Chapter 7: Alexis

Chapter 7: Alexis

Funny thing, heartbreak. It doesn’t manifest when you’re already living a miserable life. That constant existence of compounding pain—yes, terrible—makes a person strong enough to thrive in this misery, just as I had done all my life. There was no chance that things were going to get better, and I had made my peace with that. However, introduce a little ray of hope into the mix, and you’ll see that the organism that had been surviving in total darkness begins to believe that things are going to be better. And then snatch away that hope, plummeting that being into the desolation that its previous life used to be.

That’s how you get heartbreak.

Had I not saved Will and had we not bonded, I would have been a constant participant in the misery of my life, not knowing what hope felt like, and I would never have known heartbreak.

But now, now that he had crushed my hopes with his bewildering statements of rejection, all I knew was heartbreak. All I could feel was bitter agony.

It was this bitter agony that prompted me to pack up my things in the dead of the night and leave in my father’s pickup truck. After his and mom’s death at the hands of the vampires, there were only a couple of things that I got in the will. A shabby Ford pickup truck and a couple of thousand dollars that I burned through in a few months. I learned only later that the house they lived in was not their own. They had been renting it. Out of nostalgia and attachment to my parents, I chose to rent the house too, and the pack was considerate enough not to charge me abominably for the rent.

Ever since then, I have lived a hand-to-mouth existence, surviving on the meager salary that my two jobs provided. You could not get a nice job with educational background such as mine. And another thing, for a nice job, you actually had to be where the nice jobs were being handed out. Places like Bangor, New York, San Francisco, and Chicago. That’s where people my age were thriving in careers such as data science and biotech.

The only options available to someone like me were to be either a waitress—which I was in the evenings at Fiddler’s Diner—or a smalltime gig at the wharf. By day, I worked at the wharf, marking the ships that arrived in the port, checking their inventory, and entering that data into a computer. It was menial work, and it paid menial money, but it was better than nothing.

“But it’s not going to be enough now,” I whispered to myself. Oh, yes, one of the side effects of spending life as a loner was you started to talk to yourself as if you were another person entirely. Sometimes, that was comforting. Most times, it was pathetic.

No one stopped me as I drove my truck out of the commune. I cast one last look at Will standing there by the fire like a deranged prophet, beard so long that it was reaching past his neck, hair falling in locks on his shoulders, shrouded in his long shawl. Why had I even bothered saving this jackass when I could have just as easily escaped?

Why had we even bonded? Not that it mattered now, given that he had publicly humiliated me and rejected me in front of the entire pack.

“But where are you going to go now, Alexis?” I found myself asking myself. I had a faint idea of what to do, and I was hoping that this idea would form into an actualized plan by the time I reached Fiddler’s Green.

The vampires might have been defeated in this battle, but the fact remained that they still controlled the passages coming in and out of the town. I wasn’t going to risk coming across them again tonight.

Tonight, I needed a place to crash and get drunk.

I picked up my phone and dialed the number of the only person I could trust. My only friend, Maliha Fresco. Maliha was an eccentric communist who, despite possessing the skills of a decent black hat hacker, chose to spend a low-key life as a diner waitress. It baffled me that she never fretted about the big things in life, such as falling in love with someone, having enough money to move about the world freely, or, you know, having a functional life.

“What’s up, baby girl? Missed your shift tonight,” Maliha said in her singsong voice. Even though I couldn’t see her, the enunciation of her words made it apparent that she was chewing up her perpetual wad of chewing gum that she kept adding new gum to. Every couple of days later, when that wad would be the size of a golf ball, she’d throw it at a passing car and laugh gleefully as it would stick to the car. She called it “spreading her seed,” whatever that meant.

“Hey, Maliha. Things are kinda effed up,” I said. Maliha did not know about my true reality, my life as a wolf. But she was still the closest thing I had to a friend, and what is it they say about friends in need being friends indeed?

