Mate’s Behind Masks

Amaryllis Point of View Placing the last damn box of mac and cheese on the top shelf, I started climbing down the ladder, convinced I was finally free from spending the last hour stocking the pasta aisle like some miserable kitchen elf. That belief lasted all of three seconds. “I’m gonna get you!” A child’s shriek tore through the aisle. My head snapped toward the sound, but I was too late to understand where the little demons were coming from because in the next second they barreled straight underneath my ladder. The metal legs shifted. My stomach dropped. The ladder tilted backward and took me with it. My back slammed violently against the shelf behind me before I crashed to the floor under an avalanche of tomato sauce cans. Glass shattered somewhere to my left. Metal rattled. Boxes burst open. Five entire aisles seemed to echo with products tumbling like the universe itself had decided my suffering needed background music. For a moment I just laid there. My ears rang. My shoulder burned. Something sharp stabbed into my hip. I sucked in a shaky breath and forced myself upright, rubbing every sore place that had made contact with either metal, floor, or canned goods. My entire body felt like it had been personally assaulted by the grocery store. Then I looked to my left. The two kids were now on the floor punching each other. Punching. Each. Other. Not one ounce of concern over the fact that they had nearly snapped my neck. Not one sorry. Not one horrified gasp. Nothing. Just tiny fists, screaming, and stupidity. That was it. That was the exact final thread holding together what little patience I had left in me. I had woken up this morning to water dripping from the cracked ceiling in the room I shared with five other women. Five. Because apparently privacy was a luxury for people with money. Then I learned my internet had been cut off. My phone had no service. Yes, rent was paid—barely—but every other damn bill in my life sat there mocking me in overdue red letters. I had already burned through every sick day I had trying to survive the flu last month, so now I was forced into overtime shifts that made my feet swell and my head pound. And the entire day—every single miserable second of this godforsaken day—had been spent calculating numbers in my mind. How much for groceries. How much for gas. How much for electricity. How much longer until I drown. So when I looked at those children wrestling like feral raccoons after nearly murdering me, something ugly and exhausted snapped loose inside my chest. “SONS OF BITCHES!” The scream ripped out of me with enough force to make my throat sting. Wonderful. Perfect. Because of course the moment I lost my temper, I heard the clipped, ice-cold voice of my manager from my right. “Amaryllis. To the main office.” I slowly turned my head. She stood there with her hands on her hips, lips pinched so tightly she looked constipated with authority. Then she glanced at the children. “You two—where are your parents? I need both of you and your parents to come with me.” I closed my eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out. Tried not to imagine taking one of the tomato sauce cans and smashing it over my own skull just to end this shift. More s**t. Just… more s**t. Without saying a word, I pushed myself off the floor. Pain shot through my ankle and I developed a slight limp, but honestly, what was one more physical injury on top of the emotional homicide this year had already committed? I was so done with this damn year. Done with this damn job. Done with pretending things would somehow magically get better if I just “worked hard enough.” I swear on my miserable f*****g life, if a meteor hit this building the second I clocked out, I would welcome it. Still clinging to the smallest, stupidest shred of hope that maybe this office talk wouldn’t somehow end with me unemployed, I dragged myself behind my manager toward the front. Each limping step made my lower back protest. Each passing aisle looked like a reminder that I would be the one cleaning that disaster. By the time I reached the office, I wanted to cry, scream, throw up, or all three. I dropped into the cheap plastic chair in front of my boss’s desk. A second later, the two demon children entered. And behind them rolled an older woman in a wheelchair. I stared. Closed my eyes. Inhaled deeply through my nose. Held it. Because clearly the universe had looked down at me today and decided: No, Amaryllis, we are not finished humiliating you. Fuck my life. The older woman rolled into the office looking as if she were the one being sentenced to death. Her frail fingers trembled over the wheels of her chair, and guilt was written all over her wrinkled face before she had even spoken a word. For half a second, I almost felt bad. Almost. Then the two children came in behind her. Only… they weren’t children anymore. Like nearly every damn werewolf pup when fear swallowed them whole, their little bodies shifted out of instinct. Where two boys had stood moments ago, two tiny wolves now padded into the room with lowered ears and tucked tails, their frightened eyes darting from adult to adult. My lungs locked. There it was again. That familiar, poisonous stab deep in my chest. Abomination. The word crawled through my mind like acid. I had been born