Roommates with Benefits

Chapter 5

Curled up on the sofa watching television and eating a Greek salad, my phone chimes on the coffee table next to my large glass of sweet tea. I grab the remote, pause the movie and then pick up the ringing device only to set it back down with a disappointing sigh after seeing it's my mother who's calling. The movie resumes after I press play, setting the remote down on the armchair then continuing to eat my food.

The front door unlocks and then pushes open, startling me. Sitting criss cross with a smile on my face thinking it's Chrissy who had arrived, a frown appears quickly as soon as Damien comes in carrying two black duffle bags in both hand. The way he's dressed he looks like he belongs to a biker gang. On his head there's a motorcycle helmet, a black leather jacket on the top half of his body, dark blue jeans on his bottom, and matching gloves and black boots covered in snow.

Without speaking to me he puts the duffel bags inside the small coat closet and then slides off the helmet.

"You ride a motorcycle?" I gawk at him and then mentally slap myself out of it. Can't help it but stare at him. The guy is way too good looking as he combs a hand through his dark hair.

"Yeah, I just got it today. Had bought it from an old friend."He smiles at me, setting the helmet down on a console table before hopping over the sofa, sitting beside me, taking a small clear bag from one of his small leather jacket pockets. It holds up a bag of m*******a. "You smoke weed?"

I frown scooting away from him. "No I do not."

He cackles sliding a rolled up joint from his pocket next. "But you smoke cancer sticks, correct?" He quizzes me, sticking the joint between his lips.

"So do you." I scoff, sassing back.

He laughs with the joint bouncing while he talks and then rubs a hand over his jean pockets, searching for a lighter I suppose. "I don't smoke them like that. You, on the other hand, go through like four packs a day."

Setting my salad down on the coffee table beside my drink, I toss a pillow at him, groaning. "No I don't. The pack I bought the other day is still in my room. I have two cigarettes left for your information."

Grabbing my lighter off the coffee table, he rolls his eyes and says back sarcastically. "Wow, that's a lot."

"Whatever." I grumble crossing my arms in front of my chest, watching him put down the lighter on the armchair. "Where's Chrissy?"

Damien leans back against the sofa with his legs on top of the coffee table, deeply inhaling as the joint sticks between his lips. Smoke travels from his mouth as he slowly exhales. "I don't know where she is."

"We—" the sound of my phone chiming beside me stops me from speaking. Letting out an annoyed sigh, thinking it's my mother again that's trying to reach me, I pick up the device and then smile seeing a DM from Jessie's i********: account saying he can't wait to see me Friday night.

Grinning from ear to ear, I reply back to the flirty message, almost forgetting I was in the middle of a conversation with Damien. When he asks me "Is that your boyfriend?" I become shy all of a sudden.

My cheeks begin burning as I press my phone against my chest so he doesn't see the bright screen. His eyes are on the television, not even bothering to look my way. "I don't have a boyfriend," my right hand subconsciously brush some hair behind my right ear.

"Why not?" He eyes me up and down, puffing from the rolled up joint. I begin to feel that jiggly feeling in my stomach you get when you get caught staring at your crush. Why am I feeling this way? I don't know this man at all.

"Cause I just don't." I shrug a shoulder, changing the subject. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

He smiles at me, blowing smoke in my face. "I have girlfriends,"

"What?"

"I have a girl every day of the week." He explains further while sparkling the end of his joint again.

I scoff in disbelief. There's no way he can handle seven women. "And how the hell does that work?"

He begins counting on his fingers, laughing. "I have a girl for Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday."

"So, you're a player?"

He takes another puff and then cackles, eyes watching the illuminating television screen in front of us. "I'm just messing with you. The answer is no I don't have a girlfriend because I don't have time for dating."

"Same goes for me. With school and work, I'm always busy. Besides, I'm not missing out on anything because dating is pointless these days." I huff out a breath, continuing to eat my salad.

Damien gives me a dry reply "Yeah." and that is the end of the discussion.

—-

—-

Waking up sometime during the night, I reach one hand over to grab the ringing phone somewhere next to me on the bed. Journals, textbooks, library books and a pile of homework is scattered everywhere on top of the sheets. I lift my head up off the pillow with my eyes half way open from drowsiness, glancing at the glowing screen.

