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Chapter Five
My week is almost up. What the fuck am I going to do?
Rolling over in my bed, I pull the covers over my head, trying to block out the world. I don’t usually allow myself to fall into despair, but apparently, that’s exactly where I’m heading. Instead of going out and looking for jobs over the past five days since I saw my brother, I’ve spent them in a hole of self-pity. Wallowing won’t do me any good, but I can’t seem to bring myself to do anything else. I tried, I really did, but I struggled to even get up, so it seemed pointless.
Even Mischief pities me, I can see it in his gorgeous eyes.
I’m so angry at myself for not springing into action, for continuing down this destructive path.
A week ago, I felt so empowered, so driven, like a phoenix reborn from her ashes. And now? Now I’m just burnt out. The rollercoaster of emotions this week has brought on is overwhelming. I’ve spent more time crying than I have eating or enjoying life.
More often than not, my thoughts turn to my family, to my murdered parents and my lost brother, wondering what life could have been for me.
And poor Mischief, he’s also suffering. Sad Rory means no walks, no treats, and no extra food to eat. He’s just as miserable as I am. The only thing that could make it worse is if Donny showed up.
A wet nose buries itself under my sheets, and a warm tongue laps at my cheek. “I know, I know,” I grumble, scratching Mischief behind his ears. It’s eerie how well he knows me, despite how little time we’ve actually been together. It’s Friday night, and that means I need to get my ass over to the Inferno on the off chance my fence is actually there waiting to give me a job.
It’s been months, and even though I consider staying home, I won’t actually do it. If he is there, this could be my only chance to get the money I need to pay Mr. Runwood, and that’s an opportunity I can’t pass up.
Rolling out of bed, I slip on my skinny jeans and rifle through my closet for a shirt to wear. The white blouse was my go-to shirt until, of course, it got covered in blood.
Maybe I could pull it off as a new fashion trend? The people who visit the Inferno aren’t the most prestigious of Boston. Perhaps they’d ask me for a custom order.
Laughing at my own stupidity, I forgo a shirt, slip on my favorite hoodie, and then pull my ponytail through a Celtics hat.
“How do I look?” I ask my dog. He answers by cocking his head and wagging his little stumpy tail. “That good, huh? Thanks, boy.” Unable to keep myself from hugging him, I wrap my arms around Mischief and squeeze. He’s not a fan of hugs and only tolerates it for a moment before he’s yanking his head out from between my arms.
Guess I won’t be getting the touch I crave from him.
After tucking my key into my pocket, I head out the door. Baseball season is now over, and my elderly neighbors have moved their nighttime drinks inside. There’s a chill in the air, the first whisper of the winter to come, I can even smell it. Around me, the leaves have fallen from their trees, leaving the branches stark and naked. Against the moon rising in the sky, the branches look like a witch’s fingers, stretching to ensnare it for some wicked potion.
The joyous laughter of children pulls my attention, and I realize it’s Halloween. A wave of nostalgia pulls at me as I see the little girls dressed as princesses and fairies with wings on their backs and tiaras on their heads. Little boys run from house to house, wearing superhero costumes complete with masks and capes that billow off their backs as they hurry along. The older kids are dressed as monsters or have created their own costumes with random pieces of clothing and forgotten wigs.
Porches are decorated with orange lights and pumpkins carved with flickering candles lighting their faces. One home has put on a haunted house in their garage. The sounds of spooky music and screams from those inside reach me.
I can’t help but smile sadly.
It’s been so long since I’ve taken part in Halloween, I almost forgot how it felt. Putting on a costume was such an exciting feeling, pretending to be the thing you idolized most. I remember one time when Mitchel was a lion. He’d roar at anyone who looked at us the wrong way, swiping his fake paws at other kids.
The whole experience was amazing. Coming home, dumping out your haul onto the family room floor, and picking out your favorites. My parents let us stay up late on Halloween, snacking on candy until my belly hurt.
Now the sight of trick-or-treating only makes me sad and long for the life I lost.
Fuck it.
It doesn’t do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.
I don’t remember where I heard that, but those words have always stuck with me. So pulling up my big girl panties, I push open the door to the Inferno and leave my sorrow behind.
I’m not a little girl anymore, it’s time to shuffle up and deal.
The bar is packed tonight, filled with adults fulfilling their childhood dreams.“Thriller,”by Michael Jackson, plays on a jukebox, while women stroll around in risqué outfits pretending to be angels, devils, ladybugs, and sexy cops. Men have dressed up as well, but their costumes are much less revealing.
Pity.
Heading around the bar, I push my way through the crowd to the back corner where I’ve been instructed to look for my fence. I freeze in shock when I see my fence perched on a barstool with a glass of brandy in his hand.
His face is stoic, stubble covers his chin, and his salt and pepper hair is neatly combed. The buttons on his suit jacket are undone, revealing a pressed shirt and tie underneath. He looks like every other unassuming businessman, which I guess is the point. He blends.
