The Arrangement: Chapter 4
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The Arrangement
A Cal Kestis Fanfiction
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Summary:
A/B/O.
18+ for Smut.
A lack of money and support lead to searching for answers in an ex-boyfriend.
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Chapter 4: The Isolation
My thumb flicks back and forth across my phone screen, willing the nonexistent bar beside my contact list to scroll. I’m staring at Mini’s name, but the conversation I desire isn’t within the realm of our relationship. Not when the decision I must make affects his academic lifestyle.
Despite keeping it a secret, I know he’s pieced together what I do for a living. He always seemed wary of it, but holds his tongue. The “sisterly” scholarships he receives are all that allow me the privacy of doing whatever I want. Sometimes I wonder if he’ll stay so agreeable once he graduates.
He’s mentioned wishing I lived closer, trying to convince me the weather in Peru is preferable to my accidental home. What would I even do down there? The only hit jobs worth any money would require working for the drug lords. I prefer working for white-collar criminals. They’re less likely to screw me over: they have a pristine “reputation” to protect.
To Mini’s credit, the only part of living in Peru I would consider actually is the nice weather and ocean access. I could get a sailboat and spend my life coloring under the sun. But I would be broke.
I turn the knob on my gas stove, but the igniter doesn’t catch. My face thuds against the upper cabinet as I sigh, remembering I opted to leave the gas off in my home to save money. My plan was to live without heat since nicer weather will be here soon. Currently, the fireplace can offer any warmth I need, but I suppose it will also act as my stove.
I consider pulling out my old camping stove, but it’s not worth it for the calories. Instead, I peel a dented and bruised orange and eat it over the sink. Sweet juice runs down my chin and hands, dripping into the stainless steel basin. I resist peeling the fibrous pith from the slices and dropping the shreds in the compost bin— I loathe to waste nutrient dense parts of my food.
It’s just that I really hate the texture.
I rinse myself and the sink of any remaining stickiness, using the stained tea towel hanging on the lower cabinet door to dry my clean hands. Its white edges are still fraying despite my most recent attempt to hem it. Sewing was never my strong suit. Though my mother was quite the seamstress, having made all of mine and my brother’s clothes over the years.
As kids, I didn’t mind our homemade clothing, but Mini did. Despite our mother completing impressive alterations each time I outgrew a garment, he ended up wearing a pastel colored hand-me-down shirt with an embroidered dinosaur sewn onto the front.
Mini’s Beta status bothered him throughout school, but he outgrew it by his college years. I suppose it’s different for boys. The Alpha males would pick on any boy who was lesser. Mini got pushed around on the playground almost daily until I showed up to shove the younger Alphas’ faces in the dirt. Sometimes I would hold them there longer than necessary to buy Mini some extra days without constant harassment.
Despite being older and winning the schoolyard fights, I didn’t walk away unscathed. I heard their cruel whispers as they ran away; calling me a “Beta bitch” and stating I’d “be more useful if I were an Omega.” Children are mean.
As an adult, it’s easy to see that Beta’s are the true backbone of society. Working and contributing while the Alphas and Omegas go through their weird heats and ruts—something I’m grateful I don’t experience. It would complicate my particular line of work.
The tragedy is that Alphas never get their comeuppance. Most Beta’s end up working for them, and most Omega’s end up sleeping with them. Sometimes I wish I had been born an Omega. I could float through life, having no money worries, letting my mate handle all that. Though my sweet mother wasn’t so lucky.
My laptop remains barren of job offers, despite my frequent prayers. The back cover seems more secure than it was yesterday. Though I’m not sure I trust what Cal did to it, since he rearranged some of the internal parts before screwing it back together. At least that’s one less thing that needs fixing around here.
Cal is a good Alpha, though I suspect he was also a bully when young. He seems honest, always pays me, supposedly treats women well—despite sleeping around.
I just don’t trust anyone so disconnected from the masses. His “problems” aren’t even problems. He has such plentiful options for women that he doesn’t want to settle down, so now he’s making it my problem. I have problems.
My dry hands rub over my bare face. I should tell him no. But solving his “problem” would solve my mine. Then I could retire to Peru with my brother, get an impressive boat, and waste away drinking expensive liquor while watching the sunset over the ocean.
So why does this job offer fill me with immense dread? Why does it remind me of the boys in school? That I, like all non-Alphas, am subservient.