My brows creases when seeing my mother's number on the display. Groaning and cursing under my breath, I accept the call and then hold the phone against my right ear. "What?"

Police sirens and loud music echoes in the background right along with dogs as a feminine voice speaks lowly through the receiver. "Hey, Brandy. Look um, can you come see me?" The sound of her breath shivers in the cold.

"Where?" I roll over on my back underneath the quilts and stare at the digital clock on the nightstand. It's ten in the evening.

"The crown point motel. Bring money as well." My absent mother coughs on the line.

Rubbing one palm across my forehead, I whisper tiredly while sitting up. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Okay. The room number is thirteen." The desperate woman says nothing else, ending the call between us.

—

—

The Uber comes to a complete stop in front of the run down motel where homeless people, prostitutes, drug dealers and addicts stands on every corner.

I climb out the car holding a pizza box, thanking the kind driver before he pulls off down the road. Guys cluttering around the rough neighborhood whistles at me as I'm walking to the room. One fist knocks against the door as I'm looking both ways checking my surroundings making sure no one tries to sneak up on me. The curtains moves to the side and the woman I gotten my features from peeks out the window before unlocking the door.

"Hi, sweetheart." The very unhealthy woman that's so skinny you could see her ribs opens the door smiling. I almost cry seeing how much weight the addict has loss these pasts months.

Wearing baggy dingy clothes, my mom who walked out of my life when I was only six years old stares back at me with constricted pupils and a red runny nose. Her teeth are stained, dark brown circles underneath the eyes and bruises on both arms.

I blow out a long breath heavily. "Hi mom."

—-

—-

"Your pizza is getting cold," sitting on the dresser with my arms folded, I start a conversation with my mother after ten minutes of silence as she sits on the bed smoking a cigarette.

Veronica shrugs, holding the single in between her chapped lips as she scratches a lottery ticket with a penny. "I don't mind. I actually like cold pizza."

Soft moaning and the sound of the bed creaking next door spreads through the thin walls.

"Why are you living in this dump?" I stare out the window watching customers walking in and out the small convenience store across the street.

Veronica scratches the top of her messy dark hair and sniffles. "Because it's cheap and I have no where else to go."

I unzip my backpack and then take out the cash, contemplating while holding it. "What are you gonna do with the money?"

She tosses the lottery ticket in the bin. "Pay for my room and buy groceries."

"I don't believe you," I scoff, tucking the money back inside my backpack after making up my mind. "You're using again, aren't you?"

Veronica taps the ashes in the ashtray that's on the beside table underneath the lamp. "I'm not."

"Liar! You're gonna take my money and disappear again!" I slam one hand on the dresser, glaring at the woman who gave birth to me.

"If you don't wanna help me then just leave." Veronica sighs deeply while staring at the floor as she holds the single in between two fingers.

I stand on my feet sliding on my coat. "You only call me when you need something. It's been eighteen years since you abandoned me. Just six months ago you reached out to me because you had no one else to call while you were in that hospital bed recovering from an overdose. Not once had I gotten an apology and now you're upset because I'm putting my foot down?!"

My mother stands up off the bed, glaring at me while pointing a finger at the door. "Get out! I knew I shouldn't had called you!"

My eyes stings as tears rolls down my cheeks while I'm glaring back at her with my fists balled up at my sides. "I hate you for leaving me with that abusive drunk! Because of what you did I'm scarred for life! Every day I begged God that you'd come back to rescue me from dad but you never came. All I wanted was to find you and rekindle things—try to make this s**t work between us but I see now you don't want me just like how you didn't back then."

"I said get out!" She screams at me with shimmery eyes as one hand combs through her messy hair.

Sniffling, I say back "If I walk out that door you will never see me again," and then slide my backpack on my shoulders after slamming the money down on the dresser.

Without saying anything else to me, she mutters something under her breath while stepping inside the bathroom as I'm walking out the room, closing it behind me.

Standing outside in the snowy weather I lean my back against a wall and then bury my hands in my palms, sobbing uncontrollably.

"You have any change, miss?" A homeless stranger walks up on me asking for money, scaring the s**t out of me. I dig in my pocket and then drop the rest of the change I have left in his hand before walking away, continuing to cry while dialing Chrissy.