conquer the world.
Right after I take out the trash, of course. Since I’m the newbie, I get stuck with Friday trash duties. For my first trip, I grab the two bags behind my side of the bar and head down the same hallway I took earlier in the night. From previous garbage trips, I know that the bags are heavy but they don’t feel like it tonight. Maybe I do have superpowers. The thought makes me laugh. I push the door open with my back and plunge into the humid Miami air. As I’m trying to get them into the dumpster, I hear the back door open and I roll my eyes. It’s probably one of the girls come to watch me try to haul the bags over this huge fence.
“Doesn’t it get old, guys?” I ask without turning around. I’ve almost got the first bag over, proud of myself for making it this far, when strong hands grab it from me and toss it in like it’s nothing. Now I’m annoyed. I turn around quickly and shove my hands on my hips. “What the hell, Nathan! I almost had it.”
“What’s going on with you tonight?”
I suck in a deep breath, try to keep my eyes from shifting away from his intense stare. “What are you talking about?”
“You were talking to people. And smiling.”
“So you think there has to be something going on, because I was talking and smiling?”
He takes a step back, runs his hands through his shaggy blonde hair. “That’s not what I meant. And that,” he points to my side. “What’s up with that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly.” I go to walk past him but his arm shoots out and wraps around my waist, rooting me to the ground. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere. He’s applying just enough pressure to remind me of the broken ribs I might have, but not enough to aggravate them.
“Does your boyfriend hit you, Lo?” It’s said so softly, his breath fanning over my ear as we stand hip to hip. Again I find myself wanting to tell him the truth, to lay my cards out and see if he folds. His voice stirs something inside of me, something that scares me and excites me and makes me wonder if I can tell him the truth. But I can’t. Nothing can be changed, anyways.
“It’s none of your damn business what my boyfriend does to me.” And then I break away from his hold, cringing as his fingers push into my ribs. Suddenly I don’t feel like a superhero; just an ordinary girl in need of another high.
18
March 14, 2009
The shift I’m working tonight is just the filler, so I get there at seven instead of five and I leave around midnight instead of three or four. I’ve got a change of shoes for the party afterwards and plenty of roxies to get me through the night. Even though I haven’t stopped thinking about how the coke made me feel. Part of me knows that it’s a dangerous drug, something I shouldn’t mess with, but then there’s the part of me that just doesn’t care. It’s not like I have much to lose.
My shift goes by fast and I leave with almost two hundred dollars in cash. It’s a good feeling. As I’m walking to my car, I pull out my phone and find a message from Sam with the address of the party. It’s not too far, and fifteen minutes later I’m pulling into a nearly empty driveway to a beachfront house. But instead of getting out right away, I sit in the car and take a few deep breaths. I have this feeling, deep down in the pit of my stomach, that I should just go home and call it a night. My phone beeps a text message and I pull it out of the cup holder.
Get your hot ass in here, Lo. I see your car.
Decision made. I cut the engine and jog up to the house. Before I knock, the door is thrown open and Sam drags me inside, shutting it quickly behind me. The house is packed. Not can’t-move-can’t-breathe packed, but definitely more people than the cars led on were here. Maybe that’s the
Right after I take out the trash, of course. Since I’m the newbie, I get stuck with Friday trash duties. For my first trip, I grab the two bags behind my side of the bar and head down the same hallway I took earlier in the night. From previous garbage trips, I know that the bags are heavy but they don’t feel like it tonight. Maybe I do have superpowers. The thought makes me laugh. I push the door open with my back and plunge into the humid Miami air. As I’m trying to get them into the dumpster, I hear the back door open and I roll my eyes. It’s probably one of the girls come to watch me try to haul the bags over this huge fence.
“Doesn’t it get old, guys?” I ask without turning around. I’ve almost got the first bag over, proud of myself for making it this far, when strong hands grab it from me and toss it in like it’s nothing. Now I’m annoyed. I turn around quickly and shove my hands on my hips. “What the hell, Nathan! I almost had it.”
“What’s going on with you tonight?”
I suck in a deep breath, try to keep my eyes from shifting away from his intense stare. “What are you talking about?”
“You were talking to people. And smiling.”
“So you think there has to be something going on, because I was talking and smiling?”
He takes a step back, runs his hands through his shaggy blonde hair. “That’s not what I meant. And that,” he points to my side. “What’s up with that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly.” I go to walk past him but his arm shoots out and wraps around my waist, rooting me to the ground. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere. He’s applying just enough pressure to remind me of the broken ribs I might have, but not enough to aggravate them.
“Does your boyfriend hit you, Lo?” It’s said so softly, his breath fanning over my ear as we stand hip to hip. Again I find myself wanting to tell him the truth, to lay my cards out and see if he folds. His voice stirs something inside of me, something that scares me and excites me and makes me wonder if I can tell him the truth. But I can’t. Nothing can be changed, anyways.
“It’s none of your damn business what my boyfriend does to me.” And then I break away from his hold, cringing as his fingers push into my ribs. Suddenly I don’t feel like a superhero; just an ordinary girl in need of another high.
18
March 14, 2009
The shift I’m working tonight is just the filler, so I get there at seven instead of five and I leave around midnight instead of three or four. I’ve got a change of shoes for the party afterwards and plenty of roxies to get me through the night. Even though I haven’t stopped thinking about how the coke made me feel. Part of me knows that it’s a dangerous drug, something I shouldn’t mess with, but then there’s the part of me that just doesn’t care. It’s not like I have much to lose.
My shift goes by fast and I leave with almost two hundred dollars in cash. It’s a good feeling. As I’m walking to my car, I pull out my phone and find a message from Sam with the address of the party. It’s not too far, and fifteen minutes later I’m pulling into a nearly empty driveway to a beachfront house. But instead of getting out right away, I sit in the car and take a few deep breaths. I have this feeling, deep down in the pit of my stomach, that I should just go home and call it a night. My phone beeps a text message and I pull it out of the cup holder.
Get your hot ass in here, Lo. I see your car.
Decision made. I cut the engine and jog up to the house. Before I knock, the door is thrown open and Sam drags me inside, shutting it quickly behind me. The house is packed. Not can’t-move-can’t-breathe packed, but definitely more people than the cars led on were here. Maybe that’s the
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