My love life isn’t blossoming, but this would put a permanent scarlet letter on me—forcing me to leave the area. Maybe I’d like the opportunity to retire on my boat with a mate.
I open my phone again and start typing a message to Mini. But I delete it. I need advice; just not from him.
After a brutal week of checking my ad almost hourly and mulling over Cal’s stupid job offer, I cave in.
I need someone to talk to. There’s only one person who will give me a straight answer, and he’s grabbing a drink at this late hour. I grab my secondhand windbreaker and head towards the local pub.
It’s a lone wooden establishment, several cars parked out front on the flattened grass. The makeshift parking lot turns into thick mud when it rains. Which will be soon. There’s two warm colored porch lights: one by the entrance and another exactly seven and a half meters away, where smokers congregate. I take two stairs at a time, wiping my dirty boots on the coarse entry mat before entering the dim interior.
I already knew he was inside. His shitty hatchback out front gave him away. Bode sits at the bar, watching whatever game is broadcasting on the multitude of televisions. I slide into the open seat beside him, slapping the shiny wooden surface of the bar to get the attention of the owner and solo bartender.
He brings me my usual: the most affordable beer on tap. I never ask for the names of the rotation I receive.
They’re all shit.
“How’s business, Greez?”
“It’d be better if you weren’t such a cheapskate.” The older man’s words cut, but he follows them with a warm smile.
“Money’s tight,” I say, taking a large swig of my watered down beverage.
“Of course it is,” he says.
I like Greez. He’s my inspiration for wanting a boat. Sometimes he tells me stories about his time as an angler. He’s always bragging about the beautiful ship he had. But he never discusses his catches.
I want to be like him when I grow old: kind, weathered, and surrounded by alcohol.
He’s not the one I’m here to ask for advice from. Greez is too nice to tell me anything meaningful. He’ll just go along with whatever it seems like I want most. I’m here to ask the dark-haired man to my right. My ex, if you can call him that, as it wasn’t really a relationship.
“Bode, how’s the family?”
I check the score, quickly realizing my mistake in speaking at this exact moment. He's is in a foul mood, not bothering to glance in my direction.
“Family’s family.”
I don’t risk pressing the matter. Bode isn’t the friendliest guy once you get to know him. He’s a real charmer, sure…when his team is winning. Despite his rough edges, he started a family a few years back. I thought he was turning over a new leaf; I was incorrect.
We didn’t intend to sleep together. His team won, the bar celebrated, and after one drink too many, he and I ended up at my place. We cut it off pretty shortly after. Even though we’re both Betas, it just felt too weird.
I also disliked his fickle mood.
Lucky for him, he met a sweet and understanding Omega woman who gave him a child. To everyone’s surprise, his daughter is an Alpha. A genetic possibility in most pairings, but rarer at lower rankings.
The game cuts to commercial and I see my opening. “So, uh, I’m thinking about changing my career path. Could mean a permanent relocation.”
Bode glances at me, a spark of curiosity in his eyes. “Oh yeah? More money?”
I nod, drinking to stem the flow of anxiety. “Yup, pay’s real good.”
He nods, glancing from screen to screen. “Congrats on the new job. Next beer’s on me then, I s’pose.”
I let out a shaky breath; I was hoping for advice, not congratulations.
“Don’t you think I should weigh my options? I kinda like living here.”
“You still send money to your brother, yeah? College ain’t cheap.”
“Yeah, that’s for sure.”
“Your current stream of income dryin’ up?” He sounds like he’s stating it as fact more than asking.
“I’ve got an ad up. Someone could bite,” I say.
“Foolhardy as always,” he says, glancing at my shitty beer.
I grasp the glass, trying to cover the nearly clear liquid. I miss the taste of the luxurious wine I drank at Kestis Manor. If I take the job, I can probably afford all kinds of expensive drink.
“You’re not gonna miss me?” I ask Bode, knowing I have maybe one more commercial before he forgets I exist.
“Miss you, sure, but friends come and go. That’s why I got a family. Maybe you should try it out.”
“Yeah, maybe one day.”
There’s nothing else to say, so I shut up. The game comes back on and I finish my beer before paying my tab and leaving.
Once in the safety of my car, I pull out my phone, scrolling to the phone number I know is Cal’s. I compose and send the text before speeding off.
I’m in.
Song for the chapter: The Wrong Direction by Passenger
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