Page 2 of Blackened Temptation

I walked slowly, taking in the familiar streets. This is what my life had always been. A series of temporary homes, jobs, and people. Maybe I should have expected this. Things always went left when you got comfortable.

I pulled out my phone. It was three years old, and the screen was cracked, but it was good enough. I checked my bank account. My check was three hundred and eighty dollars. That was all the money I had in the world. Rent was six hundred, and it was already late. I was going to have to find another job, fast. The rain started three blocks into the twelve block walk home. At least my feet were dry. The Doc Martens I'd lucked into at the thrift store last year were still holding up. I jumped out of the way of the bus, driving past splashing water over the pavement, barely missing me. I wished I was on the bus, but right now, even the bus was a luxury.

I finally reached the rundown converted three-story house, where I rented my first-floor apartment. It had bars on the windows and a great view of the alley. I sighed. The lock on the what was supposed to be the security door was still broken.

Inside my apartment, I took my boots off and dropped my bag by the door.. A tiny counter separated the small room with an adjoining open kitchen. The bathroom was the only private room in the apartment, but I had a bed, a futon, and a TV. My apartment was a tiny shoebox, but it was mine. I had lived there for two years. Two years of stability and no drama. Now what would I do?

I changed out of my wet clothes and grabbed a towel from the bathroom. I started to squeeze the water out of my braids. After I dried my hair, I sat with my legs folded on the rickety futon. With a bowl of cereal in my lap, I started searching for jobs. I applied to any and everything. A waitressing gig at a fancy restaurant, a cashier at a fast food place, even a telemarketing position. Anything that would pay the bills.

I could feel my anxiety building. If I didn't get a job soon, I'd have to move again. The idea made my stomach knot. I thought I had things under control this time. If I couldn't make rent. I was going to be homeless. The thought of going back to a shelter made me sick. It wasn’t the same as a foster home. At least the foster home had a guaranteed bed. The shelters stayed full and the ones that had space weren't exactly safe for a woman alone.

I finished my cereal and kept looking for jobs. When I stopped, it was after midnight. I couldn't believe it was so late. I was exhausted. Maybe I should just go to bed and deal with this in the morning. I crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling. The rain had stopped, and the only sound was the distant siren of an ambulance. I tossed and turned before finally falling asleep.

I woke to the sound of banging. It took me a minute to realize the banging was coming from the front door. "Jasmine, are you in there?"

I stumbled to the door and opened it to find my landlord, Mr. Jackson. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Your rent is late.," Mr. Jackson said, looking me up and down. His eyes lingered on my breasts..

"I'm sorry.."

"Jasmine, in the two years you've lived here. I’ve been very understanding."

I looked at Mr. Jackson, who was wearing an oversized t-shirt and basketball shorts. He was in his late forties and always tried to flirt with me. I couldn’t stand him..

"My boss let me go yesterday. I promise I will have the money for rent by the end of the week."

Mr. Jackson frowned. "I’d hate to a evict a pretty girl like you, but I can't have tenants not paying."

"I'll get the money. I promise."

Mr. Jackson grinned, his eyes still glued to my chest.. "You have until Monday, but if you don't have the money, maybe we can work out some other form of payment."

I swallowed hard. "I’ll have the money."

"If you say so." He walked away, whistling.

I closed the door and leaned against it.

Fuck.

Fuck.

FUCK.

No way in hell was I fucking him to keep my apartment.. I was done with that shit. I gave up my first time to a two-pump chump for a warm bed and a hot meal when I couldn't take sleeping with one eye open in the shelters anymore.

I didn't spend a year and a half couch surfing for nothing. Most guys only let me stay with them if they thought I would let them bust a nut. Half the time, I pretended to be asleep while they got what they wanted—it was easier than trying to fake it. It didn’t matter they couldn’t give me what I needed. Most of them didn't care.

I had to find something, and fast. I got back to my phone and checked the jobs I've applied for. None of them had responded. What the fuck? It's like the universe was conspiring against me. I brushed my teeth and ate a handful of dry cereal before I applied for more jobs. Around four o'clock, there was another knock at my door. I ignored it.

"Yo Jazzy. Don't pretend you not home. I heard you got fired." A deep voice shouted through the door.

Angel, my upstairs neighbor. I opened the door. He was wearing a white tank top,showing off his tattoo covered arms as usual.. He had a thick beard and was always smiling.

"How'd you know I got fired?"

"You know Maya tells me everything. Look, Jasmine, you need a job and I have an idea."

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