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I shake my head, making my way back outside.
Distractions aren’t a luxury I can afford right now, and girls like the one sitting up there on that stage, cute as hell, crazy talented, and fucking sassy as all get out, would definitely be a distraction for me.
No. I need to focus.
It’s time to get my head back in the game.
Brinley
It’s close to midnight by the time I open the front door to my tiny one bedroom apartment, a crumbling stucco building that’s definitely seen better days. I have to admit, my apartment is not in the nicest of neighborhoods. The building itself is dilapidated and rundown. Weeds sprout from the downpipes, and the front stairs are just about rotted all the way through.
Dark corners make for sketchy hangouts, and I don’t even want to think about what happens in those places once the sun goes down.
Cold, damp air surrounds me as soon as I push through the front door, blanketing me in a violent shiver, reminding me that I still haven’t paid last month’s rent.
Or this month’s either.
Ray cut off my heat a few days ago, a friendly reminder that I have two weeks to pay what I owe him, or he’s turning off the hot water as well.
He’s a good guy like that, Ray.
Always putting the needs of others before his own.
Ugly fat prick.
Once inside, I flick on the light, the overhead fluorescents buzzing to life. I put my guitar case away in the cupboard behind the door, yanking off my boots, tossing them aside to relieve my aching feet and the blisters I ended up with because I had to walk three whole blocks just to get home tonight.
Taxi cabs don’t come to my neighborhood this late.
Not that I can afford a taxi, but still.
I’m saving what little gas I have in my beaten-up Honda Civic for tomorrow. It’s a big day for me, an important day, and I didn’t want to waste gas getting home from the club tonight.
Catching sight of my reflection as I pass by the mirror, I notice, not for the first time this week, just how tired I appear. I thought my hair looked pretty decent before I left the apartment earlier this evening, but because of the light rain that’s held the city ransom the past few days, the soft waves I spent hours perfecting are now nothing more than a frizzy, catastrophic mess.
Walking into my bedroom, I pull my blouse off over my head and toss it into the basket with my other dirty laundry. Then, I tie my hair up into a short ponytail and switch on the bathroom light as I undress and turn on the shower, waiting for the ancient pipes overhead to heat up.
Once the water is hot enough, I step over the side of the tub and spend the next ten minutes scrubbing away the remains of another disastrous gig, as well as the disgusting stink of cigarette smoke and stale beer from my body–yeah, I can thank the drunken guy at the bar for that one.
Like I was ever going to let him tuck a dollar bill into my panties.
Thankfully Leon stepped in, and things didn’t have to turn ugly. Because I swear, I would have taken him on.
I totally would have.
Once I’m thoroughly clean and as warm as I can possibly be in the ice-box that is my current living arrangement, I pull on an oversized fleece sweatshirt, a pair of comfy yoga pants, and climb onto my lumpy mattress that, yes, is situated on the floor because I couldn’t afford a bed frame or any other furniture when I moved to New York from Ohio six months ago.
My mattress, the dining table, lamp, coffee table, television, and the scratchy second-hand couch are all hand-me-downs from my parents. As is the Netflix subscription I’m currently mooching from.
Grabbing my cell phone from my purse, I call my sister, Mia.
“Please tell me you’re home safely?” she says after just one ring. “Do you know how much I worry about you walking home all alone, after dark, in that city?”
“Thatcity?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. She’s such a drama queen. “I’m home. I’m in bed, and the doors are locked. New York is a safe city, Mia. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
