Collecting Misery

Another Story

A/N: The writer's block is strong with this one.

Believe it or not, I've been working in the next chapter all this time! I'm halfway through it. When I have writer blocks, I write more stories. Sorry. I've barely been functional for a while now.

I'll try to finish the new chapter today or tomorrow. I offer you this in the meantime.

Song: Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish.

Somewhere else, many years later

R E N A T A

Chapter 1 - You're not my Friend

The soft melody of an indie track fills the empty bar, its deep meaningful lyrics contrasting with its light carefree beat. I glance at the clock. It's 2:50 PM and, oh surprise, Lee is running late. I sigh. At least, he managed not to burn down the building in my absence.

I'm wiping off the counters when someone opens the front door. His scent caresses me like a soft breeze. The door closes behind him. My heart rate shots up and shivers rake through my body making the ends of my hairs rise. Oh, how much I missed this stupid human.

"We aren't open yet. Come back at 3:30 PM." I don't look up from the counter and keep swiping the wet rag against the fake marble as if his presence didn't stir the deepest of me.

"C'mon. Are you denying access to your favorite costumer?" He saunters in with long confident strides, flashing me that cocky smile of his, almost blinding me with his perfectly white teeth. "I missed you."

Surprisingly, he's wearing dressing shoes instead of his usual beat up sneakers. His dark blue pants fit his long legs perfectly. The long sleeves of his elegant white shirt are rolled up, but his tie is intact. He's carrying a matching suit jacket over his arm. He's so overdressed.

My breath hitches. I shouldn't have looked up. I wasn't quite prepared for this breath-taking vision.

His olive cheeks are flushed from the cold. His jet-black hair, which might have been slicked back at some point today, is messier than usual. He runs a hand through it in a futile attempt to tame it.

Too late for that, honey. Blessed be the chilly wind of late Winter, which gives me this sight of magnificence. He's always been perfect.

I smile back at him before looking around in the hopes of finding another trivial task to entertain myself with. Nope, everything is in place. The front bar is spotless. All the bottles in the back bar are in their places, the labels facing the front. The underbar is fully stocked.

"Wren." His gruff voice is nothing but a stroke of color in my gray life.

I look up from the cocktail station to find him already sitting on the stool directly in front of me, loosening his tie. I instinctively brush a lock of my dark hair behind my ear, wincing in pain.

Long hair and newly made piercings don't get along. I should've gotten the memo by now. I get a glass and fill it with ice ignoring his comment about how much of a masochist I am. He likes his Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks.

Maybe, I am a masochist. Few werewolves voluntarily impale themselves with silver. Even fewer of them tolerate a disloyal mate.

I keep on going back for more. Do I even have the right to be mad after all? He was upfront with me.

This is the last time. So, nothing of that matters anymore. I gave up.

"Oh, I'm not drinking today." He shrugs and smiles sheepishly when I arch an eyebrow at him. "Water would be great, though."