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I feel her patting me on the back, hear her saying, “That sucks, but you shouldn’t be crying over it.”
Shaking my head and pulling myself away from her, I let more tears fall. “You said it would feel good, Leah. It didn’t. It really didn’t.”
“The first time never actually feels good, Em. It’s more-so the emotions...Sex gets better as you go along...Your next time will probably be better. Didn’t you say he was just an okay kisser?”
I nod.
“Well, that’s half of the problem.” She pulls me up and walks me out onto my room’s balcony. “There’s a high correlation—”
“Correlation? That’s a four syllable word for you. I’m impressed.”
She rolls her eyes. “Next time make sure the guy you choose is a kick-ass kisser. It’ll be better, Trust me. In the meantime...” She leans close and dabs my eyes until they’re dry. Then she pulls a tube of mascara from her pocket, applying a new coat to my lashes. “This should make you feel better. What do you say we finish off that bottle together?”
I take one last swig from the bottle and move myself off the ledge. My shirt is damp and clinging to my chest, but I couldn’t care less right now.
I need to sleep away this frustration.
Just in case my grandparents come upstairs to check on me, I hide the evidence of drinking and stuff the unopened cigarettes into my desk drawer. I crash onto my bed and pull a quilt over my body—slowly slipping into a familiar state of blackness.
––––––––
Beep! Beep! Beep!
My phone alarm yanks me out of my sleep.
I shut it off and look at the time: Nine o’ clock.
Dinner is probably long over, but I roll out of bed and make my way downstairs anyway.
Shockingly, my grandparents aren’t lounging in front of the TV or sitting at the table talking. There’s no sign of them anywhere.
On the refrigerator they’ve left a note:
“Emerald! Congratulations on keeping your Starbucks job for more than two weeks! We hope you keep it for several more! We’ll be on the church fishing trip until tomorrow, so call us if you need anything.
Two plate dinners are wrapped and ready in the fridge for you.
Pray over them first!
Love,
Henry & Virginia
I shake my head at the note and unwrap one of the chicken dinners, grabbing today’s newspaper off the counter.
I need to start my job search all over again, so I might as well start now.
Before I can take a bite of food, my phone vibrates. A text.
“Hey. Heard you got fired, though I’m not really surprised LOL. Call me if you ever want to get out of bitch mode. I know somewhere else you can work...Oh and Carter asked about you tonight. You want me to tell him that you got canned?—Sarah.”
I roll my eyes and continue reading the employment ads. They’re a lot slimmer than usual, and I’ve applied to most of these places in months past.
Annoyed, I crumple the paper and toss it onto the floor—thinking of a way I can get through tonight without beating my head against the wall.
I have alcohol of course, but I don’t want to push my luck any further. My probation officer hasn’t shown up in a week, and I already have to do a cleanse to get rid of what I drank hours ago.
He’ll probably show up this weekend...
I have cigarettes, but I really am trying to quit; the late night infomercials have been working their charm on me in mysterious ways.
I have a few bottles of an intense system cleansing drink but—
Is there weed in Blythe?
Scrolling down my phone, I click on Sarah’s text and save her number before I call.
“Hello?” She answers after three rings.
“Hey. You got a minute?”
“For my former bitchy co-worker?” There’s a smile in her voice. “Always. What’s up?”
“Where can I get some weed around here?”
“What?!” She bursts into laughter and it sounds as if she’s near tears. “Oh god, Emerald...You just...You are a true piece of work!”
“Is there weed or not?”
“Are your grandparents at home?”
“No.”
“I’ll be over in fifteen.” She hangs up.
I rush upstairs and pull my hidden pack of cigarettes out of the bottom drawer. I slowly cut them into pieces over the trash to prevent myself from sneaking a smoke later. I consider pouring the rest of my vodka down the drain, but I can’t completely cut off alcohol.
I’m not even going to try.
Outside the window, I see bright headlights coming down the driveway and assume it’s Sarah. I stuff crumpled paper towels on top of my cigar clippings and grab my lighter before heading outside.
