Jane |18+| ✔️

42. The time when my final destiny was upon Me

You don't know the half of it!

Nodding, and slapping the façade of agreement on my face, has them both relaxing as I step out of their hold. "There. Feel better?" Swiping at the blasted tears that managed to slip out, I sniff.

"Yep," I repeat. "Sure do. I gotta run, or I'll be late." Snatching up my bag, I slap it over my shoulder. "I'll see you guys later." They side-hug each other with happy smiles and wave before I spin on my heel and head to Arlene's.

By the time I reach the diner, I'm in a vile mood. My mind is chaotic with thoughts and pounding with a headache due to lack of sleep and food. Slamming my locker closed, I tie the tobacco canvas bistro apron around my front. Checking to ensure my pen and order pad are stuffed in the pocket, I quickly move towards the mirror next to the punch clock to check my appearance.

My face is blotching, and my eyes are red from all my crying on the train. Watching the people getting up to move away from the freakshow girl was quite comical. Running my hands over my face, I pinch my cheeks, instantly reducing the streaking. Next, I pull out my bottle of Vision and pop a couple of drops in each eye. With the lack of sleep and bloody tears, I sometimes shed, I often have bloodshot eyes, so yeah. This helps, especially from appearing to be stoned all the time. At least I'm happy with my hair—as I now sport a sleek pixie cut that I simply adore.

I always wanted short hair but was too afraid I'd look stupid or it wouldn't suit me, but it's all one's perception. The way we look, behave and present ourselves. Even though I act differently around my parents—for their sake and safety—I now walk with my chin up. My eyes are focused, and my determination is fierce. I have a plan and am patient enough to wait until it comes into provision. Not everyone will be on board, not because they are against it but because they care. They really care. But it's my life, and I'm not about to let anyone from here on out dictate what I do with it.

With a curt nod, I pop the collar up of my tiny checkered black and white dress shirt, careful not to touch my diamond dimples. I've yet to touch them, reserving that moment for when I'm in the presence of their maker. Shaking my head, I spin and smooth down my pure-back skinny jeans and smile. I love this uniform out of all three I sport for work. With a new spring in my white Converse, I punch in and push through the door that leads into the kitchen.

"...no fucking way! I'm not serving him. He shouldn't even be allowed in here," Tony, my co-worker, whisper shouts. "Don't we have some sort of rule – no shifters? This is a human zone. We can't just go galivanting into their territory. What makes them think they can come into ours?" Immediately, my head swivels to where he's having the exchange with Marlene, the morning shift manager.

"I don't like it either, but he just walked in and took a seat without waiting. What was I supposed to do? Challenge him?" she laughs, a snotty sound. "They're our superiors whether we like it or not, Tony." The middle-aged redhead grits back.

"You know he can hear you, right?" I smirk as both heads swivel my way. Snatching up my tray, I shake my head. "I know I'm the new girl, but judging a book just by its cover is discriminative. Not all shifters are cruel and pompous, just like not all humans are unbiased and welcoming." I smile sweetly. "I'm sure he's a fine fellow just looking for good services and food." Both their mouths drop as I laugh. "I'll be happy to take care of him."

"Wait!" Tony tries to stop me, but I'm out the door and scanning the hopping dining room until I land my eyes on the lone wolf. Laying my tray down next to the coffee percolator, I swipe up a menu, mug and carafe of piping hot brew. What are the odds? I suppose great. I laugh to myself as I head over to the back corner where he's occupying not only a massive corner booth that typically seats eight but happens to be in my section.