“Talk to me, girl. How can home girl help?”

“I kinda need a place to crash,” I said.

“For tonight, or how long are we talking about?”

“That’s undecided. Can you help me out?”

There was a long pause during which I could hear the icky sound of Maliha chewing on her gum in contemplation.

“You can come by my place. Sleep on the couch. But if we’re talking long-term, baby girl, we’re gonna have to get you a studio apartment. Lucky for you, the one at the end of my hall just became vacant. Rent’s pretty reasonable, and that horrible smell, you know, the one, is long gone,” Maliha said. “I’m getting off my shift in a few minutes. Head on over to my apartment. I’ll meet you there.”

“Thanks, Fresco,” I said.

“You hungry? Have you eaten anything? Need me to bring something? We’ve got some delish pastrami sandwiches and half a blueberry pie. I called dibs. You want some of it?”

That was Maliha for you: kind, considerate, compassionate, and hospitable. It was no wonder that we were friends.

“Pastrami sounds great,” I said weakly, driving down the highway that headed into town.

“Baby girl, I kinda feel like your entire vibe is way off. Maybe you need a little something, something?”

“Like what, weed?”

“Nah, nah, my supplier’s kinda suspicious right now. I do have two bottles of Jack Daniels and some peach schnapps,” she said. “Oh, shit, the manager’s looking at me all freakily. See ya, girl. I’ll meet you at my place. Muah!”

When scientists discovered a perpetual motion machine, I’d tell them that they were too late. There was already a perfectly functional perpetual motion machine that never ran out of juice and was always full of zing and pep, and her name was Maliha. Her over-cheeriness kind of balanced out my usually sulky mood. As much as my heart was breaking, I was glad that I had someone I could turn to, gladder that it was someone like Maliha.

The town was dark, its streetlights dim and distant, barely illuminating the shadowy buildings along the road. The people moved like silhouettes, silent and stealthily. The shopkeepers were pulling down shutters in front of their shops, locking up their places of business, and heading back home.

I rolled my window down and welcomed the fresh, cool, salty air coming from the sea. As much as I tried to get the recent memory of Will’s bombardment on me out of my mind, it further intruded and prevented me from thinking any other thought.

His words stung like poison. The image of his wild eyes glaring into my soul as he uttered that vileness haunted me. Why did he have to do that in front of the entire pack and deprive me of all manner of respect?

A new thought came to me as I confronted these thoughts. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe this was the push of finality I needed to finally ditch this town once and for all and leave everything behind. Yeah. This sealed the deal. He had rejected me, after all.

“But you can’t just up and leave with nothing to your name,” I said out loud.

Yep. I was right. I’d need some resources, a little bit of cash, some new clothes, and a game plan before I’d try to escape again. Last time I was being too hasty, too absolute. It was a little too now or never. Maybe this time, I would think with a cooler mind and make a plausible plan.

I’d driven beyond the suburbs, past downtown, and had come to a halt at the beachfront apartment complex where Maliha lived. I parked my car in the parking lot and got out, taking out my quickly packed belongings with me.

Luckily, much of Maliha’s wardrobe would fit me. My present bizarre fashion style was all due to Maliha, who herself dressed like a punk goth, inspired by characters of the show Mr. Robot. The same show, she claimed, inspired her to become a hacker. I’d tried to watch a couple of episodes, but the show was too depressing for my taste to truly get into it.

But I liked how the characters dressed as background dancers in an early 2000s Avril Lavigne music video. That style resonated with me, the purple-streaked hair, the long leather boots reaching past my knees, and the fishnet stockings. It was a complete vibe. Although, now that I was in my late twenties, I sometimes kind of felt awkward in that particular getup.

I stared at the monolithic apartment complex and took a deep breath, knowing that the apartment’s elevator was busted and I’d have to climb all the way to the tenth floor through the stairs.

Here’s to your new life, I thought, and began my ascent.

