Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 109882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“But seriously, he can help.” Marshall stood and headed back inside. I should have tossed the address, because no way in hell this sounded legit or even safe. But for some reason I put it in my apron and stood.
What I knew for sure was nothing was free.
Chapter 4
I could barely keep my eyes open as I drove my shitty car back to my shittier apartment. I took the last right onto the street, saw the apartment building looming up ahead, and parked right at the curb. For a second I just sat there, listening to the engine cooling, that clicking. I did this every day when I came home, dreading going in there, hating that I’d be alone.
No real friends.
No family that gave a shit about me.
One day a month where I let loose, where I pretended to be someone else.
That was my life summed up.
I stopped feeling sorry for myself and headed inside. The elevator was broken, had been for the last month. I doubted it would get fixed anytime soon, not unless a bunch of people complained. Which they wouldn’t, because anyone who lived here didn’t really care about anything.
The first two flights of stairs were easy, the third and fourth made me realize I was out of shape. Thighs burning, lungs seizing, I adjusted my messenger bag and took the last step. My head was downcast, my focus on the dirty ground with the cracked and peeling linoleum. When I lifted my head, the first thing I saw was my apartment door cracked open. My heart stalled. I’d locked it. I knew I had. This was a bad neighborhood, and although I didn’t have shit worth a grain of salt in there, having someone break in was an invasion.
I should have called the cops, but again this was a bad neighborhood, and even if the cops did come by, it would take forever, and they’d assume I just didn’t lock the door.
I had my keys in my hand, the metal sticking out between my fingers. I’d use it as a weapon if I had to. Creeping slowly toward the door, I pushed it open with my shoe. I could have maybe asked one of my neighbors to come with me, but with them being drunks, junkies, or senile, I didn’t think they would be much help. Besides, everyone here kept to themselves and didn’t worry about others…it was usually safer that way.
The door swung open, and I saw that my place had been trashed. It hadn’t been a looker to begin with, and I really had nothing of value…expect my coffee can. My heart started beating a static rhythm. I shut the door, my safety not coming into play at this moment as I rushed to the kitchen. The cupboards were all open, the few dishes I had crashed to the floor. And there, among the shards of thrift-store ceramic, was my coffee can. It was on its side, the lid a foot away. I knew it would be empty even before I picked it up with a shaking hand.
I’d been saving any little amount of money from my paychecks, putting a dollar in the can here or there, or a few quarters. It was sometimes my free-for-one-day-a-month fund, what I’d dip into to buy a few drinks if I had any extra. Hell, I used it to put gas in my car when money was really tight.
I sat on the floor, my legs feeling like they’d give out, my heart in my throat. The sadness was soon replaced with anger. I cried, hating that I couldn’t do better, knowing I deserved better. I tossed that fucking coffee can across the kitchen, the metal slamming against the cupboard. Then I put my head in my hands and cried, just bawled because there was nothing else to do. Maybe I didn’t have that much money in the coffee can anyway. Maybe I shouldn’t have even had money around, or hid it better.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
There were a lot of things I could have, should have done differently. In the end, my life was still the same, still broken, twisted and gnarled, with the light I thought I needed drifting further away. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to have that light. Maybe I only deserved the darkness.
Maybe that’s what made me stronger.
I lifted my head, wiped the tears away angrily, and realized what I had in my pocket. I pulled that slip of paper out, the address scribbled across it seeming so damn ominous. Everything in me screamed to throw it away, but the reality of my situation was I was falling deeper into a hole. I just needed to get on my feet, find a second job, and then I could look for something better for myself, something that wasn’t infested with hatred and anger.