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This is just what I need!
Placing the bag of food on the kitchen counter, I go back outside to check the generator only to discover it’s out of fuel. I drop my head into my hands. There goes my big tip, and with it, the happiness I was feeling at the prospect of a meal that doesn’t comprise solely of leftovers. I’ll have to use the extra money to buy fuel tomorrow, instead.
I make my way into the kitchen area and grab a couple of candles and the bag of scraps before heading back outside. Tonight there’ll be a candlelit dinner for one.
I've got a little seating area out front with a log of wood I use for a seat and a small planter containing a few herbs I've cultivated from stolen cuttings. I place both candles on the ground and light them. It's all very peaceful out here and a little bit Zen.
Opening the food package, I see it looks quite appetizing for once. One of the customers left their salad untouched. The leaves are a little wilted, but as I shovel them into my mouth, I savor every bite. There’s also some chicken wrapped in cheese and bacon, and even a few fries. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was after my shift until now, so I gulp everything down quickly.
“Meow.” Betty, my little cat friend appears by my side, obviously attracted to the smell of food.
“Evening, Betty,” I greet her as I break off a small piece of chicken and throw it toward her.
Betty's not my cat. She's a stray I look after and feed. I throw her another piece of chicken, and she rolls over onto her back for me to stroke her stomach and purrs when I tickle her tummy.
“Have you had a busy day sleeping, Betty?” I ask.
“Meow,” she answers, as though she understands everything I'm saying.
I guess you could say Betty is my only friend in the world. I didn't make any friends at school. In my last few years of high school, I wasn’t there a lot. I grew up early. I had to with a mother addicted to heroin and a father who died far too young. I wish I could say I remember him. But I was only two when he was shot and killed.
My mom doesn't talk about his death. I think it broke her, and that’s the reason she lost herself to her addiction. I can’t count how many times I’ve tried to help her quit. Now, I guess, I'm just waiting for the day I wake up and she's overdosed. It’s a tragic waste of a life.
Headlights flash as a car pulls up in front of me. My heart deflates. I know instantly who it is. My mom’s home, and my worst fears are realized when she stumbles out of the passenger side of the car.
Betty, as if sensing trouble has arrived, scampers away in a hurry, growling as she goes because she isn’t able to finish the chicken.
“Shelby.” My mom waves at me.
The driver of the car gets out. He's one of Mom’s regulars. He makes my skin crawl.
“Hi, Shelby.” He nods my way. “Is tonight going to be the night you join us? You know you want a piece of me.”
My stomach turns, and I hope I'm not about to bring up the contents of my second-hand salad and chicken.
“Leave her alone,” my mom quips and pats at her client’s fat stomach playfully. “I'm woman enough for you.”
“And I'm man enough to handle both of you. One day, you'll be desperate enough to spread your legs for me, Shelby. Like mother, like daughter. Your mom is a whore for her heroin, and no doubt, you’ll follow her down that path eventually. After all, you know nothing different.”
The man’s smirk is cruel and twisted, just like his words. He's right, though. I may still be a virgin and determined to stay that way for as long as possible, but prostitution is one way to make money. And it’s the destiny of many women, and even some men, in this city.
I turn my back to him and respond, “But today won't be that day. By the way, we've got no power indoors, so you might want to go elsewhere. With or without my mom.”
He laughs. “I only need your mom’s pussy to get my dick wet. I never want to see her drugged up face while fucking her. I won't have to do her from behind if it’s dark. It’ll be a welcome change.”
His words sting. This is my mother he's talking about. I've tried to do everything to help her, but her addiction is too far gone.
A lone tear tumbles down my cheek as I watch them go into my home, and not long after, the rhythmic sound of fucking starts. I don't want to be here. I don't want this life. But it’s the one that was chosen for me. So, I guess I must suffer through it. I’m only nineteen, and I keep hoping I can save enough money to escape.
Who am I kidding? My life’s a mess. And it’s always going to be this way.
“He's got it all wrong.” A deep masculine voice comes from behind me.
Startled, I spin around on the log before getting to my feet, and I'm stunned at what I see. The man in the designer suit is standing in front of me. The one who’s been lurking outside the diner every day this week.
“Who’s gotten what wrong?” I mumble.
Illuminated by the candlelight, he looks even more handsome up close. His jawline is square, his eyes a bright green, and his dark hair is neatly combed back from his face.