***

After spending a week in Maliha’s crammed apartment that was ninety percent a digital haven and only ten percent inhabitable, I couldn’t take it anymore and got that studio apartment at the end of her hall. Maliha was pretty nice and extremely welcoming, but those long server towers in her living room emitted a level of heat that was simply unbearable for me. It did not help that every wall surface was completely covered with LED monitors connected to RGB desktops, making the whole place look like the inside of a disco ball.

“But we’ve had so much fun!” Maliha protested as I took my belongings and dragged them down the hall.

“Maliha, I love you and all, but only you could live in that sweltering temperature and consider it fun. I appreciate that you let me crash with you for as long as you did, but I gotta think about my survival here, girl. At least that studio apartment’s not two hundred degrees,” I said.

“Well, if you knew what these servers were for, you’d want to live with them all your life,” she said, making a pouty face and dry-knuckling her cheeks. “But hey, I can come visit your apartment. We can have crazy parties there. Slumber parties!”

“Slumber parties sound excellent,” I said. “Now help me move my crap.”

“You never told me why you had to leave your place. Weird choice, though, renting a place way outside of town in that commune. I think it’s about time that you moved into the city,” Maliha said as she lifted the single mattress I’d ordered from Amazon for my new place.

“Let’s just say that I’ve outgrown that place,” I said, not wanting to discuss that matter any further. It had been a quiet, peaceful week that I’d used to my advantage and detoxed myself of all thoughts of Will and what he had done. I did not want to get into it now.

“Well, you’re always welcome to come back to my place anytime, whether it’s a random pop-in or maybe you want to raid my fridge for some cheese,” Maliha said, straining under the weight of the mattress.

We reached the studio apartment after a minute of grunting and panting as we dragged my things. This was the first time I was seeing it from the inside.

Huh. As far as studio apartments went, this one was not bad at all. Ash white walls, faux wooden floor, and a giant window that overlooked the ocean. Not bad at all. But then there was the kitchenette directly facing the toilet. That was a bit troublesome, but considering that this was only a temporary measure until I’d get enough money to move out of Fiddler’s Green for good, I’d make it work.

“It’s not that small,” I said.

“It’s not that big, either,” Maliha said.

“It’s perfect for me,” I said, taking the mattress from Maliha and flinging it across the room. It fell right under the window.

“Whoa. That was a heavy mattress. How did you do that?” Maliha whistled.

“Um. Pilates?”

“All right, keep your secrets,” Maliha said, shoving me gently. “Well. I gotta head to work. It’s a shame you quit. Now I don’t have anyone to talk to during the evening shift.”

“You know I had to quit. Otherwise, I’d have stayed there forever and never would have taken a chance to apply for a better job,” I said.

“Yeah, but Beckett Pharma, really? Those corporate overlords?” Maliha scoffed.

“Hey, they’re paying three thousand dollars a month for the position of lab technician,” I said. “With onsite training. No previous experience required. How often am I going to get an opportunity like that?”

“Well, the manager did tell me to tell you that you’re always welcome at the diner, and in case things don’t pan out with your job hunt, you can come back,” Maliha said. “And she actually meant it. Like, she wasn’t being sarcastic or anything. You know, you really carried the whole diner on your back during the evening shifts, not that the manager would ever admit it to your face.”

“Well, tell the manager that if things don’t work out, I’ll consider coming back for a ten percent pay bump,” I said. It was then that I stepped into my apartment for the first time, coming to grips with the realization that this new, small, cramped, claustrophobic place was going to be my new home indefinitely. At least the view from the window was pleasant.

Maliha gave me a quick peck on the cheek and squeezed my shoulder as she left. I busied myself with bringing the rest of my stuff into the apartment and setting my cupboard up with my clothes.

Quitting the waitress gig because I was looking for a new job was just the reason that I’d given to Maliha and the manager. The real reason was the diner’s vicinity to the commune, making it a hub for members of the Grimm pack to get their lunch and dinner whenever they were in town. I had no intention of coming across my pack members, not after the humiliation I had gone through in front of them. That’s also why I quit my job at the wharf. Half the pack worked there.

