The problem was, even though I threw myself into my work over the weekend, it really didn’t help as much as I thought it would have. Like they say, appearances can be deceiving, and boy did I deceive everyone when it came to Shane, especially myself.
Ever since Shane and I had begun spending so much time together it had become harder and harder to do my job. I used to take on anyone without a second thought, I’d strip my mind of any emotion and work the dates into doing whatever the hell I wanted them to do. I could fuck and play into their kinky fetishes because I was damn good at turning the whole thing into a game in my mind.
But now the minute these fucks went to town doing their business, my mind collapsed into the images of Shane shaking his head. His eyes burned through my skin and left scars of shame for being with men who didn’t love me. Guilt flooded my body, yeah the one emotion I’d always kept an arm’s length away. But, now, trick after trick, all I could think about was Shane. I wished it was his hands that touched me and his lips which kissed me and his tongue that traced perfectly scrumptious lines on my body.
Without a doubt, love would kill this profession for a girl. The worst thing any prostitute could ever do was fall in love. It didn’t matter if you got tons of money for your pussy or pennies on the dollar; love was like a poison that slowly seeped into your veins and hijacked your heart, eventually, it killed any ability you thought you had to spread your legs for anyone but him.
Thursday, the day Shane and I usually did our laundry, together. Different thoughts rolled through my head. Should I just go into the laundromat and tell him I was sorry I was so complicated? Fuck it . . . maybe I’d just drop the bomb on him that I was a prostitute. Why not risk losing him for good? At least it would’ve been done and over.
Six days, and he still hadn’t called. This routine was familiar, the pain that stabbed at my heart, and the breaths I wasn’t able to catch when I thought about him. Never wanting six days of space, I didn’t sign up to fall in love with him. Sybil warned me; she told me to walk away. Why didn’t I listen? I just needed to move on.
THE PROBLEM WITH trying to move on, was the moment you decided to do it . . . it became the only thing you could focus on. All I’d done was think about Shane. If I wasn’t wondering what he was doing, I wanted to know if he missed me and our conversations. Every flower stand I passed made me think of him. Every time I threw my dirty clothes into the hamper . . . I thought about him. Even brushing my teeth, somehow he’d enter my thoughts. I had lost any handle I had on controlling how much I thought about him and it had become fucking annoying. It seemed like everything I did was born from the thought of Shane.
I pulled at the refrigerator handle. I haven’t had much of an appetite lately, and I wasn’t too hungry, but it was a quarter to twelve and if I didn’t at least put something in my stomach, I was going to pay for it later. Cramping hunger pangs on the job suck, bad. I snagged a hardboiled egg that Sybil made a couple days ago. She’d been on this weird health kick with starting her mornings where she ate some type of protein and no carbohydrates. Usually, eggs just grossed me out, but when I needed the protein and I didn’t feel like cooking, it did the trick. Besides, Sybil had been gone since yesterday morning; she mentioned that she had a lengthy fuck coming into town.
I took my hardboiled egg and snatched a slice of sourdough bread before I sat down on the couch and wrestled with the idea of just showing up at the Stop and Wash. It wouldn’t be too hard to act like nothing happened between us. I was really good at acting. I learned early on, a prostitute couldn’t sell her body without the ability to turn on the dramatics. There was something to be said about hooking up every couple of weeks with the same trick and making it seem new. It was my job to make them think what they did to me was the most mind-blowing sex I’d ever experienced and, well, I was pretty damn good at my job.
I had to be stronger than any simple desire to feel worthy of something beyond numb. I knew what was going to happen when I’d truly let him in; things were gonna get complicated, fast. Shuffling my feelings around in my mind for Shane was as fucked up as being beaten simply because I was born. Nothing in this world had convinced me that if I slid that thin blade of emotion against my flesh I’d feel whole again. No love, no desire would ever be worthy of that searing pain.
I pulled my legs up under my ass and curled up on the couch. Tears I hadn’t let go of since I sold my heart to the loveless fuck who took my soul and crushed it, fell fast and swirled from my chin before they soaked into the front of my camisole. I cried. My eyes burned with the sting of every time I thought about all the mindless, sick fucks who stole pieces of my life and never returned them. My controlled aching whimpers turned into uncontrollable belly deep howls as my entire life busted from the vault in my heart.
I didn’t stop crying, not even when my voice was gone and my throat begged me to feel the burn of tequila. And even though I lived through the horrors of alcoholism with my parents, it didn’t keep me from knocking back the entire bottle of that golden poison. I welcomed the warm burn against the back of my throat as the scorching pressure pushed at my lungs and the tequila blazed down into my stomach in waves of gut rotting satisfaction, finally I felt something before I had become ragingly numb.
When I woke up I was lost . . . lost to what time it was or even where the fuck I was. My phone was blowing up with messages from a couple of my regulars, ones who I had arranged dates with for Thursday night. I unfolded from the ball of mess I created, letting the empty Tequila bottle hit with an echoed clunk against the old worn wooden floor. My head was spinning still and the room was dark except for the faint glow of my phone and the digital clock from across the room.
