Grim

A warm gust of wind blew through my partially opened window, shifting the sheer curtains apart to let the city lights illuminate my bedroom. Even at night, you can't escape the constant noise. The screaming and bickering of the tenants living in the apartment above me. Police and ambulance sirens never seemed to rest. The clock ticking feverishly on the wall hanging over my head. But if I had to pick one thing I hated the most, it would be the never-ending cars soaring along the busy highway. There was no peace, not in the city of Boswell. Out of the corner of my eye I watched the unnamed man from the bar last night roll over to face me. His muscular arm slung over me, to rest on my exposed chest. I fought back the urge to cringe. The darkness of the room made his features hard to distinguish, but I could tell he was handsome. He looked older than me, probably in his thirties and, judging by his wedding ring, he was scum. But what did that make me, the woman that slept with a married man? It would be best not to get into that line of thinking. Not today. Thankfully, he was still asleep, so at least I didn't have to have the awkward small talk that comes with bringing strangers home. Instead, I carefully maneuvered myself out from under him, without waking him up. My cheap mattress squeaked as I pulled myself into a seated position at the edge of the bed. I leaned down to gather my robe off the floor, and didn't hesitate to wrap it around myself. I couldn't stand being naked. It reminded me of the look that would come to the eyes of many men in the past. It was always different. For some of them, they would stare at me with animalistic hunger, while others would appear unimpressed. Some men were quick to point out my lacking qualities. My body was nothing special. I was slender, without any real noticeable curves. Average-size breasts, non-existent ass, I could have probably blended easily into any background. I suppose the only thing that I had going for me was my ridiculously thick red hair, which I could do nothing with. It stayed in a wild disarray of curls. I inherited that from my father, along with fair skin and freckles. Carefully I lifted myself up from the bed, being sure not to jostle the man awake. My apartment wasn't very big and was probably the oldest building in the city. The wooden floorboards creaked and groaned with each step. There was always a faint smell that you could notice in every room. It wasn't a scent that was easy to describe. The closest thing I could compare it to was the smell of an old musty basement. The air was stagnant, it was something I've just learned to get used to. No matter how long I leave the windows open, the smell never leaves completely. Since most of my apartment has a large number of windows, it is never too dark. The only exception was the bedroom, where there was only one window. So, needless to say, my bedroom was the place I spent the most time. I enjoyed my privacy, which was something rare in this city. Someone was always around pestering me. At times, I wished that I could move. I'd like to return home, to the open fields as far as the eye could see. The small family farm that up until a few years ago was run by my parents. The small rural town was barely big enough to be considered a town. My entire extended family made up at least half of the population. But I knew there was no way to make any real money in that area. And money was something I needed desperately. I crept through the dark, avoiding the parts of the floor that made the loudest creaks and headed straight for the bathroom. It was just a few steps from the bedroom and was probably the size of a walk-in closet. The bathroom design left something to be desired. Old linoleum floor, I never could figure out what color it was, there were years of different colored stains coating it. I've bleached the floor countless times, but nothing seems to help. The walls were a basic yellow wallpaper with an abstract design that wrapped around just the very top. It had a very dated look - something that came straight out of the eighties. The standing shower and toilet were pushed tightly together on the same wall. Directly across from that was a tiny sink that only worked half the time. The space was so small, that you couldn't open the glass door to the shower the entire way, it would hit the sink. The smell in the bathroom was a lot worse than the rest of the apartment, especially tonight. I hadn't fully remembered getting sick last night, but once I saw the putrid mess on and around the toilet, I began to remember. I could recall leaning over the toilet and with a warm hand on my shoulder, with another hand holding back my hair. Food particles, mixed with the smell of those fruity cocktails I had been drinking non-stop, was all I could determine. The smell alone almost had me puking again. I was disgusting. Why did I put myself through all this? It wasn't worth the headache. So, why did I return to the same bar every night? It was just two blocks down the road from my place, always packed full of loud, obnoxious people. Maybe