Ivy
I have to press my forehead to the cold metal of the railing to wake myself up. I’m not sure how I’m standing after all of that nonsense at work. Cynthia cut out of work again today without calling in, leaving me with an eleven-hour shift and an incredible ache in my back. My spine groaned again as the bus shifted, and I had to fight to keep myself upright. The old lady I’d given up my bus seat for smiled at me with her toothless grin, her ancient, lined hands quaking like she was having a seizure.
I bet no one else on this damned bus would have given up their seat, why did I? But I knew why; it wasn’t because I felt good afterward. It was because helping people was the way I was built. I mostly did this kind of thing out of habit. It was what my father would have done. It didn’t matter than not a single asshole on this whole line would give up their seat to someone who was practically asleep on her feet.
Cursing myself, I took a long, deep breath of the rancid air inside of the bus. It woke me a little, enough to take a look around at the people in the seats around me. I was the only one standing. None of the others on the bus would even look in my direction.
Most likely they don’t want to have to feel sorry for me so they can keep their seat. If they pretend I don’t exist, their conscience stays clear. Bastards. I glanced out of the windows, watching as the muddy, dirty streets passed by in a blur of grays and browns.
Working at the diner wouldn’t be so bad if the assholes who ate there weren’t so grabby. I frowned. As a pretty waitress, flirting with the customers always got me a little more consideration come tip time, but it was a fine line. If I ended up being too heavy-handed at it or flirted with the wrong guys, I could end up with handsy assholes that spend my whole shift trying to put their hands down my pants.
The bus stopped in front of my place after an eternity or two. My feet dragged as I stepped off the stairs into the wet, dripping streets. There wasn’t really any drainage down here, so the streets just kind of filled up with water like kiddy pools that festered with mosquitoes and other vermin. I stepped over what I could and walked around what I couldn’t, unable to even bear the stink of the sitting water. And I only have one pair of shoes, so it’s best to keep them as clean and dry as possible for work tomorrow. I nearly growled at that thought. If Cynthia calls out tomorrow, I’m going to break one of my fingers on purpose and bail.
I climbed the million stairs to my shitty motel room, each one harder than the last. My feet felt like lead in my shoes, and I was having a hard time not weaving all over the stairs in my wariness. I probably looked pretty drunk to anyone else who was around. Get to your room quick, before someone thinks you look like a target and takes your tips again. After the first time, I’d learned to hide my tip money a little more creatively, shoving some in my shoes and even sewing a couple of secret pockets in my uniform.
I always learned my lesson the first time something went wrong. It was a shame I didn’t learn about how people can betray so easily before I lost my whole life to my ex-best friend Janice.
Taking a deep breath as I walked by Josh’s place, I tiptoed past that too-quiet door. I didn’t want Josh’s father to come out and see me; the way he looked at me made me feel ill. So I slid past that door and unlocked mine as quickly as I could. As soon as the door was closed, I shot the bolt home and took a deep, steadying breath.
Pulling little wads of money out of my various pockets, I threw the bills down onto the bed, my hands trembling as I counted the meager earnings. “Pathetic,” I whispered out loud, glaring down at the weak looking total before me. It would take years to save any amount of money with this weak haul. And after a double shift today, too…
I counted up the money I had saved up after I’d taken out everything I’d needed for food and necessities. There was a little more than three hundred dollars in my aluminum lunch box, not even enough to make rent for a month if I ended up without a job or ill. It was mostly just the leftover money I had from selling all of my possessions when I’d realized I would no longer be able to afford to live in my old place anymore. There wasn’t much left inside of that sad little box, but it was my whole life. I had to swallow hard to get rid of the tears threatening the edges of my eyes.
Setting the money back into the lunchbox, I wrapped the whole thing in a plastic bag and resealed it. There were a loose couple of tiles on the bathroom floor that I pulled up, shoving the lunchbox inside to hide it from potential thieves. It was the safest place in the whole building, I’d wager. If a thief found this haul, they’d deserve the paycheck they’d get.
I changed out of my work clothing, rubbing out the worst of the stains and spraying it with a little perfume. I couldn’t afford to wash it again until tomorrow, not with the lousy haul I’d ended up with. Not like I have the energy to walk down to the laundromat right now anyway, I suppose.
