Page 3 of Forget
I make it downstairs when my landlord calls out to me from his apartment on the first floor. Why can’t he just leave me alone? He’s such a fucking busybody.
“Yes, Mr. Coons?” I ask politely, even though the man makes me stabby. Sometimes, I feel as if there are multiple Aislings inside of me. The outside world usually only sees the polite and helpful side, because it makes me less memorable.
Mom said it’s dangerous to be extraordinary for us, though I don’t know why. A part of me wonders if it’s because she thought I’d be an omega too.
I could find out at any time, and that’s terrifying as someone who may be living on the streets. My slick and pheromones could call to alphas for miles if I am an omega, even though I won’t have my first heat until I’m closer to eighteen.
Everyone is so fucking uncertain, but slick happens.
“Where’s your mom?” he asks as I turn to face him. He’s a large beta, and his stomach hangs over his pants. I’m pretty sure I can see a stain or two on his white shirt as well.
He seems to have decent enough hygiene though, since I can’t smell him from where I’m standing. Since I haven’t come into my designation, my sense of smell isn’t hypersensitive yet. Thank God.
“Why?” I ask, keeping my answers minimal. I don’t want to get caught in a lie, just in case he saw her walk upstairs earlier today. She had the day off, but I know she still ran errands.
“I wanted to ask her something,” he says with a shrug.
“Oh. I’m headed to work. I haven’t had a chance to chat with her,” I tell him. Even if he was an alpha and could tell if I was lying, everything I said was true.
“Yeah, alright, kid,” he mutters as I turn and walk away.
I refuse to run, even if he does give me the heebie-jeebies. Mario Coons’ only volume level is set to yelling, he breaks the rules without any hesitation, and while I haven’t lived here formore than six months, I’ve witnessed fourteen evictions, so he can charge higher rent to the new tenants.
Needless to say, he has a very high turnover rate for this thirty unit apartment complex. I’m so fucked.
My boss doesn’t give me more than a passing glance when I walk in, and I’m grateful that it’s busy. A few hours of normalcy will help the gnawing sadness inside of me, while I smile at my customers.
I have a decent autopilot when necessary, can hear every question, and respond appropriately. It’s a neat trick, huh?
Even if my mom shielded me from the worst parts of life, we still moved at least once a year. We never left Minneapolis for some reason, though I’m not sure if it’s because this city is good for work or for an entirely other reason.
Mom never told me, and when I asked once, she said Minneapolis reminded her of someone. I think a lot of her secrets are dying with her, because there’s no one who can tell me her story now.
I know how to use public transportation, and how to pay our bills online, but without money for any of these things, none of it matters. I’m too young for the world to hire me, yet there are no services for the forgotten youth.
When I grow up, I’d love to change that.
At the end of the shift, the world encroaches back in, and I sigh as I hang up my apron.
“What’s going on with you?” Mr. Lars asks, exasperated. I didn’t realize he was behind me and jump with a yelp.
“Oh my God,” I complain, placing my hand on my chest as I turn to face him. “Think you could be a little louder when you walk? You’re like a freaking ninja.”
“There. That’s the girl I hired,” he says with a nod. “Bring her back. I don’t want the girl who came in today with a perfectlittle mask. Now, I don’t need the entire truth, but what the hell, Aisling?”
“I need another job,” I tell him hesitantly. “I know I have school, and I’m only sixteen, but I need hours somewhere that won’t care about my age.”
Mr. Lars glares at me for a second before he disappears into the back office. I closed today with Rachel, which meansBrewed Awakeningis spotless. He can’t complain when I work the last shift of the day.
“I don't know what's going on, but as long as you keep working here as well, it’s your business,” my boss grumbles as he returns. He’s a large alpha, smells vaguely like hazelnut, and I’ve never seen him insert himself to help his employees.
The man reminds me of a curmudgeon, even though he’s in his thirties with dark curly hair and thick black glasses that shield his gray eyes from the rest of the world.
“Here,” he grunts, handing me a card. “My brother needs a waitress and a bartender. You’re not old enough to bartend, but if you wear your hair down and more makeup, you could pass. Caleb doesn’t care about following the rules, which may be why he thinks I’m so feral about it. I don’t feel like being psychoanalyzed though, so do you want the job or not?”
I have a feeling he doesn’t feel comfortable with this conversation. If someone is willing to teach me how to mix drinks, I’ll learn quickly.I have no other choice.
“I do! Yes, thank you,” I say, nodding so quickly, my neck twinges. “Doesn’t he have to interview me or something?”