part of me, also couldn't stand the quietness. I have lived alone for a year now. It's something that I wasn't used to, when I lived back home my family was always around. Even if my parents took a trip to town, leaving me and my little sister at home, our cousins, aunts, uncles, you name it, they would come around to keep us company. But here, in my tiny, one bedroom apartment, there was nothing but me and my thoughts. With a collected breath, I began cleaning up the mess I made. I was determined to make this the last time. I wouldn't drink my life away. If I was going to make any money in this city, I needed to not spend it on alcohol. I had to focus on the reason that I made the move here to begin with. I would stick to it. My family is counting on me. I won't let them down. After I finished cleaning up the bathroom, I decided it would be best to get a shower. After what took place only hours ago, I'm not sure just taking one shower would be enough. I felt like there was an invisible layer of filth all over my body - my hair was in more of a mess than usual; it was knotted up painfully. I stood under the scorching water, for what felt like eternity, breaking the knots in my hair apart with my fingers. There was a vendor that stationed themselves outside of this apartment from time to time. She would always flag me down to try and sell me hair products. Of course, I would politely decline each and every time. But last week, I gave in and bought a bottle of shampoo, conditioner and body wash. The scents were all lavender and sage, which the woman had stated is good for calming down the body and spirit. I've been using them daily, not only do they smell heavenly, but they leave my skin and hair feeling so soft. I would have to buy more. Although, her prices were a little steep. As I washed my body, something caught my eye. There was writing inscribed in my forearm. It appeared to be in a different language. The lines were a solid black. No, no way. Please don't tell me. I began to wash the area quickly, using a little more force. But the strange inscription remained, not fading even slightly. The sound of my mother's voice was now in my head. Valerie May, you should be ashamed. I can't believe it, I didn't know I had gotten that drunk last night. I actually got a tattoo, without any memory of doing so. This had to be a sign, I've hit rock bottom. I was even more convinced now, that my drinking days are over. It might not have been so bad, if the tattoo was something like a flower, but I couldn't even read what it said. Once I felt that I was as clean as I was going to get I stepped out of the shower and dried off. I wrapped my hair up in a towel and slid on one of my old shirts. Since my move to the big city, I've lost a lot of weight, so most of my clothes were much too big for me now. My shirt reached down, almost to my knees. It didn't matter to me, but each time I made the trip home, to visit my mother, she would complain of how small I've gotten. I knew that she worried about me being here, but she understood this was for the best. Farmers don't receive health insurance, not in our little town. Which wasn't something either of my parents worried about, at the time. Until cancer took the life of my father. My heart clenched in my chest, at the thought of my father and how he suffered. When we lost him, we lost everything. That man was the world to me. He was always so kind, probably the most loved person in town. Everyone knew him and would stop by the farm to help him out with work, or drop him off gifts for a project that he had helped them with in the past. He was always going out of his way to help others. It wasn't fair that he was taken from us so suddenly. I stood in front of the sink, lost in my thoughts as I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I looked so much like my father, at times I couldn't even bear to look at myself. He would call me, his little ruby. Because of the red hair - identical to his. The only thing I inherited from my mother was her pale blue eyes. In my opinion, I wouldn't consider myself ugly, in fact I was considered pretty back in my old little town. But here in the city, the standards of what was beautiful were much different. To be considered beautiful, in the city of Boswell, you had to be skinny, have huge, perfect boobs, blonde hair and enough money to wear the most expensive clothes. Beauty meant wearing makeup, high heels and driving sports cars. That wasn't me, not by a long shot. I was just the weird, hillbilly chick. I wore jeans and hand-me-down shirts. I didn't own anything worth more than twenty bucks. Even the little street scooter I rode to work on every day, didn't cost a thing. My uncle and his boys found it, they fixed it up for me, and hauled it right to my apartment. It was considered my farewell gift when I moved. It has broken down more times than I could count over this past year, but it meant the world to me. Since my father had passed away, my uncle Ronnie became the guy I depended on. I was sixteen when my father died, my little sister Ana was only ten. My mother