It doesn’t surprise me when the sexy hunk of man meat is a no show at work tonight. A guy that hot always has Saturday night plans. He’s probably out with Marilyn right now. Why that thought feels like a strong punch to my stomach, I don’t know.
Alright, maybe I know a little. The attraction I have towards the handsome stranger is undeniable at this point. My body may betray me at every turn, but at least my mind holds strong. No hot guy for me.
It’s definitely below freezing when I make my way to my car. A cold front must be on its way. It makes me all the more grateful to have something to occupy my weekdays. My blanket-reading weather seems to have run out early this year.
In the cold I read in my car with the blanket over me instead of under me. I’ll put the heat on intermittently if I resort to that (which I inevitably will at least once in the next weeks) and let the car warm before I shut it down again. Hopefully my second job will prevent too much of that.
When I pull into the small dirt patch which represents our driveway I notice something’s off right away. It’s silent. Even when the music isn’t blaring there’s always some type of noise that travels through the paper thin walls. Yet there’s nothing but silence.
I don’t know what I’ll find inside and my overactive imagination sure doesn’t help things. I picture Shirley as she finally succumbs to the years of abuse she’s put herself through. I shudder at the idea of finding her dead. What if someone else is in there? What if she needs my help?
I take a large swallow and build my courage. I don’t even lock the car in case I need to make a fast getaway. My hands fumble with the crappy doorknob lock because I shake from the combination of cold and fear. Finally I get it to open and step inside.
It takes a moment for me to realize that we haven’t been burglarized (mostly because all of our stuff is crap) and that Shirley is just on a super rampage. I hear her towards the back of the trailer and she’s still at it.
The door to the bathroom is shut and I can hear things inside of it shatter. I slip into my room and push the dresser in front of the door. Most of the time I can handle Shirley, but this extreme fit I can do without.
I keep the light off and stay very quiet on my bed. Before long I hear the bathroom door open and the door to Shirley’s room slam shut. The tiny hallway is no buffer for the things that break while she screams. I have to cover my ears at her words. ‘Damn you, John! Why’d you have to leave me?’
It makes me get up quietly and add a bit more to my barrier. I know why.
It’s because of me.
Soon the door opens again and I try not to jump when Shirley begins to bang over and over on my door. My tears fall silently as her words cut deep.
“You little bitch!” She screams hoarsely and her words slur together. “This is your fault. You know what, princess? You can get the fuck out! You hear me? You’re not fucking welcome here anymore!”
I don’t know if she’ll remember this in the morning, but even more I don’t know if I want to be here to find out.
As much as it goes against my nature I take the coward’s way out. After Shirley runs out of steam and I’m sure she passes out I gather my clothes, toiletries and few keepsakes into a couple of garbage bags and put them in my car. I sneak back in and grab my sheets, blankets and pillows. I look around the small room I’ve spent so much of my life in. It’s so easy to empty. One life that shows so little…
I don’t bother to pick up the mess Shirley leaves. I know I cause this pain she feels, but maybe if she has to clean herself up it will be therapeutic. I accept my guilt…I just think she’s better off without me.
She’s only my step-mom after all.
I lock the door and pull it shut behind me. Too bad I can’t leave my past behind me with it.
The damn hot water heater goes on Saturday afternoon so instead of going to stare at Jordan at the bar like I want to I’m here—in a water-filled basement. For once I’m happy all of the boxes are still in the room upstairs than down here in the basement where they belong.
By the time my Dad and I install the new hot water heater and pump the water from the basement it’s two in the morning. The bar’s closed and it pisses me off that I miss her.
I shower and grab the bottle. My intentions are to take a few swigs, but like most good intentions they end up being just that—good intentions. It figures the one girl I want to throw herself at me doesn’t. Or is that what holds such appeal? Shit. I take another swig even though I can no longer feel my extremities.
There are no meaningful relationships in my past. Nothing more than a one (or occasional two) night stand. We move around too much for anything that requires commitment. It never has been an issue for me. None of the girls ever made me want more…until now.