Pulling a brush through my hair, I sat down on the bed and closed my eyes. I wanted to pretend, and when I closed my eyes, I felt like I was back at home. My father’s voice floated up the stairs from his office. “Pumpkin, it’s time for bed. Let me brush your hair out,” he’d say. And I’d grin like an idiot before running down the stairs with my brushes.
But who doesn’t like having their hair brushed?
When I opened my eyes, however, my father wasn’t there. There’s only a crappy motel room, rife with wide brown spots of mold on the ceilings and an itchy carpet that I was afraid to walk barefoot over. There’s the rickety bathroom, filled with broken tiles and a leaky sink. The only part of my room that I liked was the view, a view I’d had to scrub the windows with white vinegar and newspapers for several minutes to see.
Even though it was partially obscured by the wooden replacement for the one broken panel in the window, the view was spectacular. From here, I could overlook the river that ran through the middle of town without having to smell it. There were a couple of robust looking trees and I could see the tops of many of the buildings around. Being on the fourth floor did have some perks; along with not having many drunks pass out in front of my door, I got to see the view of the city that I had always wanted.
Even if this isn’t how I wanted to get it.
I pulled out a box of baking soda I’d stolen from work and sprinkled it around the edges of the carpets and around the edges of the bathroom walls. It wouldn’t keep the bugs out entirely, but it would help. It was all I could do since I couldn’t afford the bug spray I’d need to really create a barrier for them. After sprinkling the windowsill, I sat down on my bed and stared out of the window into the night skyline, admiring the glittering gold and silver lights that lit up the streets.
Throwing my blankets off of the bed, I study the undersides in search of bugs or worse, but find nothing. Perhaps keeping my room as food- and bug-free as possible was working out. I kept all of my food and pans and plates in the fridge; it seemed to be the only place the bugs couldn’t get into. It meant the roaches abandoned my place for homes that were less clean and less covered in baking soda.
After turning off all of the lights but the lamp by my bed, I crawled in, pulling the covers up around my head. I stared at the dirty popcorn ceiling, my eyes tracing the little outlines of the bits of plaster.
My eyes started to droop a little as the sounds of the city lulled me into a kind of trance, and I slowly started to fall asleep. I hoped I would dream of the old days before I ended up here. Perhaps if I couldn’t live that life for real, maybe I could live it at night.
But those thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sounds of very loud gunfire.
I bolted upright, my eyes wide and clutching the sheets to my chest. It took me several second to realize that A) no one was shooting at me, and B) the sounds were actually just coming from the TV next door. The sound shuddered through the paper-thin walls making the wooden headboard of my bed quiver with the sound. Frowning, I banged on the wall, but Josh didn’t seem to hear me.
I guess I get to sit here and wait until his father gets home and turns the damned volume down. I sighed, grinding my teeth together as the rowdy sounds of TV violence continued to spill into my room. The boy’s a spoiled brat, thanks to his shitty, no-good father. His incredibly sexy, no-good dad.
I could remember every inch of him behind my closed eyes. The soft, blonde hair hanging in dirty locks to his shoulders with the sides closely shaved. The carefully-kept beard tinged with red. Those amazing smoky gray eyes that were as hard as steel and just as icy cold.
A trickle of warmth lit up my thighs as I remembered over details of the beautiful biker with the wild child. The colorful lines of his flame tattoos coming up over his collarbones to wrap around his muscled neck. Those wide shoulders filled with enough strength to lift me from the ground and--
You’re not seriously daydreaming about the crazy next door neighbor, are you? I admonished myself, surprised at this little turn of events. I mean, he was handsome, well-built, and dangerous as hell. And every single one of those things looked like something I wanted pressed between my legs. There’s no harm in daydreams, I guess.
But those thoughts too were cut short as the TV volume suddenly plummeted, signaling the return of the man next door. The revving of wild engines circled the parking lot, the scream of a motorcycle engines cutting through the sudden silence like a knife.
I pressed my pillow down over my ears, closing my eyes as tightly as I could, trying to drown out reality. This is not where I’m supposed to be. I’m not supposed to be in the poorest part of town, surrounded by bugs, lowlifes, and crazed bikers.
I’m not supposed to be here, dammit. Tears slipped past my eyes, squeezed shut so hard they hurt.
I wanted my life back. A hole cracked open in my chest. I didn’t want that man next door and his kid to hear me crying through the thin walls. So I buried my face in the pillow and sobbed as silently as I could manage until I finally fell into a dreamless sleep.