had shut down for a while, she could barely keep up with running the house, tending the farm and raising the two of us. So, when she started drinking, uncle Ronnie stepped in. He taught me to drive, he helped Ana with her home schooling, he took over the role of tending the farm. Things were going smoothly. It was a hard couple years for all of us, but we made it through. I thought that everything was going to be okay. My mother stopped drinking, she actually would smile and it felt like she was getting back to her old self. Until Ana started getting sick. I forced myself to look away from the mirror. I knew if I kept getting lost in the memories of the past, I would just end up sitting around in a state of depression. for the rest of the day. I had to stay hopeful and positive. Today, I will have to work hard. I need about a thousand dollars by the end of this week. Ana was counting on me. Walking out of the bathroom, I took note of the subtle changes of daylight beginning to spill through the windows. The room was already beginning to get too hot. I didn't have an air conditioner yet, it just wasn't something I could afford. I had found an old fan, tossed out in the alleyway a few weeks back. I wasn't sure who, or why someone would throw it away, but I wasn't about to complain. After taking it apart and cleaning it out well, it ran perfectly fine. It was better than nothing. This apartment came furnished with some basic necessities. The living room had bright olive green shag carpeting, an odd-sized couch - that you would think two people could sit on it, but the one side of the couch was broken beyond repair. There was an ancient box TV that I had sitting on some of my old moving boxes. It sat directly in front of the couch, although I didn't bother watching much TV, I never did when I lived back home either. I really only watched it for the weather, or when they were announcing lottery numbers. I knew the lottery was a waste of time, but if there was even a chance - no matter how slim that chance may be, I would take it. There was a lamp that I had brought from home that sat next to the couch. Of course, I put it on the side of the couch that could actually be sat on. I usually would sit there and read in the late evening, if I wasn't out at the bar. In the beginning, I felt homesick, nearly every day. It was something I mentioned in my letters to homes. Uncle Ronnie started sending me pictures with each letter and soon the entire wall of my living room was filled with pictures of family. It was comforting, it kept me motivated. Walking through the small living space, I noticed an unfamiliar black jacket slung over the couch. There was also a pair of business shoes tossed next to the door. The living room and kitchen were designed as an open floor. Nothing separates one from the other, except for the hard line across the floor where the shag carpet ended and the linoleum floor, which was the same as flooring the bathroom had - started. I had a small table, it really only could fit one person. It was probably the size of a pizza box. But it was all that I really needed. I was the only one that lived here. On the single wooden chair laid a pristine, white dress shirt. It looked so out of place here in my apartment. It still had a lingering smell of cologne. There was a wallet and a name brand watch sitting on the table. I guess the man from last night must have been some kind of business man. He had money. It was tempting to look through his things, possibly take a few bucks from the wallet, but I didn't touch it. I wouldn't lower myself to petty theft. I was desperate for money, but I wouldn't turn to criminal acts to get it. That wasn't how I was raised to be. My father always taught my sister and I that if you want to become a worthwhile person, it takes hard work, no shortcuts. But I wouldn't deny, the thoughts still cross my mind from time to time. I moved past the table and went straight for the fridge. I didn't have much lunch meat, a few eggs and a half gallon jug of milk, that was probably past its expiration. I would need to get groceries soon, but that wasn't on my list of priorities. I'd just make myself some eggs, that would be a decent enough breakfast. After some further searching through the cabinets, I found a few old pieces of bread that had a few spots of mold on them. I took a single slice and just picked the bad spots off, before tossing it in the toaster. There was a bit of old coffee left in the coffee pot from yesterday, just a few seconds in the microwave and it would be fine. This was my life. It was modest and at times a little hard, but I'd never complain. There were a lot of people in this city, that were much worse off than me. I made it work. As I was frying up my eggs I heard shuffling from the bedroom, along with some quiet muttering. I suppose my guest was awake. Hopefully he would just gather up his things and attempt to sneak off. That's how it usually was. I didn't turn away from the stove, I just listened intently at the creaking of the floor. I didn't even want to look at him. He would just be a