I took a moment to gain my bearings before I looked at the time. I dreaded the glance I gave my clock. 3:30 Friday morning . . . I had drunk myself into an unconscious clusterfuck of missed jobs, a night’s take of close to five hundred bucks. It was so fucked up, I might as well have given all my clients to some other ho who had been willing to work through her demons and collect a fee along the way.
The couch wasn’t comfortable, not a place where I should have lost my shit. Sitting up, my feet plopped to the floor, while my head felt like it was being chopped up in a blender. Steel blades mangled the space between my ears and the pressure drained down behind my eyes. I was paying the price this morning. I snatched my phone and cleared the texts from the guys I stood up last night. If those horny fucks needed to get off, they probably found some other ho who’d give them just enough. Still I hoped to see a text from Shane, but no luck. Probably better that way, I needed to get my head clear.
I stumbled to the kitchen popped a couple Motrin and choked down a small glass of water. My stomach hated me, curling and growling at the introduction of drugs and water without food. But the thought of eating something made me want to hurl. I pulled off my clothes, changing into something a little more comfortable than the last bit of clean clothes I had. I dropped my phone on the small rickety table next to my bed. Even though I didn’t want to think about the predicament I was in, not having much to wear and the necessity of having to go to the laundromat later today flashed through my mind. My head was still spinning, all I wanted to do was to fall back asleep. Within minutes my eyes closed and I welcomed eight hours of pure unadulterated shut-eye. It cost me more in lost revenue than a sailor who pissed away his best bottle of scotch.
I woke up half past noon, glanced over at my phone and saw that I had a message . . . it was a text from Shane. I stared at it as the text vibrated my phone and lit up my screen again. I won’t lie, I looked at it for a while, wondered if I should even respond or make him wait and wonder. To some people, it might be called cruel, selfish, and even evil to make him suffer for not contacting me sooner. I simply called it tit for tat. It was the only way I kept my heart from breaking again. Sure, I physically ached to spend time with him, be friends again, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to set myself up for heartbreak again. I held just enou
gh pain against my heart so I’d never forget the gut-wrenching sting of betrayal. I needed Shane to see I wasn’t someone who’d come running the minute he realized how much he missed me.
SHANE: Can I say I’m sorry? I hope it’s not too late. I know I should have texted you sooner. I was trying to give you space. God, I missed you yesterday! I missed hanging out with my friend. Rose, I’m sorry I upset you. Will you please meet me today at the laundromat?
ME: What time?
SHANE: It doesn’t matter. I’ll be here until you show up.
But then again, broken girls always ached to be loved, even if it wasn’t perfect. I read our texts drenched in the loss of a week we’d never get back. I craved the same hopeless attention that he did, even when I totally knew it wasn’t going to work. Friends, and only friends, that was what we had to remain. No matter the feelings he had for me and me for him that was the only option for us.
I collected my dirty clothes, stuffed them into my laundry bag and wrestled it into the trunk of my car. I moved fast and with purpose, suddenly I had a reason to drive down to the Stop and Wash. I knew I had to tell him where I stood with our friendship, but even so, there was this tiny part of me . . . the littlest piece where I had wished I could be with him, claim him as mine and only mine. But no matter what I knew, it wasn’t possible, even the voice in my head never failed to remind me of who I was.
Come on Rose, you really think he wants more than a free roll in the hay with you? You are nothing more than a dirty fuck for him. He’ll always be too good for you. Laundry huh? Really, you’ll be nothing more than his dirty laundry secret. He can’t take you home to his parents. Just turn around.
As hard as it was, I kept driving. The voice in my head, my own personal recording from hell wasn’t going to change my mind.
I pulled my car into a spot on the first floor of the parking garage. It seemed like forever since I’d been here. And even though I had begun to claim some type of ownership of this familiar space I came to every Thursday for the last month, for some reason today it felt foreign to me. Maybe because it was a Friday, and I never had come to the laundromat on a Friday or it could’ve been the out of control beating of my heart that thundered in my ears. Either way, I had too many things hinging on seeing Shane that day, one being my soul.
I wrestled the laundry bag from my car and down the street to the Stop and Wash. I pushed open the door, fighting to keep my laundry bag from falling off my shoulder. I plopped it on the floor in front of me and scanned the place for Shane. On my second pass I noticed Shane talking to this really beautiful blonde. Her tits were so round and perfect, they bounced behind her skin-tight tank top as she laughed. Jealousy rushed my body as she smiled and dragged her hand down his forearm. I didn’t expect to see Shane giving his attention to this perky little thing. I thought he’d be waiting by the door for me, hoping he caught me as I had come in. She turned and danced her hips back and forth before she had shuffled away from Shane and showed him her perfect ass peeking out from her daisy dukes. What was I thinking coming here? I shouldn’t have come.
