Chapter 42

No one working in the grocery store had recognized me, though I’d known most of them since childhood. They were just older and…fatter, in some cases, though that might be a tad mean. I couldn’t really blame anyone for the lack of recognition, since it had been seventeen years, after all, and I was currently scruffy with a bushy moustache, long beard, and messy shoulder-length brown hair. I hadn’t felt like shaving in a long time.

I’d filled out, too, no longer the lanky, scrawny misfit with questionable fashion sense—everything tight and glittery, hair a rainbow of colors, depending on my mood. I’d flamed since the age of seven and been the butt of most jokes until I was able to escape this hell hole. I even had tattoos, these days, I was so butch. Shocker.