Page 71 of Mask and the Magnolia

And yet, I’m walking around like I’m clenching a stick between my buttcheeks.

Ultimately, it helps me feel close to my alphas. Especially since their marks are still healing and I had to cover them up so no one got suspicious.

I hate that, too.

I want the entire world to see those beautiful marks, to see the red and pink branded on my skin, and I want them to know I belong to Korvin and Desmond, and they belong to me.

One day.

With a sigh, I breeze past the charge nurse as if it’s totally normal for me to be here before 7am, say hello to the rest of the night shift, then do a waddle-run to Isaak’s office to sit and wait until everyone is up and functional.

I drop my bag on the couch then walk to the middle of the room before I stop and just stare out the window.

What the hell am I going to do with myself for two hours?

That’s when they get the residents up for meds and breakfast, it’s usually when I get in, too. Isaak will probably come in ateight or eight thirty, he likes to come in a little early to prep for the day but that still leaves me a ton of time to sit around and do nothing.

I have too much energy for that.

Stretching my arms above my head, I smile at the slight sting on my shoulders. I like that their marks are still tender. I like that I can feel my alphas on every inch of my skin each time I move.

I wish they would hurry up and get everyone else moving. Waiting to see them after last night feels like a form of torture.

My phone pings from my bag, one right after another and I smile because I have a feeling my hung over bestie might be back with the living.

THE DEAN: Wake up.

THE DEAN: I need to speak with you.

Talk about a killjoy.

If I were drunk, seeing his name on my screen would sober me up real quick.

I could definitely use a drink now. A little liquid courage to get through whatever I’m about to deal with. There isn’t enough liquor in the world to make talking to him any easier, though.

ME: I’m up, I’m already at work.

THE DEAN: Why?

ME: Because I work here…

THE DEAN: Change your tone.

THE DEAN: I don’t have time for your shit this morning.

ME: You texted me first.

THE DEAN: I want a video chat. 8am sharp.

My stomach twists as I reread his messages.

It’s clear my father is not in a good mood, though, I’m pretty sure he’s pissed off 99.9% of the time. But if he’s wanting to FaceTime, with me of all people, his foul mood is directly related to something I’m doing. Most likely here.

He doesn’t ask Isaak for reports anymore, not after he and I ganged up on him about who we answer to. Nurse Jones is apparently in charge of telling him everything I do or say and I’m sure the narrative that asshole spins is enough to fuel my father’s desire to ruin my life more than he already wanted to.

At least I’ll get it over with before my day actually starts. Not that it’ll matter if he makes me feel like shit or something. That would change my vibe no matter when it happens.

ME: I’ll be on at 8am.

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