Page 4 of Ink

At least I’ll go down trying.

The walk back to the motel isn’t horrible despite the rain making me feel like a drowned rat with my hair plastered to my face and neck. I’ve noticed this is the only time the sidewalks aren’t overly crowded, and you can walk in a straight path without having to zigzag in and out of people.

It’s kind of ironic that an empty sidewalk makes me feel more uncomfortable and on edge than a busy one. Being out in the open makes me feel raw and exposed. Crowds provide the ability to blend, making it a little more comfortable.

And blending is what I need to be doing right now.

Maybe getting a job at a tattoo shop isn’t the best idea to go along with the plan. My plan being to lie low while I save enough money to get a little apartment that will be one hundred percent mine. No more walking on eggshells waiting for the next bomb to drop. I can finally restart my life.

The lying low part is going to prove to be tricky, considering I stick out like a sore thumb at Black Raven Ink. I mean, I don’t even have a tattoo for crying out loud. You would think that would be a requirement to work in an establishment like that.

I just hope they keep me long enough that I can save up enough to last until I can find something else, before they realize literally anyone else is more qualified than me. That’s the reason I picked Ravenna Heights. Bigger cities always have places that are hiring people with little to no questions asked.

This has to work out for me.

I don’t exactly have a lot of options, but going back definitely isn’t one of them.

The motel I’m staying at is cheap. Cheap enough that if I get a steady paycheck coming in, it won’t really make a dent in the nest egg I’m trying to build. The sleazy looking man at the front desk didn’t blink an eye when I asked about a long-term stay.

I need to find something inexpensive to eat. I’ve been living off of stale gas station snacks. I remember passing a corner store about a block from the motel. The bars on the windows and door make me acutely aware that I’m not in the best side of town. I figure if I keep to myself, the chance of someone bothering me is slim. And by now I’m the master of not making eye contact and avoiding the storm that’s brewing.

Stepping into the store, finally off the streets and out of the rain, I’m greeted by a beep, letting me know that I’m being recorded. Sneaking a glance at my reflection on the screen, I wince. They say a camera adds fifteen pounds, but these add fifty. The least they can do is invest in decent cameras so I can look halfway decent while they’re watching me. And they will be watching.

I quickly find the aisle that has instant meals, stuffing my arms full of ramen noodle packages. If I eat a pack a day, this will buy me a week at least. I nab a gallon jug of water on the way to the register to cook with because I refuse to consume the water in the motel after seeing the ice machine.

“Hi.” I smile at the cashier as I drop everything in my arms on the counter. She spares me a glance before slowly sliding over each item to scan, looking like she wishes she was anywhere else but scanning my groceries right now. I don’t let her dismissive silence deter my kindness. It’s the only redeeming quality I have left.

Until the day my mom died, she preached that you always needed to treat others with kindness, even if you feel like crap because you never know what someone else is going through. It could be something way worse than yours.

She scans the last item before clicking a couple of keys on the register, making my total pop up on the small screen.

$4.71.

With one eyebrow raised, she looks at me expectantly.

She could have at least said my total to me.

“Can I have a bag, please?”

She can’t actually expect me to walk down the street with my arms full of ramen noodles and water. I should just stamp “poor as heck” across my forehead.

The cashier lets out a very dramatic, loud sigh as she rolls her eyes, ripping a bag off of the holder before violently shaking it open. In one full swoop of her arm, all of my items fall into the bag carelessly.

It takes everything in me to keep the smile plastered on my face when all I can think about is how I’m going to be eating the equivalent of the bottom of a cereal box in ramen noodle form for the next week.

“Thank you,” I mumble as I loop my hand through the thin plastic handles and head out.

That wasn’t too bad. I still have a solid five dollars left over to last me until some sort of money comes in. The motel is paid up through the rest of the month, allowing me to have a little bit of breathing room.

Once I’m back in my musty motel room, I grab the coffee pot and take it into the bathroom to wash it out in the sink.

“Let’s hope this doesn’t kill me. I’ll be so stinking mad if I made it through my own version of hell to only be taken out by some weird bacteria,” I mutter to myself as I grab the mini container of body wash that housekeeping puts out. Dish soap wasn’t exactly in my budget.

I push the top down, making the other side pop up. A whiff of cherry aggressively hits my nose, making me cringe. “Whoa, that's strong.”

The scent should rinse off. Right?

Once the pot is washed after I triple rinsed with lukewarm water, I fill it with the water I bought from the store and put it back on the burner to heat up. I quickly make my chicken-flavored ramen, silencing my growling stomach for a moment.