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It’s why I named my shop the Filthy Sweet Treats. Because my mom always called me a filthy little whore, and I wanted to change that word. I wanted to breathe new life into it, new meaning.
I wanted it not to hold a negative meaning over me anymore.
I wanted her not to hold power over me any longer.
Not anymore.
At least that’s what I tell myself over and over again.
“I’m sorry you misheard. What do you want?”
I’m trying not to be snooty, but when it comes to her, it just happens because everything about her is accusatory and pisses me off.
“Heard you got paid by that Dark Horse,” she hisses. “You are a lying, filthy little whore. You said you had no money. Give me some cash, bitch.” Her final word comes out with a snap, and if I were just a few years younger, my spine probably would have straightened. It was so harsh.
“I’m not. I have nothing. What money I earned went toward bills. I have nothing left.”
She reaches forward and wraps her hand around the front of my throat before I realize what’s happening. She squeezes her fingers. I hate that she’s so frail from doing drugs and drinking her life away. Yet at the same time, she is so damn strong.
With both hands, I try to pull her one hand away from my throat, but I fail. Darkness lines the edges of my vision. I’m going to pass out. Only then does she release me.
Gasping for air, I stumble backward a few steps.
She takes this opportunity to rush forward to my back counter, where I have all my ingredients and supplies laid out for my morning baking. She reaches her arms out, and I know what she’s going to do before she does it, but it’s almost like it happens in slow motion. I can’t stop her as she reaches forward and swipes everything onto the floor.
I stand in shock.
I stare at her, unsure that this has happened. Attempting to catch my breath. Then she turns to me once all my batter and frosting are on the floor, when all my bowls are shattered, and she’s ruined hundreds of dollars’ worth of product and supplies. She smiles. Her lips curl, they curve up, and her eyes almost sparkle.
She is so damn proud of herself for this, and I swallow the tears, knowing that it’s what she wants from me. Emotion. She’s not going to get it. Tamping down every feeling throughout my entire body, I stare at her, waiting for whatever else she’s going to deliver to me.
“Fuck you, Shawn. You think you’re so much better than me because you’re younger, and for now, your shit’s tighter. You’re not. You’re nothing but a filthy little whore. Always have been and always will be. Watch your back.”
Without another word, she turns away from me and walks out of my bakery. I watch her go, frozen and trembling in place. It’s not until the front door closes, not until I hear it click, that I move. Every fiber of my being is full of rage. I want to destroy everything around me, but I don’t.
Instead, I inhale a deep breath, let it out slowly, then move toward the front door and flip the lock closed. Closing the blinds, I flip the open sign off and begin to clean up the mess. Tears stream down my face, and for the first time in years, I allow myself to cry.
When I’m finished, I make a list of all the things that have been broken and destroyed, including ingredients that were thrown onto the ground. I would rather buy a new bowl than get a whole bag of paleo flour. The bowl is about five bucks, the flour thirty.
It’s depressing.
I try not to think about how much it will cost to replace it all. It doesn’t matter because I probably won’t be here next month anyway. Another thing I tell myself. It doesn’t matter because I’m failing, so who cares? She just drove my dying dream a little further into the ground.
Once I have everything cleaned up, I run my hands over the front of my jeans and walk to the door to turn the light on and open again. There won’t be any cake, and there will only be snickerdoodle cookies and two different types of cupcakes, but it’s better than the nothing that it could have been.
I take another deep breath. I don’t know why I let her have this kind of control over me. I should have moved away as soon as I was old enough. I shouldn’t have stayed here. Once again, I was stupid. I’m always fucking stupid, and I hate myself for it.
KING
Watching the truck being loaded with pallets, I step away from Atomic and whoever the fuck he’s talking to. I have no goddamn clue, and honestly, I don’t care too much. This is his deal, but it’s got potential. There’s nobody around to really watch any of this shit that’s being loaded.
“So, are there regulators?” Atomic asks.
“Do you mean, is anyone going to come and check up on you?” the guy he’s talking to asks.
Clearing his throat, Atomic jerks his chin. “You get pulled over or anything, you could be searched. But otherwise, it’s load the shit, drive the shit, drop it off.”
“And the pay?”
