Prologue

I don't know where things went wrong. I was raised, well like most young women were. I was about 12 when I first started thinking something was wrong, that I was wrong. I started off by trying to tell my mom… that went about as well as expected. It took a couple of days, but eventually I was accepted as gay.

Navigating my small town was a little harder.

My mom didn't tell anyone, but somehow the girls at school found out. I went from being on the cheer squad in Junior High to an outright pariah by High School. Small towns everyone knows you, and I was already known as the weird kid even before it came out.

Then after what my mom eventually told me was several years of talking and fighting back and forth that I was completely unaware of, I was kicked out of church. I cried for a week, started having nightmares, visions of hell dancing in my head.

That was my ninth-grade year.

Tenth grade was different.

I got tired of the small minds, and the net, with its world beyond, made things a lot easier, my mom helped. On the first day back to school I walked in ready to own everything, my brown hair was cut short and dyed black, my brown eyes were replaced by wicked violet contacts, and my clothing, though well within dress code, was made to shock everyone. Goth hit my school that day and by the time I was a senior, Goth was in. I had never been so happy to be named Lydia in my life.

Hit college, got drunk, had a kiss, had a girlfriend, had a fling, went wiccan, then pagan, then agnostic. By the time I was a junior in college I was hooking up, going out, and living the life I always wanted. Senior year was a rip all over again this time with classier friends and more well-read peers. I heard about BDSM and so much more.

Then, school was over, and the bill as they say, came due. I had thought I was a bitch, I had nothing on student loans. Jobs evaporated just after I graduated, and I found myself unemployable. No experience, no prospects, no money. Depression hit hard, I grew my hair out, put up the contacts and got a real job.

Then of course, I lost it.

Downsizing to a smaller apartment made things somewhat better, but rent kept going up and the pay for whatever I could find didn't. Then, thankfully I ran into an ex-girlfriend from college. She had inherited a little bit of money and a coffee shop, a place for people like us, that her uncle had built. She offered me a job and what's more, a room. I took her offer.

That was five years ago.

Chapter 1

My life is routine. I wake up, work most days, and go back to sleep. The official work uniform is whatever you feel like so long as it's legal and you can put a black apron on. Mine is a pair of faded blue jeans and whatever band shirt I happen to grab that morning. My morning's start whenever I get up, and I rarely get up before noon.

Shuffling out each morning requires coffee to get me going, dark shades to avoid the day star, a quick drive in a car that rattles as it rolls, and settling into the shop usually around 2 pm. At one point I had a life outside of work, I gamed, I dated, I went to clubs. Then, well things happened, let's just say I have bad luck with women.

Saturday night is game night, I don't play anymore. Why? I'm at work Saturday night.

It's ok, I have something most don't.

Saturday night is Writer's Night, not that this place isn’t filled to the brim with people clacking away at their keyboards, but Writer's Night is when a few of them will hit the microphone we turn on and let some of their poetry or other prose shine. It's a hot mess and I love it.

I look forward to my Saturdays.

Today is not Saturday.

I get two days a week off, one is Sunday, the other floats. This week it's Wednesday.

Cleaning day.

My day doesn't start any earlier, is just gets a whole lot less exciting. Elizabeth, Beth to her friends, is a hell of a businesswoman, smart, savvy, wonderful, creative, everything you could ask for in a boss. Kind, considerate, and always willing to get things done and work with people. Beth the person is a walking talking disaster area.

A weeks' worth of dishes was nothing to wake up to on cleaning day, laundry was always backed up, the game room a.k.a. the dining room, often still had pizza boxes in it. Beth always helped and she was always grateful. It may not be ideal, but what is?