Do Alphas Apologize? (A Cat's and Dog's book)

The day I lost my grip on reality

I walked through the crowded street, blinking back the ever-present tears and holding my breath as I counted to forty. Forty steps from the store to my safe alley, a place where I could abandon the world and relax in silence. The store was so loud, and my mother knew it, but I was the oldest, and she couldn't go sometimes; that happened when you were a heartbroken, single mom struggling to feed five kids. So I pushed through the overwhelming smells and bright lights, the loud noises and oppressive atmosphere; the headache inducing buzz produced by everything and everyone in the store. My mom thought I had some kind of mental disorder, Autism or something, but I was on the fence about that. I didn't need help to do anything, and I could handle conversations as well as the next guy- so long as the other person didn't raise their voice to loud- but... when you have a safe spot to calm down after a visit to the store, well... you have to admit something isn't right at some point.

I sighed, relaxing as I turned, my eyes still closed, into the alleyway I knew was there. I took half a step back and leaned against the wall, breathing quietly and deeply. Even this close to the outer edge, the alleyway was already much quieter than the street. I glanced at a pack of cigarettes in my hand before throwing them at the other end of the alley as hard as I could; then I slowly lowered myself, crawling behind the dumpster to the other side of it. No one could see me here, and sound was muted to a barely audible buzz in the background. It was here that I let out my tears, sobbing into my arms. My knees curled up against my chest, and I sobbed, quietly, for all I was worth. I couldn't say no to some people. I just couldn't. My twin was one of those people, the jocks at school were another. It was as if anyone with a hint of testosterone made me bend my will like a twig in a storm.

I hated myself for being so easy to manipulate; I'd even paid the man. I would go without breakfast for a few weeks again, I hadn't been able to buy my cereal. No one would notice except my twin, but even he would be more worried about his brothers training schedule being interrupted than me myself. I knew why, though; and I couldn't fault him for it. Ever since he'd made a bet with the rest of the football team, he'd had to keep his word; otherwise I would be helping him recover for weeks as he healed from their "prize". I mentally cursed the bull headed jerks; they were horny teenagers and there was nothing they wouldn't do to get a sneak preview at getting off inside their future girlfriends. He had to join the team for the entire season this year, or else my brother would experience things that no straight man ever wanted to. I knew he'd been tricked into the bet, and he'd proven he was sorry, but I also knew I had to help him. He was too good for his own good; he wouldn't break his word unless there was something he'd have to do that would be so bad he couldn't keep his head up from the shame. He could handle what they wanted.

I felt my breathing ease as I repeated the words in my head, a personal mantra that chased away my fears: silent night, all is calm... silent night, all is calm...

Eventually I opened my eyes, the tears gone. I would just tell him I was too young to buy cigarettes next time; I honestly was. Like my brother, I was taller than most, 5'11" to his 6'3", and he loved that I was smaller than him; the idea that I was older by three minutes but still smaller had him collapsing from laughter when I brought it up. I felt weaker, though, and I was definitely slimmer. With my hair as soft as it was, and my figure so slim, I had been mistaken for a boyish-girl from behind before. A frontal view showed off a more masculine set of features, like my jawline, my obviously flat chest, and my eyes. People always noticed my eyes. They said that my eyes were too green, that I shouldn't have that shade of green with my golden-blonde hair. They said it wasn't fair. My brother wasn't much better. Blonde haired, with blue eyes and skin much tanner than my own, he was the definition of masculinity, and the idea that they could dominate him would drive anyone wild with desire.

I sighed, glancing up and out of my little box, tensing at the sound of hissing. An alleycat fight. I peeked out of my box, through a convenient hole near the back, and watched with careful eyes. I knew a little about how to help an injured animal, depending on the injury. What I saw confused me. A dozen or more cats surrounded a single cat, which hissed and spat as it arched its back, thoroughly trapped against the wall. But then they didn't attack. When another cat jumped from the dumpster onto my box and then the ground, I flinched, not making a sound. Then the cat became a person. My eyes widened, and I watched as the naked boy reached for the cats scruff before it launched itself at the hand, using the boy as a launching pad to escape.