“Shit!”

I yelp and hold my aching shin as I flip the light switch on in my apartment kitchen, right off the front door.

I guess I forgot to move the huge box of clothes that don’t fit me anymore. I have yet to take them to the Goodwill.

My leg is the victim of the box’s dark room attack, and it’s just the icing on the fucking cake for the shit night I had at work tonight.

I stumble over to the counter and toss my keys and purse on top of it before I hop my way to the tiny bistro two-seater table, the only kind that will fit in this tiny galley kitchen of mine.

I instinctively rub my leg and grimace, hoping that tomorrow will be better than today, but I know it won’t be any fucking different.

I’m exhausted as I unlock my phone, looking through my messages. As I scroll around on my social media sites, I get a notification that my mom is calling me.

This is odd because it’s kind of late at night, after midnight.

“Hello?” I whisper apprehensively.

“Hi, sweetie,” my mom says on the other end.

“Mom? Why are you calling me so late? Is everything alright?” Nervous energy bubbles in my stomach.

My mom sighs. “Yes, everything is fine. I just can’t sleep.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling the rush of relief. “That’s cool. I just got off work. Another shitty night,” I mention and brace myself for a lecture on the use of swearing.

“At least you have a job,” my mom whimpers on the other end, I’m home free for the reprimand this time.

My parents still live out in California, near San Diego. If you think that living in New York City is expensive, well magnify that by like…a million and that’s how much it costs to live out in California.

Growing up, we didn’t have a huge house or anything, but we lived comfortably. My father has a degree in accounting and usually jumps around from job to job, helping companies get their finances in order.

Only now with the economy the way it is, the irony of the situation is that he just got laid off by a major corporation and now he’s in a spotty financial state. The company wanted to cut costs, is the way my mom explained it at the time.

“Dad still can’t find a business to hire him?” My voice is high and squeaky with surprise.

“No,” my mom says despondently into the phone.

I imagine her sitting in the kitchen or something with all the lights off, her face glowing a soft blue color from the phone screen. She’s probably wearing a pink silk nightgown with a cup of tea steaming beside her on the table.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I whisper softly, and with grief. “I feel like this is all my fault.” I shake my head and rub my temples. I know my dad has been looking for a job for several months now.

“No, sweetie,” my mom tries to be convincing. “It’s not your fault at all, it’s the economy.”

I scoff. “That’s everyone’s excuse for everything.”

“Well, it’s true. I don’t want you to feel guilty,” my mom says.

I do feel culpable though.

You see, my loving, nurturing, wonderful parents bear the brunt of my school payments because, well…they paid for it.

Yes, they paid for the entire thing, each semester, everything I needed; they bought it with no questions asked.

I’m talking books, supplies, the works. What do I have to show for it? A few lousy tips and a nearly negative bank account of my own.

“I’m so stressed, Mom,” I vent to her, approaching tears.

I hate to wallow in my own self-pity, but I feel like I’m reaching a new low tonight, a breaking point.

“Don’t worry about it, Hanna,” my mom says. “Everything always works out in the end.”

“I hope you are right,” I say although I’m not even fucking close to being convinced.

“You guys put me through culinary school and I’m just a waitress,” I mumble.

“Honey, these things take time.” My mom tries to be bright and positive. “You have to work your way up.”

“Boy, Mom, you sure are full of clichés tonight, aren’t you?” I joke playfully into the phone.

“Whatever I need to do to turn your frown upside down,” she laughs.

“Okay,” I say and roll my eyes. “I’ll keep my hopes up for Dad getting a job. Keep me posted.”

“I will, Hanna, talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Mom,” I smile as we hang up.

I sigh and rub my face. “What a fucking day,” I say to no one. Only the stale midnight air of the apartment can hear me now.

I hate that my parents are broke, and I can’t help but think it’s all because of me. The blame I give myself rises in my throat like bile. I shake my head, refusing to give up.

I need to figure out a way to break my way into my dream job. I pull my tips from the night out of my pocket and toss the crumpled-up bills onto my kitchen table.

They look sad and pathetic, just like my spirit. “These tips suck!” I shout and pound my fist on the table. The bills jump an inch or two in the air.

I walk to my refrigerator and notice that I still have half a bottle of pinot grigio in there. Fuck yes. I’m going to unwind in a nice bath with a glass of this fine shit right here.

I pour the wine into a glass as I relish in the sound of it glugging and splashing as it fills the glass.

I walk to my bathroom and turn on the spout, waiting until the water is nearly to the top before I finally turn it off.

It’s hot and perfect and I get chill bumps as I slowly submerge my naked body into the wondrously balmy water.

I sigh audibly and take a sip of the refreshing wine. It provides me with a warm sensation as it hits my belly and runs through my veins.

Now I’m relaxing and in my element. I can sleep in tomorrow, knowing that my shift at the restaurant won’t start until three in the afternoon.

I close my eyes and allow my thoughts to drift into oblivion. I see Rocco’s face in my mind. He’s so fucking sexy. His eyes are like looking into smooth, dark chocolate and I imagine running my hands through his thick, dark hair.

I instinctively smile and open my legs, slowly moving my hand between them as I feel the tingle and pulsing sensation begin to rise in my pussy.

Rocco is more than ten years my senior, but he’s handsome as fuck and in complete control of every situation. There’s something about his masculine authority that makes me feel like I could get off immediately.

He’s a real man, and I bet he is amazing in bed. I have a twinge of jealousy thinking about his lovers. He probably sleeps with multiple women. I mean, why wouldn’t he? He’s gorgeous and rich and can snag up any hot girl he chooses.

I want to be that hot girl, and imagine myself underneath him as he goes down on me. I spread my legs wider and moan out loud, shutting my eyes tightly to get the best visual of Rocco’s hard, throbbing cock touching me.

I imagine that he’s the type of guy who I can ask advice from about my career and how to succeed, but I know that’s only fantasy, no reality.

He’s not an approachable person which makes him, even more, brooding, mysterious, and sexy in my mind.

He’s untouchable and I arch my back as the pleasure suspends me and controls me completely.

Rocco, you are so big, I imagine myself saying in a naughty voice as I stare up at him. My hand is on his pulsing cock, and then my lips touch the sensitive throbbing prick.

I moan as I imagine wrapping my lips around his shaft and taking him in as he fills my mouth.

I touch my tingling, engorged clitoris as I picture him pushing my head up and down on his hard cock, bouncing my head up and down while he explodes his load of hot cum into my mouth, shooting it down my throat.

As I imagine gobbling up every last drop, I finally give into my own climax as well. I cry out as my body tenses and the rise of orgasm finally explodes.

I’m panting and breathing hard. My cheeks feel warm and my body still shakes from the aftershocks of orgasm.

I chug a hefty swallow of pinot Grigio from my glass and contemplate where I’m going in the future. If only it were real life and not just a dream.