I chug the rest of the bottle before I pass out for the fuck of it.
On the door is a note from my Dad. He’s going to another meeting tomorrow and found a girl to clean for us during the week. I stumble to the coffee maker downstairs. It’s the first thing I go for every morning. It looks like my Dad even made me a pot. Rock on, Dad.
The first sip helps. By the third sip my eyes focus. I look around in a bit of surprise. The boxes seem to be on some sort of retreat. I down the rest of the cup and pour another. My Dad’s out for the day. I could go refinish the floors on the third floor like we discuss…or I could finish what my Dad apparently tries to start.
Fuck it. I set down my mug and attack the boxes. Slowly I get them to disperse. I break down the cardboard and put it in the garage, but I don’t get rid of it. Who knows when we’ll need them again?
Maybe I can still begin work on the floors. It’s not like I have much else to do—at least not until tonight. It makes me feel a little pathetic that I base my whole day around seeing Jordan tonight until I realize how much I don’t care. It’ll be a first to make a fool of myself over a girl—but there’s a first time for everything.
I don’t have to work for a female’s attention. I never want one bad enough to try—if one of the girl’s didn’t want me than there was always others willing to take her place. I’m sure I can find that in this town if I try…only I don’t want to. I only want Jordan.
As crappy as my life is at times, this is a first. Thankfully my shitty car is in my name because it’s the only shelter I have. I don’t even have work the next two nights to warm up in. I debate my next move as I pull over to count the bills in my wallet. At least my tips last night are good and I’m not penniless to boot.
I stop at the gas station, but only grab a coffee despite the grumble my stomach gives off. I go up to the counter to pay and see Jeremy from school is behind the register.
“Hi, Jeremy—do you guys have a phone book I can look at quickly?” I ask.
“Sure, here.” He plops the book on the side of the counter.
“Thanks.” I say and flip through the pages until I find what I’m looking for. I grab a lotto card and the pen besides it to write down a couple of phone numbers before I return the book and pen to Jeremy.
“Bye, Jordan.” Jeremy says before he helps his next customer.
I wave and go back outside.
The numbers I have are for a few local roach hotels. Some advertise everything from hourly (shudder) to weekly and monthly rates. I grab my phone and try to find a room I have a chance to afford.
It boils down to two options. The most logical choice lies about twenty minutes away in a small country city. It’s not really a nice city, but definitely in my price range. One hotel here in town is affordable—but just barely. If I want to eat and drive (and I don’t know—buy tampons) I need to go to the shitty-city and suck it up.
I don’t really know what’s in store, but I reluctantly call back the city hotel and reserve a room. I reserve it for one week in hopes that job two may bump me up to afford the room here in town next week.
With the final swig of my coffee I begin my journey into country-urban hell. God help me.
About th
e Author…
Amazon Bestselling and USA Today Recommended Author Casey Harvell resides in the great Hudson River Valley of NY with her husband and their two sons. Casey is slightly zombie obsessed. She uses the word ‘boom’ and attaches ‘pants’ on the end of words frequently. You can find all of Casey’s books on her website http://caseyharvell.com
Website: http://www.caseyharvell.com
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Other Books by Casey Harvell:
Links can be found to all eBooks and paperbacks at caseyharvell.com
The Decisions Series:
Righteous Decisions (Decisions Series Book One) eBook always free!
Harsh Decisions (Decisions Series Book Two)
The Electric Series—USA Today Must-Read Romance Series!
Charged ~Reboot~ (Electric Series Book One) eBook always free!
Shocked (Electric Series Book Two)
Stand Alone:
Doesn’t Play Well With Others (18+)
Lingering… (18+)
Aliens, Death & Zombies: A Compilation of Short Stories
Coming Soon (2014-2015):
Soul Decisions (Decisions Series Book Three) *Final Series Book
Wired (Electric Series Book Three) *Final Series Book
Eclipsed Agony
Don’t You Cry
Proceed With Caution
The One Thing Page 27
