A few days before, Crawford was standing behind me as we had sex at his desk. He leaned over my back, whispering that he was going to open the doors, invite people to come and watch us, and let the whole place stare while he made me scream. I came like a fountain. It was the best sex yet.
Still, after an entire week, he hasn’t asked for a blow job. I’m beginning to wonder if he likes them—do any mennotlike blowjobs?
Part of me is grateful I haven’t had to try it yet; the other is deeply curious. Either way, I’m convinced that it will be my downfall. As soon as he sees me on my knees in front of him, he’ll know I’ve never done it before and fire me. I’m just grateful to have survived the week.
When I opened my bank account on Friday night, I could barely believe it. I had thousands of dollars to spare, even after I’d been grocery shopping. I was able to get organic food for Annabelle and better-quality supplements that I‘ve never been able to afford.
When I got back to the house, I unpacked everything into Tupperware containers in the refrigerator so my mom and dad wouldn’t see the fancy packaging. I knew it was selfish, but I didn’t want them to know about the money I’ve been making. A better daughter might offer them some money too, but they’d only spend it on booze.
I sigh, listening to the soft sounds of the house around me. I know I have to get out of the tub soon. My mom is slumped on the couch and hasn’t moved since last night. If she doesn’t leave by seven, she’ll lose her job.
Rising, I climb out of the tub and dry off, wrapping a towel around me and heading upstairs.
The clothes that Crawford purchased from Eleanora are hidden at the back of my closet. I’ve tried to keep them secret all week, but my mom noticed almost immediately. When she asked about my new suit, I made up an excuse that I’d found it at a thrift store. Every day since, I’ve worn a hoodie over my clothes as I leave for work to minimize her scrutiny.
Before I head downstairs to deal with my mother, I pull my self-portrait out from between the closet and the wall. Thankfully, it isn’t too smudged, and I place it beside the window to look at it. I haven’t quite gotten the expression in my eyes right; I look a little too rebellious. But I like the way the paint has framed my jaw and lips. It’s probably one of the best paintings I’ve done.
There’s a tentative knock on my bedroom door, and I grip the painting harder, poised to shove it back into hiding.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me,” Annabelle’s tentative voice comes through the door, and I smile, crossing the room and opening it.
She shuffles inside, and I’m pleased to see she’s not using her cane. Climbing onto the bed, Annabelle hugs my stuffed bunny as her eyes move down to the painting.
“Oh my God, Mia. That’s so good!” She reaches toward me, and I hand it over for her to look at up close.
I shrug. “The eyes need some work.”
Annabelle shakes her head. “No, they’re perfect. Determined.”
She looks up at me, eyes shining with pride, and I feel the same wrenching fear rise within me. Despite all my efforts and everything I’m trying to do for her, we might be too late to save her.
What if the treatment doesn’t work? What if she’s too far gone? What if these are the last few years I have with her?
I step forward, snatching the painting back, my fear morphing into anger as I place it between the closet and the wall again.
“Have you taken your pills?” I ask briskly. Annabelle watches me, eyebrows rising in surprise.
“Yes.”
“Did you eat something with them?”
“Just some bread, I didn’t want to wake you to cook.”
I nod, annoyed with myself for letting my emotions get the better of me.
“Are you mad at me?” she asks.
“No,” I say, staring out the window at the pale sunshine. “I’m mad at myself. Sorry Annie. I just don’t like seeing you sick.”
“I’m doing better,” she says firmly, sitting up taller in bed.
I force a smile. “I’m making you some pancakes,” I say, and she brightens as we head downstairs.
The stench of alcohol hits me as soon as we reach the first floor, and I grimace as I stare at my mother’s prone form on the couch.
There are bags of chips, cigarettes, and old beer bottles everywhere.
