Abused

Chapter One

One Word

I preferred working the rush shifts at diners. I didn't much care for the number of people, really, I hated being around all of them. I liked the noise and bustle. During the rush shifts I was kept to busy to think and the rest of the staff was too busy to talk to me. Sadly, not every shift can be a busy one, especially at some Wyoming backwater town diner.

"I don't know, hey, what about fun-loving?"

"No way, that sounds like you're a dog."

"Hey Ann!"

I looked up from my order pad. The other waitresses were crowded around a small cell phone. They all faltered slightly at my glare. I knew that I made them uncomfortable. I didn't dislike them, not really. I wasn't going to make any friends though. I suppose it doesn't help that I've had a permanent scowl on my face for years. I wasn't the friendly, cuddly kind of person.

The blonde one, I think her name started with a K, was persistent in her attempts to include me in their mindless dribble. "Julia is signing up for an online dating website," she began. "They ask you to describe yourself in one word and well..." She faltered. "D-do you want to play?"

I didn't bother to answer and instead walked towards a table that was just beginning to flag me down. By the time I returned the blonde and the others were all crowded around a phone despite the couple of customers that were waiting for their service.

I ignored them and pushed through into the kitchen. Chef Arnold and a busboy were hard at work, neither bothering to look up when I entered. I attached my order slip to the line that ran across the front wall of the kitchen.

Chef Arnold spun around and took a look at it. "Coming right up, Ann," he informed me briefly.

I nodded and went back out. I liked Chef Arnold. He was kind, even for a human. I overheard one of the busboys say that Arnold treated me like a daughter, once. I wouldn't know but I was fond of him. When he first met me, he said I had a sweet face that reminded him of someone he knew a long time ago. I didn't ask who. People always assumed that a pretty face meant a pretty person. They were wrong. If Chef Arnold, or anyone else, saw the scars that littered my body they would run away screaming. Or worse, they'd tried to help. There was no help for me. The only way to stay safe was to stay invisible, to never let him find me.

As far as everyone in the one-horse town knew I was just another loner passing through. I am, in a way, I guess. My species would call me a rogue, though, a lone wolf. A werewolf without a pack. It was amusing to think about how these people would react if they knew anything true about me.

My entire life here is a lie, even my name. Ann Hawthorne. She didn't exist before I strolled into town little more than four months ago and she would cease to exist when I leave. Not long after she would fade from these peopled memories. Humans are funny that way, so forgetful. I envied them the ease of which memories left them. I envied them a lot of things.

There was only one thing that would serve to prove that there'd ever been an Ann Hawthorne. A single ID, faked of course, that would join a small binder filled with dozens of others. It was the only thing, besides a worn map, that I took with me wherever I sent. It wasn't sentimentality, that would be foolish, and also so very human. It was practical. I would never use the same alias twice. Just like the map, covered in small little Xs over every place I've ever been. I would never go to the same place twice. There was a section of the map, the size more than two states, that was completely blacked out. The surrounded area was barren of Xs. I would never go near there, not after‒ I shook the thought from my head.

Focus on the now. Working in diners and digs wasn't really glamorous but when you were applying to places with fake identities you couldn't be choosy.