4. June
June
“Maybe she’s dead,” someone whispers.
“Here, use this stick,” another person chimes in.
I peek through one lid, squinting through the blaring sunlight. How did I not notice that already?
A teenage girl gasps and steps back. “Sorry, we…”
I rub my eyes and sit up, stretching and yawning. “What time is it?”
The boy with the stick in his hand points at the bench I’m on. “Did you sleep out here all night?”
“No, I woke up really early to come out here and take a nap.” I stand, pulling my phone out of my pocket and pushing the touchscreen. Great. It’s dead. “What does it look like?”
The two of them exchange a cautious glance.
“Are you…homeless?” He says the last word like it might give him cooties.
“Do I look homeless?” I motion to my body and then at the overpriced phone in my hand.
“I mean, you slept on a bench…in a park…” He crosses his arms. “Are you on drugs?”
“Yep. The shit that makes you kill stupid ass kids that won’t tell you what time it is.” I flit my gaze toward the trail. “No one is around to hear your screams for help.”
“Tommy,” the girl tugs the boy’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
"Chill, Lizzy." He shrugs her off and checks his smartwatch. "Ten after seven."
“Shit,” I mutter. My shift at the diner starts in less than an hour and my likelihood of having time to take a shower beforehand is decreasing with each passing second.
How the flying fuck did I manage to sleep all night on this hard ass bench? And how was I not murdered by some weirdo who preys upon dumb girls who pass out in parks? Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty reckless, but this takes my carelessness to a whole new level.
With all that aside, if I knew it was this easy to get some rest, I’d have brought my pillow and blanket a long time ago.
I shove my key into the lock, dreading the impending doom of stepping foot into my apartment.
It's half-past seven and there's already music playing inside.
Homemade rock garbage by Carter and his lame buddies.
I'm all for creativity and following your dreams, but the stuff they produce sounds like raccoons were attacking them and they were using their instruments to scare them away.
At first, I thought that maybe I was being overly critical, that I hated Carter too much and it was blocking my ability to listen without an overly biased ear.
But no, the only people who ever pretend to enjoy the sad excuse for music are Heather, and Carter's dirtbag friends.
The water valve to the shower shuts off, and someone fumbles around in the bathroom.
I continue on my path to my bedroom to grab my supplies and hope whoever it is hurries the hell up.
A second later, my door is shoved open, Carter standing there with his towel clinging loosely around his waist. Water beads all over his body like he didn’t bother drying off at all. Knowing him, he probably didn’t. I doubt he cleans behind his ears, let alone his balls.
I turn my nose up at the thought of his nasty man parts.
“What do you want, Carter?” I shuffle through my pile of clothes, snatching a clean tank off the top.
He leans against the frame, eyeing me up and down. "You and me." Carter flits his gaze behind him briefly, like he gives the slightest shit if someone—aka Heather—hears him. "What do you think? I have needs. You have needs." He sighs and licks his lips.
"You're disgusting if you think I would ever consider having sex with you."
"Don't be so harsh, J." Carter crosses his arms over his chest. "I know that's where you spend most of your nights. In the bed with a random stranger."
"What I do and who I do it with is none of your business." I gather my last remaining items and make my way toward him.
He stands in my path, blocking me from going any further. "Think about it."
"No. Now get the fuck out of my way before I'm late for work."
"June," Heather calls out from behind him.
And with that, he changes his demeanor and steps aside.
"Yeah?" I ask her while pushing past him.
She rubs her sleepy eyes and yawns. "I need your portion of the rent."
I stop dead in my tracks, turning to face her. "What?"
Heather tugs her brown cardigan around her tighter. "It was due a few days ago. You're late."
I blink, replaying the memory of putting my money in the same envelope I do every month, and setting it in the same spot it always goes in. "No. I paid it last week."
She sighs and shakes her head. "You must have forgot, the money wasn't in there." Heather pauses then adds, "You've been late before."
"One fucking time, because I was sick with food poisoning."
Carter strolls around me and goes to Heather's side, putting his arm across her shoulders.
She shrugs him off. "Stop, you're wet."
"If you need me to spot you some cash," Carter suggests.
I narrow my gaze at him, knowing damn well his klepto hands were the ones who took my rent money in the first place.
