fred walked off like nothing happened.
The creep smirked, his eyes crawled all over me like maggots. “Playing shy, huh? I like that.”
Just then, Aston slid behind the bar like my night-shift guardian angel. Thank the moon.
“Don’t tell me Creepy Frank is back?” he smirked.
“Worse,” I muttered, yanking my apron off. “He offered to buy my t**s tonight. I told him they weren’t for sale unless he had a winning lottery ticket.”
Aston snorted, grabbed Frank’s arm, and yanked him off the stool.
“Time to go, old man. Learn some manners first.”
“p***y,” Frank slurred as he stumbled toward the door.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding for minutes. My knees shook under me.
“You good?” Aston asked, looking at me.
“No,” I muttered. “But what else is new?”
Truth was, I was exhausted. I was drowning in debt, paying for things I didn’t buy.
Collectors hunted me weekly for the crap Tom put under my name…alcohol, furniture, junk food, you name it. Every time they came, I paid. Because if I didn’t? I got slapped, spat on, or worse.
My body was falling apart but I had no choice.
“Go,” Aston said quietly, watching my hands shake as I was ruling the record book for him.
“I’ll take over from here. You’ll puke if you stay.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” I grabbed my bag and bolted.
The cold night slapped me across the face. For a second it felt like freedom, until I remembered I was out of inhaler gas and I need to replace it before heading to Mason’s.
Great. Because apparently I don’t just have to pay for rent and food. I get to pay for oxygen too. Everyone else breathes for free, but not me.
The streets were very quiet tonight. Pack houses glowing in the distance were pretty like Christmas lights, but the alleyways around me were dark and mean. My footsteps echoed.
Then….I heard it.
I heard more footsteps behind me.
- Writer
