Page 1 of Awakened
PART 1
ONE
The hint of cigarette smoke tickled my nose as I opened the heavy wooden door to Penny’s. Despite the smoking ban going into effect a couple of years before, the smell lingered in every bar in town. “Andy, baby. I need two shots of Old Crow and a tallboy of PBR!”
Andy let out a gruff laugh and nodded, never looking up from the tap where he was pouring a pitcher.
Leaving my umbrella at the door, I dragged my waterlogged feet across the welcome mat. I shuffled across the forest green, beer-stained carpet to the bar and caught my reflection behind a Coors logo. A deep frown welcomed me to my home away from home, which was a depressing-ass thought. Trying to avoid my pathetic face, I turned away only to have “Michelob” slash through the ratty bun on top of my head.
Why the hell do bars have so many mirrors? And why the hell do beer companies slap their logos on them?
I sighed, hung my damp hoodie on the back of a tall bar stool, and hoisted my ass into the seat. From this spot, the bottles lining the back of the bar would keep me from making blood-shot eye contact with myself as the night progressed into an inevitable shitshow.
I was there to celebrate.
Well, kind of.
For the first time in three weeks, I finally felt . . . I finally felt something. I couldn’t say it was happy or even hopeful, but I didn’t feel like my life was over, so there was that.
Avoiding the loved-up couple down the bar, I stared vacantly at the TV hanging in the corner. I wasn’t really watching until a photo flashed across the screen that made me sit up a little straighter. There was something familiar about the young woman.
The TV was muted, but the closed captions told the same story that was becoming all too common: Woman in her early to mid-twenties goes missing—weres suspected. The anchors took potshots at wolf packs, suggesting that we were all backward-ass, women-hating maniacs, but that wasn’t surprising. We were monsters to them.
Never mind the hunters that were basically public-approved serial killers running around offing supernaturals and getting their lawyer fees crowdfunded.
Butwewere the monsters.Bullshit.
Before I could place where I knew her, Andy slammed two double shots of whiskey in front of me and cracked open my tallboy. With a tight smile, he said, “That’ll be $15.00 even.”
“Aw, come on, Andy. It’s my last night in Kirksville. Isn’t there a rule that I can’t pay for my own drinks?”
He sighed and fixed me with an annoyed look. “Les, you’ve drank for free for the past three weeks. I didn’t want to ask for money while you were a snotty, crying mess, but?—”
I mumbled out, “I wasn’t crying.”
“Yes. Yes, you were. Don’t be ashamed, honey. I don’t think I would’ve left the house if I were in your shoes.” I opened my mouth to tell him I was fine, but he powered on. “My point is, now that you’ve returned to functioning with a dry face, it’s time to pay the piper, or in this case, the bartender.”
Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong. Andy had fueled my downward spiral. I honestly didn’t remember much of those threeweeks. I was either blacked out or hungover, vomiting or drinking, stumbling into Jimmy John’s and eating my weight in Italian Night Clubs, or running through Thousand Hills until my paws couldn’t take another step. And repeat.
“All right, all right, you leech.” I feigned annoyance and put a twenty on the bar.
The first shot was down my throat in a matter of seconds, the familiar burn warming me from the chest out.
Grabbing the second shot, I lifted it into the air. “To leaving this fucking town, this fucking pack, this fucking life!” I slammed the bottom of the glass to the bar top, then gulped down the liquor.
Andy chuckled as the two coeds at the end of the bar politely smiled at me. You know, the kind of smile you give the sad sack drinking alone on a Friday night? The same pitiful look you bestow on the drunk who’s on a first-name basis with the bartender and apparently in his debt.
If they thought my toast was embarrassing, they were in for a treat when I was truly and righteously smashed.
I grabbed my PBR and slid off the stool, making my way downstairs to the pool tables. As I reached the last loose step, I heard familiar voices bickering.
“Hey, hey, hey! If you boys can’t play nice, you forfeit the table.”
Connor and Seth turned and visibly deflated. Nothing makes a girl feel better than her ability to suck the air out of a room.
Seth awkwardly smiled and pulled me into a tight hug. My shoulders relaxed as I burrowed my nose into his chest, enjoying the closeness. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since my world fell to shit. Seth’s absence was number two or three on the list of “why my life sucked.”
“Uh, you’re kind of crushing me,” I muttered into his shirt.
