Barbie

“What? You’re still sleeping?” Brick yells while kicking the mattress hard.

I was until a second ago. I don’t say that, just think it, because I know better.

“It’s almost two PM,” he barks as he throws the blackout curtain on the window open, ripping it off the hangers by the sound of it.

“You look like shit,” he complains, glaring at me as I sit up in bed.

I rub my eyes, wincing as I do, because my fingers caught on the black eye he gave me last night. That’s probably what he’s referring to. But I don’t remind him of that either, because I know better.

“Be at Boar’s Pit Stop by nine, and you better look your best,” he says harshly.

“OK, Brick, I’ll be there,” I tell him after a pause, since he’s waiting for me to speak. I hoped I’d get the night to myself tonight.

He really had a go at me last night, mostly because he couldn’t keep his dick hard. My head still hurts from the punch that left me with the bruise. Everything hurts, and on top of it, I couldn’t get to sleep until past dawn worrying about it all.

“You better,” he spits, tosses a couple of twenty-dollar bills on the foot of the bed, and strides out the room. A few moments later I hear the front door slam shut.

I’ve been Brick’s woman, since I was twenty-five years old, and I’m almost thirty now. He’s never gonna make me his old lady. I’m just plain getting too old for him. Worrying about that is what kept me up all night, while he snored beside me and my head throbbed.

Brick’s never been a gentle guy, but he’s gotten even rougher these past few months. I think it’s because he’s sick of me. But where the hell am I gonna go if he dumps me? I have no money except what he gives me, and no skills to make it either. And I’m almost thirty years old and look it. Over the hill. No prospects and no way out of this life I entered so happily and joyously at seventeen. The fucking idiot that I was. And still am.

Boyfriends were easy to come by when I was younger and prettier. There was always a new one just around the corner when an old one kicked me to the curb. But I should’ve found an old man by now. That was the plan. Yet all I got for my efforts was a string of losers slapping me around until I landed with Brick. He was older and a president of his club, Kings of the Road MC, and I thought I had it made when he chose me. But he’s proven to be the worst of them all.

Love, I thought it was at the beginning, but I grew out of that delusion right quick after the third time he beat me bloody. But by then he’d never let me go. He’s one of those who consider a woman their property. I could try to run, but I’d probably not get very far. And what would I do? I can’t even strip for Christ’s sake.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Barbie,” I tell myself out loud, and refuse to think about any of that anymore while I take my shower.

I succeed, for the most part, until I finally get a good look at my face in the mirror and realize that I do in fact look like shit, because the bruise around my eye is covering half my cheek as well. And I’m fresh out of the good foundation that covers it all.

“Fuck my life!” I yell and fling the empty bottle against the mirror, wasting what little was left of the foundation and making a mess.

But I didn’t get this far in life by not doing what needed to be done. And I could use a walk to clear my head and to get out of this house that’s more or less my prison, and a lasting reminder of the mess that is my life.

So I scrape the foundation off the mirror, use it to cover my black eye as best I can, put on a hoodie, a baseball hat and the biggest pair of sunglasses I own, pocket the money Brick gave me and head for the mall. At least he’s generous with the cash he gives me, some girls don’t even have that luxury.

I’ll get the prettiest dress I can afford at the mall, and all the makeup I need. Maybe, just maybe, I’m wrong. Maybe Brick means to keep me around. Maybe it’s just the stress with the MC that has him all riled up. He’s fighting with the Bloods over dividing what’s left of the Spawns’ operation. Of course his nerves are frayed.

It’s the same lie I’ve been telling myself for the better part of the year, but it still sorta makes me feel better.

* * *

The mall is crowded like it always is on rainy days. And it’s coming down in buckets outside now. I narrowly escaped getting drenched on my way here, but it doesn’t look like I’ll be so lucky on the way back.

I’ve already bought all I needed to buy, including a very nice new dress - red, because that’s Brick’s favorite color, and short, because he likes that too. I also got all the makeup I needed, and applied some right away in the bathroom, since I looked ridiculous walking here with my high-summer sunglasses on, and I looked even more ridiculous wearing them indoors. Plus, I couldn’t see anything with them on, since the lenses are completely black.

I’ve just been browsing around the huge, two-floor beauty shop for the past hour or so, getting trailed by employees, since I look like the type that’s gonna steal. I’m not gonna steal, because I’m not a thief and never was. So if they have the time, let them watch me. It’s their loss. I bet some of these prim and proper girls shopping today are stealing, but no, they’re gonna go with the obvious choice. The white trash girl. The biker slut. They could be serving people, but instead they wanna make me feel bad with their accusatory looks and not a shadow of a smile when they ask me if I need some assistance. I don’t need their assistance. I know how to make myself look gorgeous. The assistants do smile a lot at the other girls and women in here, and for some reason that’s making me feel really low today. Probably because I haven’t been smiled at in a very long time. But I don’t want to think about that.

