The Alpha That Calls Me Pup

Chapter 1: Jackie Chan the Owens Man

Chapter 1: Jackie Chan the Owens Man

* Owens above *

EDITED 

Through contacts I was set up to live in a rather crappy apartment building. Only the first few months of rent was pre-paid, said contacts suggesting for me to get a job quickly. Walking up to the building I couldn't help but to grimace; it wasn't a pleasing sight. And neither would be the room.

From my understanding it was set up like a studio apartment building; all the rooms were in sight and in the same little room. The front door would open up to the bedroom, or bed, which might have a TV sitting across from it. To the far left would be a corner kitchenette, extremely small but with all the needed appliances while barely fitting a kitchen table. Across from the kitchenette, to the right corner of the room, would stand the sectioned off bathroom probably only holding a shower with no bath. And maybe, maybe, I would get a closet or wardrobe but I would more than likely only have a dresser instead.

Shaking myself out of my thoughts on my studio apartment I analyzed the apartment building itself. The walls of the complex that were once white were now stained brown and black, the black color more than likely coming from the funky looking mold clinging to the walls in dark and damp locations. Structurally, the building itself didn't even seem sound; even the stairs leading up to the second level seemed ready to give away at any moment. Of course, I had just the luck to be housed on the second floor.

Putting one all-star sneaker clad foot on the first step I cringed at the loud creak, expecting the wood to snap in half. White paint peeled off of the wooden stairs, wooden stairs that seemed to have been put together by an old man thinking he was a master craftsmen. An old man that was obviously overestimating his skills, skills that seemingly didn't exist. Nails jutted out of the wood here and there, some with the point facing up. By the time I reached the apex of the stairs I was already counting my blessings. Something I didn't do often since I never really seemed to have any at all.

Juggling my grocery bags I reached around the book bag slung over my shoulder for my keys. I came to a stop in front of an ugly wooden door, room 203, which was covered in chipped pink paint. Pink? Suppressing a shudder of the doors color I jammed the key in with unnecessary force, unlocking the door before kicking it open. Slamming the door to my apartment shut I quickly walked into my kitchenette placing down my groceries, still pissed that I never got my milk. Looking around my studio apartment, that was almost exactly as I expected, I was pleasantly surprised to see the small closet nestled beside the bathroom.

Yet even as my mood brightened slightly from the discovery that my apartment wasn't complete trash I still didn't feel all too good about my general situation. I had foreboding feeling settling in my gut that I was going to see the stranger with the mustache again soon. And possibly, too soon for my liking.

It was only twelve o'clock and my walls were shaking from the vibrations of music from my neighbor. The state of the building paired with my correct assumptions on the size and layout of my room already had me in a rather shitty mood. Adding the country music that I detested to the mix was not helping my state of mind. Going back into the hall I started to bang on the door that the music was coming from, annoyance coursing through my veins. I was just having a shitty day.

"Open up! Turn down your godforsaken-," I was cut off when the door swung open to reveal someone I never thought I'd see. Owens.

He groaned, obviously not wanting to see me either, before going back inside to turn off his music. Not too long later he reappeared at his doorway, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame as he glanced down at me.