reminder of all my bad choices lately. He was quiet at first, but as he approached the kitchen area, most likely to retrieve his things, I heard him yawn. The sudden noise made me freeze, but I refused to turn around. "Good morning, what are you cooking? It smells pretty good." His voice was startlingly deep, yet his tone was gentle. My mind was racing, I had been caught off guard by how casually he spoke. Why didn't he just sneak out? Why did he want to go through this awkward chit-chat? Didn't he get what he wanted from me? Shouldn't he be on his way without another thought? "Eggs," I muttered plainly. To my further surprise, I listened as the chair to the table slid out against the floor and another collective yawn was heard from him. What? He planned on sticking around? I don't think so. I turned in his direction now, taking in the sight of this man seated in my kitchen. He was only in a pair of black dress pants. His body was impressive. I hadn't noticed how nice his rounded muscles are. His hair was tousled to one side, jet black. His eyes were just as dark and alluring. He wasn't quite as pale as I was, his skin had a natural sun-kissed glow, similar to the men I'd see along the beaches of Boswell. But judging by his expensive clothing, he didn't look the type to frequent the beach scene. "Not much of a talker, that's alright, although you were much chattier at the bar last night." He mused as he snagged his wallet from the table, his eyes scanned through the contents for just a moment. "It's comforting to know that you aren't a thief either." Now I was getting annoyed. "Of course not," I turned back to the stove, focusing on scrambling my eggs. "I'm a lot of things, but I'd never steal from someone." I hoped that my abrupt tone would have ended any further interaction. "You have a little spunk too, I like it." He replied, sounding almost amused. "Is there something you want from me?" I sighed as I turned my stove off. If I cooked it any longer it would have burned. I couldn't avoid looking at him now. He wasn't nearly as old as I had thought when I woke up, he could be close to my age, for sure. Although he had a very mature aura. Wise beyond his years. That was just a hunch. He was handsome, sure. But he did have a wedding band, that much I noticed. I wished that I would have noticed last night, before taking him home with me. I didn't want to be that girl. I've known girls back home that were like that. My mother always told me, I could be anything I wanted to be in this life, except for a homewrecker. "Some eggs would be nice," He said with a slight smirk. Was this guy serious? He wanted me to make him breakfast now? Wasn't last night enough for him? "And what makes you think that I'll make you breakfast? I don't even know you." "Well, you didn't have to know me to sleep with me, did you? I don't see why it should be any different now?" His words cut like a knife. This was more or less what I had been expecting. I was trash in his eyes. He thought he could stick around and see what else he could use me for. But the same could be said for me, I used him as well. I didn't care who he was. He noticed my subtle changes in demeanor and quickly responded with sheepishness. "I didn't mean anything by it. I was trying to be funny. I'll remember in the future to keep all jokes out of conversation." "In the future," I raised my brow. "It's not likely I'm ever going to see you again after today." I reluctantly moved back to the cabinets and got out two paper plates. I divided the eggs that I just made. I don't know why, but it was just something I couldn't stop myself from doing. If someone came to my home and asked for food, I couldn't refuse. I wouldn't turn away someone hungry. I suppose this was my way of saying sorry, for carelessly using this man for my own benefit last night. He seemed surprised when I laid the plate of eggs on the table in front of him. One corner of his mouth raised slightly and his eyes followed me with silent intensity. His presence in my house created an energy that I wasn't completely familiar with. It was almost nice, having someone here to have a meal with. "This is all I have, so please eat and kindly get the hell out of here." I said with a firm look. "Not the best manners, but I think I can overlook that for now." He shrugged his shoulders with a wider smile coming to his face. I got the plastic forks, one for each of us and, for a brief moment, we ate in silence. It was the strangest thing. The start of my days never went this way. I wasn't sure where to let my eyes rest. I didn't want to look at him. Instead, I focused on my plate of eggs. They tasted a bit off, they were probably a little old. I felt a pinch of embarrassment. I had served this guy bad eggs. What was I even saying? Serves him right for mooching food from me. He should be grateful that I even decided to give him something. It was obvious that he had money. His wallet was thick with cash. He could probably head into the nearest restaurant and buy his own breakfast. So why didn't he? Did he just want to make me feel like an even bigger fool?