Unfortunately for me, there's no proving it.
Only his word against mine, and with him wrapped around Heather's stupid little finger, she'd never believe me over him. I'd be wasting my breath even trying.
I'll get even with Carter, but for now, the bigger issue at hand is how am I going to come up with six hundred dollars in a day, when I barely make enough to feed myself.
"No, Carter, I'll figure it out." I go into the bathroom and close the door, making sure to lock it behind me.
"I need it by tomorrow to avoid the late fee," Heather says loud enough for me to hear.
"Got it." But do I? How in the hell will I pull this off? It was hard enough to scrape the money up the first time, let alone once again. And even if I do, there's next month’s rent I need to scrounge up, too.
I'm working my ass off, barely having any time between jobs as it is. There has to be something I can do that pays a little better than the part-time gigs I have now.
Maybe I could ask Cora to loan me some cash, just until I get paid.
She lives at home with her parents and from what she's told me, she has a hefty nest egg she's been nurturing since she was a kid.
I hate to bring it up, but unless a grand opportunity presents itself in the next twelve hours, I'm not sure I'll be able to come up with that kind of money that quickly.
I shouldn't have to. Mister sticky fingers out there should fess up to his crime, but I'd be better off taming a wild cheetah than getting him to take responsibility for anything he's ever done.
I'll figure it out, it's what I always do. For now, I need to focus on taking the quickest shower of my life and getting my ass to my first job of the day.
I turn the faucet, stripping down and waiting impatiently for the water to warm. But it never does. Instead, it runs cold, barely lukewarm, telling me that Carter probably used what was left of the hot water. Because why would he do anything other than ruin every aspect of my life?
"You're late," Rosco says, not bothering to glance up from his morning paper.
"I'm sorry, sir. There was an..."
He holds up his hand to stop me. "I don't want your excuses. I want you to show up on time."
"I understand. It won't happen again." The same line I've given him a handful of other times. It's not that I mean to be such a shit employee, it's just hard to juggle closing at the bar at night and opening at a bakery the next morning.
Although, randomly sleeping in a park and dealing with an idiot roommate didn't necessarily add to my punctuality. Plus, the occasional night out with friends. Is it a crime to have a social life?
"You're right. It won't." Rosco finally looks at me, staring dead into my eyes. "You're fired."
It's as if I was punched in the gut, the wind being knocked out of me and the likelihood of me making enough money in time being stripped away completely.
I step forward, my mind half telling me that I should drop down on my knees and beg for forgiveness. "Sir, please. One more chance. I need this."
"If you needed it you would have been here ten minutes ago instead of showing up late." He flips his hand toward me. "Looking like that." He exhales. "Now go, before you waste any more of my time."
My mouth hangs open, words unable to form properly.
Could this day get any fucking worse?
I step out into the morning air, swallowing the lump in my throat and glancing both ways, wondering where the fuck I should go now.
The pizza shop I work the day shift at doesn't open for a few more hours, and the bar doesn't open until this evening.
It would be pointless to go home, given how badly I fucking hate that place and how the idea of spending the rest of my life in prison for murdering Carter doesn't sound too appealing either.
So, I wander, letting my feet take me west in hopes that the universe will stop being such a cruel bitch and throw me a bone for once. In only a few minutes, I pass the university I should be attending, watching the students pass between the buildings, and carry on with their college lives.
It's not that I enjoy school, because who in their right mind does, but I was working toward something.
A goal. A purpose. A potential opportunity to advance myself and get the fuck out of this shit situation I'm in. But no one really prepares you for how expensive being on your own is. And trying to cover living expenses and tuition without anyone else’s help, it's fucking hard.
Some people have parents, partners, scholarships, or even government assistance. Me? I have nothing other than what I'm able to provide. And boy am I spread pretty fucking thin.
To the point where I'm concerned I may have to start being a little more like Carter if I'm going to make it through these dark days.
I walk a couple more blocks, scoping out the windows for help-wanted signs in my desperate attempt to save myself from petty theft or selling drugs.
Both of which I'm certain Carter does when he's not slumming it on the thrifted couch in our shared living room.
Leave it to him to have his hand shoved into a criminal cookie jar.