Another Day
1017 Words
I jolted awake, my chest rising and falling in quick, panicked breaths. The nightmare was always the same—Shawn, the man I once loved, smiling at me like he used to, his touch soft, his voice warm. And then, in an instant, he twisted into something else, something dark, something cruel. His hands weren’t gentle anymore. His voice wasn’t sweet. It was a monster’s voice, full of rage, full of force and demanding control of me.
I shook off the lingering terror and glanced at the clock. 11 AM. My body ached, a cruel reminder of the night before. Every movement sent a dull throb through my limbs, but I couldn’t stay here. Lying in bed, letting the weight of everything keep me trapped—I refused.
I had work. Again.
Tony had given me extra hours, and I wasn’t about to waste them. A twelve-hour shift on a Friday meant good tips, which meant I could finally catch up on rent. That was all that mattered right now—surviving.
I dragged myself to the mirror, wincing as I caught sight of the bruise blooming on my cheek. It was deep, ugly, impossible to ignore. My busted lip was worse, the cut raw against my pale skin. I sighed, running my fingers through my bleach-blonde hair.
Curls. Maybe curls would help.
I took the time to style my hair into soft, bouncy waves, letting them fall around my face, hoping they would at least distract from the bruising. Concealer did what it could, covering most of the discoloration, but nothing could hide my lip. Whatever. It wasn’t like anyone cared.
I pulled on a black bodysuit, pairing it with leather leggings that hugged my curves. A stack of silver chain chokers around my neck felt like armor, like something that made me feel stronger, even if it was just an illusion. My Converses were the final touch—comfortable enough to survive the long hours ahead.
Good enough for today.
I grabbed my keys, locking the door behind me as I stepped into the dull morning light. Another long shift, another day of pretending. At least work gave me something else to focus on. At least there, I could be someone other than the girl trapped in this life.
I climbed into my car, the engine sputtering to life as I pulled onto the road. The gas needle hovered on E, the warning light glowing like it was mocking me. Just one more thing to deal with.
With a frustrated sigh, I pulled into the closest gas station, my mind already calculating how much I could spare for gas. I reached into my purse, rummaging through the pockets, only to come up empty. My stomach sank.
Shawn. He had taken my tips.
I clenched my jaw, forcing back the anger bubbling in my chest. Of course, he had. I should’ve known better than to leave anything where he could find it.
Thankfully, I wasn’t completely out of luck. I kept a few bills stashed away in my car for emergencies—because with Shawn, there were always emergencies. I reached under the seat, pulling out a crumpled twenty. It wasn’t much, but it would get me through the day.
I stepped out of the car and into the crisp autumn air, making my way inside. The coffee bar was my first stop. If I was going to survive another twelve-hour shift, caffeine was non-negotiable. I poured myself a large cup, the rich scent filling my senses, offering the smallest bit of comfort.
I walked up to the counter, handing the cashier my money. She greeted me with a polite smile, but the moment her eyes landed on my face, it faltered.
I hated that look. The pity. The way people always tried to pretend they weren’t staring.
I swallowed hard, keeping my expression blank as she hesitated for just a second too long before handing me my change.
“Have a good day,” she said softly.
I forced a small nod, grabbing my coffee and heading back to my car without another word.
I didn’t need her sympathy. I just needed to get through the day.
I finally pulled into the parking lot behind Tony’s bar, easing into my usual spot. A few cars were already there, which meant it might be a good night for tips. I could only hope.
I killed the engine and stepped out, stretching my sore limbs. The ache from last night still clung to me, a dull reminder of everything I tried to push down.
Catherine was leaning against the back door, a cigarette dangling lazily from her lips. She was my age—young, wild, and free in ways I envied. Her red hair was braided into two perfect French braids, her green eyes sharp as they flicked over me.
“You look like s**t,” she said bluntly, exhaling a cloud of smoke. Cat wasn't one to sugar coat things. She have it to me straight, even when I didn't want to hear it.
“Thanks, cat,” I muttered, rolling my eyes as I shut my car door. "I didn't notice."
She didn’t laugh. She just stared at me, the usual mischief in her expression dimming slightly. “When are you gonna move in with me and get away from him?”
I sighed, running a hand through my untamed curls. "It's not that simple..."
It never was. I wanted to leave—I did. But wanting and doing were two different things. There were too many pieces tangled together, too many ways it could go wrong.
Cat scoffed, shaking her head as she took another drag of her cigarette. “It’s as simple as packing a bag and never looking back.”
I finally reached her, yanking her cigarette from her and taking a couple long drags before handing it back. The smoke filling my lungs.
If only.
I didn’t say anything, just walked past her toward the back door. Because the truth was, I wasn’t sure if I even remembered how to leave.
- Writer