without one. Without a wolf. Without the sacred second soul every werewolf was supposed to carry like breath itself. I still remembered my eighteenth birthday as if it were a public execution. The waiting. The hopeful smiles. The entire family gathered, expecting my first shift. Expecting celebration. Expecting proof that I belonged. And when nothing happened… When no bones cracked. When no fur burst through skin. When no wolf answered my call— my father had looked at me like I was filth dragged in from the street. He disowned me before the moon had fully set. My mother, not wanting the shame of a wolfless daughter poisoning her reputation, threw my bags outside before dawn. No one called. No one checked if I was alive. No siblings. No cousins. No aunt. No uncle. Nothing. I had become the embarrassing stain everyone scrubbed from memory. Thankfully, my friends had gathered me up like broken furniture nobody else wanted. We all lived together now. A miserable little collection of struggling omegas trying to pretend life was survivable. Well… them for being omegas. Me for being nothing. I swallowed hard and kept my eyes on the floor, refusing to stare too long at the wolf pups. Even pups had wolves. Even children had what I never would. The office door opened again. My supervisor stepped in with our boss. They both sat down. She took the chair beside me, probably in case I snapped and started swearing at minors again, while my boss settled behind his desk with that stiff corporate smile that made everything feel like an insurance claim. “We have reviewed the camera footage,” he began, folding his hands together. “It clearly shows that your grandpups ran directly beneath our employee’s ladder. While it also shows our employee verbally insulting the pups after the fall—” He glanced at me. I offered him a dead-eyed stare. “—the damages caused by your grandpups make the parents, alongside your family assistance, responsible for repayment of the products destroyed. Our employee will also sign and state a formal apology for her inappropriate language after the incident…” He kept talking. And talking. Numbers. Damages. Policies. Store procedures. Legal acknowledgments. Words blurred together into a droning buzz while my shoulder throbbed and my ankle screamed inside my shoe. By the time papers were placed in front of us, I wanted to slam my forehead on the desk until unconsciousness took me. I signed where they told me. The old woman signed with shaking hands. Then I heard it. A broken sob. My gaze lifted. The grandmother had started crying. Not quiet tears. Not delicate sniffles. The kind of crying that comes from someone who already has too much weighing on their chest and just had one more brick dropped on top. My jaw tightened. It did hurt to hear her. I wasn’t heartless. I knew life could stomp on people until they couldn’t breathe. But I seriously did not need one more disaster falling into my lap when my bills were stacking so high they felt like a second landlord. Compassion did not pay my overdue phone bill. Sympathy did not refill an empty fridge. “You are free to go home. Your day will still be paid, Amaryllis. Thank you for your time.” I forced a small polite smile toward my boss. “Thank you, sir.” Because despite the screaming in my head, despite the pain in my body, despite the fact that I wanted to crawl into traffic—I knew this had been an accident. And I did not need bad blood with frightened pups and their elderly grandmother haunting my already cursed existence. I turned toward them. The old woman still cried softly. The two little wolf pups pressed against her chair. Something in me loosened. Not forgiveness. Not peace. Just exhaustion too deep to keep holding anger. “I’m not going to lie,” I began, my voice quieter than I expected, “my words may sound hollow after how I reacted, but I haven’t had the greatest month.” Everyone looked at me. And once I started, it all spilled out because maybe I was too tired to keep pretending I was fine. “There’s a leak in the room I rent. I haven’t paid my phone service. My internet is gone. I have no food in the house, and I live with five roommates who work more than they actually live. I’ve had one hell of a month, and what your grandpups did today…” I laughed bitterly under my breath. “Well, that simply took the damn cake.” The old woman lowered her head. The pups whimpered. “But,” I continued, forcing myself to breathe, “I also understand they are pups. They got scared. Things happen. So I’m sorry for my behavior. Truly. I just hope this doesn’t become something repeated. I will seek help to better deal with my own inner storms so I never lash out at others over burdens that aren’t theirs.” My throat tightened around the humiliation of admitting any of this. I hated vulnerability. Hated pity. Hated the way my pride felt peeled open in front of strangers. “I hope that gives you peace of mind. Excuse me.” I turned and walked out before anyone could answer. I had barely crossed the office doorway when I heard the old woman behind me begin cursing—loudly, emotionally, words tripping over tears. I stiffened, ready to turn around and deal with whatever fresh hell that was. But before I could, my supervisor hurried to my side. Her hand caught my arm gently. And she slipped an envelope into my palm. An invitation.