THE BROKEN WOLVES

Saige’s [POV]

TWO YEARS AGO

Eighteen.

It’s not a big number, but it’s an important one.

At least to me.

Stinging rain lashes me, making me shiver. It soaks the front of my blue and white striped dress, a uniform so clean I’ve never been able to work out why it’s necessary in a place as sticky as the Stationers Diner.

If today wasn’t today, I might find it in me to care about the grief I’ll get for serving customers looking like I went for a dive in my clothes. But today is different. Special. Even if the sky is the same murky blue as it is on any other Wednesday afternoon.

I eye the unlit cigarette in my hand, looking just as soggy as my grayish-white tennis shoes, then hurl it away, aiming for a small puddle a few feet away. It nearly makes it but falls short. Again.Poor guy. Instead, it joins its drowned brothers and sisters from the time before and the time before that.

Just this last shift and I get to celebrate receiving the only birthday present I’ve wanted since Mom closed her eyes when I was six, and no amount of crying and pleading made her open them again.

Freedom.

The only way to get extra breaks in the diner is if you smoke, so I pretend I do too. It’s a perk of having a smoker for a boss that I’m happy to take full advantage of. When he’s out of cigarettes, it’s less of a perk and more of a keep your head down and try not to breathe too loud in case it attracts his attention situation. Nicotine withdrawal, I’ve learned, is no fucking joke.

I bum a smoke from Oliver, the always greasy-smelling short-order cook in this hole-in-the-wall diner, who has never thought to ask if I’m old enough before he hands one over in exchange for a smile. He’s harmless, so I don’t mind.

Then I have a two-minute reprieve from the customers, and three minutes in the bathroom to cover up the bruises on my arms and face because the makeup never lasts an entire shift. When I noticed a woman on table six looking at my right cheek a little too long, I knew it was time for a smoke break.

I step out of the kitchen doorway so the rain hits me full in the face. Tipping my head up, I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, so it slides down my face like tears. It’s just a little too cold to be refreshing, but I’ve always liked how it makes me feel. Clean.

Four more hours and I can collect my paycheck, run home to get the rest of the money I’ve been tucking away over the years and start the hunt for an apartment.

Landlords won’t exactly be queuing up to rent to a just-turned-eighteen-year-old with no references, so I’ll have to find one that’s a little less fussy than—

"Saige! Where the fuck