“Deal.” He holds out his hand that also has sores on it.
Yeah, not shaking that creepy thing.
“Great,” I say, voice falsely chipper. “When do I start? Tonight?”
I need money. Like yesterday.
“Come in tomorrow afternoon,” Barry says with a wolfish grin. “Dress code is shorts and a tank top. You got those? The tighter the better if you want to make good money.”
Just crawl your ass back home, Abs.
Stubbornness has me fighting back that urge to beg my family for help. I give Barry a quick nod, scribble my number on a napkin, and then skip out of the dinky bar before I change my mind. It’s imperative that I keep my job.
A few bikers stand near their bikes, smoking and watching me with narrowed eyes. This area of town is older and not a lot of money goes into the beautification of the area. I can bet no one besides me in my family has ever even been over here. At least there’s no fear of running into one of them.
A biker with a long white beard and missing a few teeth whistles at me before making a crude gesture that I think is supposed to be me sucking his dick. I shoot him the finger and then fish my phone from my pocket. The man and his friends laugh. Someone calls me a bitch. Another suggests they teach meto obey my elders. One says I need a good spanking. Ignoring them all, I stride past them, my step purposeful and my chin held high.
When I make it to the corner, I get a whiff of something fried coming from a nearby diner. My stomach whines for me to make my way over there. There’s a credit card in my wallet that my dad gave me for emergencies. Even when I screwed up and used it for random crap I didn’t need, he didn’t take it away from me or cancel it.
It’ll get me fed.
But it’ll also give Dad the satisfaction of knowing I still need him.
It’s not just you anymore…
I’ve barely learned I’m pregnant and it’s already swaying my decisions. Another person is reliant on my ability to make good decisions. Eating, even if I have to eat crow in the process, is a good decision.
You could call the baby’s father…
No.
I hurry over to the diner, my stomach groaning happily at the prospect of eating something good. For weeks now I’ve been couch surfing. Friends, acquaintances, a few people met when I was dabbling in drugs. I don’t stay more than a day or two at each place, never wanting to wear out my welcome. Right now, I’m just a nomadic free spirit.
It’s just a fancy way of saying I’m homeless and completely fucked.
“Sit wherever you like, hon,” a waitress says when I enter the ancient diner.
It’s such a far cry from the places my parents like to eat at. They’re probably dining at the country club restaurant at this exact moment. They’re predictable like that.
I’d almost give anything for a steak right now.
But chicken and waffles from a greasy hole-in-the-wall place will have to do instead.
Since water makes me gag lately, I order a Sprite and some fried pickles to hold me over until my meal comes. The sickness I’d felt earlier is gone and I can’t inhale the fried, salty tangy goodness quick enough. When I lick the ranch container clean after demolishing the appetizer, I notice a few patrons frowning at me.
This is the best thing I’ve eaten in days.
The guy’s place I stayed at last night has an obscene amount of ramen noodles and beer. Since beer also makes me gag lately, and now is no longer an option, that leaves ramen for sustenance. Definitely time to move on. After eating, I’ll grab my backpack and then crash at my friend Jody’s.
“Can I get extra syrup and butter?” I say to the waitress when she drops off my chicken and waffles.
“You got hollow legs or something?” She chuckles at her joke. “I bet you could eat a whole buffet and not gain an ounce.”
I force a polite smile. I’m not one for small talk. I just want my syrup and butter.
When she realizes I’m not going to go along with her banter, she waddles off to fetch me what I need. After she comes back, I drown my food in the butter and syrup, then inhale it like it’s my last meal.
Who knows…it could be.