“Excuse me,” one of the shopping women says, but doesn’t wait for me to get out of the way from where I’ve been crouching to check out the blushes, and nearly knocks me over.

She doesn’t even glance at me, let alone apologize. She’s one of those privileged, polished pretty girls that no store clerk would ever assume is gonna steal. Long and perfectly straightened brown hair with highlights are spilling down to the middle of her back, she’s wearing an outfit straight from the latest fashion spread, and her nails are done to a T. I bet her manicures last for a week or more, unlike mine, because I’m always chipping and breaking my nails on something. I wish I could grow my hair out past my shoulders, but it just gets all thinned out and scraggly looking once it reaches that point. It’s from all the peroxide I’ve been torturing it with, because I like being a blonde, and Brick likes it that way too. Or maybe he doesn’t care, and I just like to pretend I’m doing things to please him when in fact I can’t. Not anymore.

I bet this woman’s boyfriend doesn’t beat her. I bet he treats her well, like an equal. Maybe he’s even one of the bored looking dudes standing by the door and playing with their phones, while clutching shopping bags bulging with the stuff their wives or girlfriends already bought. I think I’d like a guy who’d do that for me, but none of the ones I’ve dated so far would set foot in a mall even when I asked them to.

“Can I help you with something?” the woman asks sternly, making me realize I’ve been staring at her while all of that shot through my brain.

“No, I’m good,” I tell her and walk away.

I bet she has a doormat of a men at home to order around, going by that perfectly clipped and bossy tone she just used with me, which can only get that perfect with practice. Who wants that kinda guy? That’s not a man at all, just a manly woman.

I leave the store, would leave the mall altogether, since I don’t really belong in this world of high maintenance, normal women and their doormat men, and I never did. But it’s still raining buckets outside.

And the longer I sit on the bench by one of the large windows overlooking the parking lot, and the shabby part of town where I live beyond it, the more I wish I’d never come here. I’m getting that empty feeling in the pit of my stomach that I always get when I acknowledge just how much is missing from my life, and how I’ll never be able to fill it, because I’m too old, too used up, too spent and not good at anything but being some guy’s good time girl. I’m not even steady girlfriend material, let alone wife. I’m just a booty call.

And the sight of all these normal couples, guys and girls my age, roaming around the mall holding hands is making it worse. It’s not a painful emptiness. It’s just sad. And when the sadness tips over and overflows, it’s hard to claw my way back out and accept my life for what it is — as in, not as bad as it could be.

Plenty of women everywhere have it worse than me. Plenty of them are stuck in dead-end, abusive relationships, with as little chance and skill to get out as me.

Most times when I get like this, it makes me feel better to know that. But today it’s not working. I blame the rain and not getting enough sleep, and the fact that my head is still pounding.

Damn it, just once I’d like to have a guy look at me with more than just lust, or kiss me because he loves me, not because he just wants to fuck me, or hold the door open for me, or hold his jacket over my head, so I don’t get wet as we run to get to our car in the parking lot, or value my opinion and take my feelings into account. Someone who loves me with all his heart and gives me all his devotion.

I never had any illusions that I’d amount to much in life, not with how partying and being wild and free was always my top priority, but damn it, I was sure I’d find a guy like that for myself. Someone I’ll love just as much as he loves me and just as deeply.

But clearly, I was wrong.

I won’t dwell on it anymore, because it’s pointless. There aren’t enough pieces of my heart left to fall in love with anyone new. I’ve used them all up, wasted and squandered away all the love I had to give on the wrong guys and now it’s all gone. I settled for Brick and I’m gonna keep him.

So I grab my shopping bags and head out into the rain. I’ll get my hair done, I’ll get my nails done, and I’ll wear my gorgeous new dress tonight. And then none of these normal women who got what they wanted will be able to hold a candle to me. Because I’m sure almost none of them have enjoyed themselves half as much as I’ve enjoyed my life so far. Or been as free and wild.

So what if I’m getting older? MILFs are a hot commodity nowadays. It’d help if I had an actual child to go with it, but Brick saw to it that I’ll never get pregnant again when he beat my baby out of me. A two percent chance of ever getting pregnant again is what the doctor said afterwards. Which is just doctor speak for when pigs fly.

And there I go again, thinking about the bad.

I just have to not think of the bad and then everything’s good. It’s as good a strategy for coping with life as any. Because the most important thing is to keep moving forward, in whatever way you can.