The other reason was that I had come across a job opening at Beckett Pharma. It was after the three-day slump during which I mourned over what had happened, mainly through emptying bottles of Jack Daniels and being completely blitzed out drunk. As hazardous as that was to my health, it did grant me some closure. Alcohol has a funny way of doing that. It chips away at your liver and your sobriety and leaves you with few platitudes in return. Not to mention, when you do come out of that hangover, you feel like you’ve got a new lease on life. You also swear that you’re never going to drink that much again, but that’s mostly a hollow promise.

Maliha had been patient with me during that week, but even her patience had its threshold, which I felt that I had started toeing the line with. She had a very non-confrontational nature, so the closest she got to telling me to get my own place and get on my feet was by showing me the job ad in the local newspaper and telling me that it was worth a shot.

I pored over that ad a dozen times. I even used one of Maliha’s old laptops to create a resume and send it to Beckett Pharma. Three thousand dollars a month after taxes for the positions of lab technicians, operators, and data entry personnel. The two jobs I’d recently quit provided me with barely fifteen hundred dollars combined. This new opportunity would allow me to improve my credit score while saving up enough money to get the hell out of this city.

It was just nine in the morning. My interview was scheduled for noon today. I had some time to myself. Truth was, I was so surprised when I heard back from the HR rep from Beckett Pharma. I even inquired as to why he had called me. He told me that they were only considering people who were from Fiddler’s Green. No outside hires.

I didn’t comment on the strangeness of that statement. I was just too grateful to get a shot at an interview that would hopefully set my life straight.

It had been a week, and no one had called me. Will hadn’t come to apologize to me, and no one had even bothered to find out where I was living. That was how little regard that pack had for me.

I set an alarm for eleven o’clock and crashed on my mattress, staring at the gentle waves crashing on the shore as I struggled to stay awake. It had been a tiring week.

I woke up with a start, my heart beating fast in my chest. The alarm was blaring, and a loud wind was crashing against the window, rattling it in its frame. I guess that was why the previous tenant chose to ditch this apartment. It was a hellish noise, the wind whistling through the cracks in the frame, clanging against the metal lattice of the window.

As freaky as that sound was, it woke me up just in time to head down to the interview. I fixed a quick cup of coffee for myself, took a five-minute shower, dried off in my room, hoping no pervert was staring from the beach, and got dressed in the most professional-looking ensemble that I had. I’d just bought it a day ago from the thrift store downtown. It was a peach skirt, a white shirt, and a peach coat with a maroon belt. I looked at my reflection and chuckled at the air hostess-looking stranger staring back at me.

Considering the ten minutes it took me to sprint down the stairs, the added fifteen minutes it took me to drive downtown to the only skyscraper in the city with its top blaring Beckett Pharma in blue neon in the middle of the day, and the five-minute walk it took from the parking lot across the street to the entrance of the building, I made good time. Hell, just in time to get in the building and tell the receptionist that I was there for my interview.

“What the fuck?” I gasped as I noticed the figure coming out of the front entrance. I forgot all propriety and immediately ducked behind the giant fountain in the courtyard, hoping that the person hadn’t seen me.

It couldn’t be. Was it really Maurice?

I ducked my head out to see, and immediately, my suspicion was confirmed. Worse than confirmed: He was staring in my direction, locking eyes with me. It was Maurice Grimm, dressed in an elegant suit, holding a half-smoked cigar in his hand.

The second I realized that he had seen me, I crouched behind the fountain and receded into the decorative bushes behind me, praying to God that he hadn’t seen me.

What was he doing here?

I had no view from where I was hiding, but I could smell the stench of the Cohibas cigar he had been smoking becoming stronger, followed by the heavy thud of his footsteps.

Fuck!