Just as she pulled him over to an open washing machine, he looked over at me. His eyes slowly burned through my soul. His smile pulled at every string connected to my heart. It was crazy how images could become distorted in our minds, and we’d just never quite have remembered the little details of someone or how their expressions affected us to the core of who we were. Oh, fuck, I was so off on my recollection of Shane when I had thought about him while I had earned a living. Every vision of him was wrong, so very wrong. I had forgotten about the slight wrinkle that showed up next to his eyes when he’d smile, or the way his Adam’s apple had bounced in his throat when he swallowed. I failed to recall the way his arms flexed as he dragged his hands across his jeans when he was nervous. I never visualized his swagger as he walked over to me, or the clean citrusy smell of his cologne.
“Hi,” he said as he buried his hands in his pockets. God how I had wished he had leaned over and kissed my cheek, a small gesture of chivalry I had missed from him.
“Hi,” I answered, twisting the top of my bag.
“Here, let me take that for you.” He reached down and grabbed my laundry and pulled it up hoisting it over his shoulder. “I have a couple of machines over by my office.”
“Oh, okay.” I followed him through the laundromat. The girl Shane was with when I showed up gave me a dirty look. I smiled back, grateful for the fact he wanted nothing to do with her.
“I’m glad you came,” he said over his shoulder as he continued toward the washing machines with broken tags hanging from them.
I watched the muscles in his shoulders flex and the edge of his shirt as it danced across his ass as he walked. The slight glisten off his bare arms ruled my tongue as it slid across my lips. What I wouldn’t give to skate my fingers across his skin.
“You were so desperate with that text,” I clipped, hoping to stop my mind from raging for him.
“Desperate? You’re really calling my text desperate?” he quipped, dropping my laundry bag in a rolling cart before pulling off the broken tags from the two washing machine.
“Really? You put a fake broken tag on them?”
“Just for you.” He gave me a quick smile.
I pulled the drawstrings on my bag and started to collect and sort my casual non-working clothes before I tossed them into the bellies of the washing machines.
“If your text wasn’t desperate then what would you call it?” I knew my words were sharp. They could’ve even been interpreted as painful.
“Apologetic, remorseful, I’d even say, miserable. I’ve missed you, Rose. I like—” He broke off as he leaned back against the dryer across from me. “I like doing laundry with you.” He pushed his hands through his hair.
“I guess being pitiful has its advantages.”
“If that’s what you call being here with me, then I’ll take pitiful any day of the week,” he said as he crossed his feet. “But let’s not forget, you came here to see me,” he added before he slipped his hands back into his front pockets.
“I came because I have nothing clean to wear.”
“Really? What about all the laundromats between your apartment and here?”
“They’re too gross, besides, it’s a habit . . . coming to this place. I’ve been conditioned; blame it on those damn Blow Pops. I really missed all the different flavors.” My voice broke off as I busied myself with the laundry soap for the washing machine.
“Yeah, well, so did everyone else; I stopped putting them out, figured I didn’t need any Blow Pops if you weren’t here.”
“You only put them out because of me?” A smile crept over my face.
“Well, I had to impress you in some way; you weren’t very excited about my cheap suckers, so, I figured what’s better than bubble gum wrapped in crystallized sugar on a stick? It’s a Blow Pop, a two-fer for Christ’s sake,” he answered as he pulled quarters from his pocket, dropped them into the coin feeder and pushed them into the machine.
“Hey, I can pay for my own laundry.”
“I know, but you struggle with choosing the right temperature,” he teased, pointing to the machine as the water started to fill the tub. I clicked the permanent press option and spun back around to him.
“Well, now that I’m here are you going to bring back the Blow Pops?”
“Does my answer hinge on you hanging around?”
“Depends,” I huffed as I collected my next load of laundry.
“On what?” he asked as he pulled open the door of the next washing machine.
“The flavor,” I answered as I shoved my clothes into the washer.
“The flavor?” he asked confused before he shut the door.
“Of the Blow Pops! POPSYou know, for someone who claims to be quick witted . . . just tell me you had kept some stashed away in the bottom drawer of your desk.”
“Sure I do . . . my emergency stash, you like cherry, right?” His eyes gliste
ned, matching his smart-ass remark.
“Very funny,” I quipped before he turned on his heels. “Where are you going?”
“You said you’d hang out if I bring you lollipops, Blow Pops to be exact. So, I’m going to go get them.”
I gave him a quick smile before turning back and repeating the routine of filling up the machine with a tall stack of quarters. Once I had both washing machines humming, and nothing to occupy my attention, I figured I’d go to the bathroom and then see if Shane needed help finding the box of Blow Pops. Sure I could be pissed off that he didn’t call me or text me for all that time. But truthfully, being around him again gave me a sense of normal, even if it was completely fake. When I was with him I fell right into comfortable again. I wasn’t a tangled up mess of unexpected or a total wreck filled with all the battle scars of what my life had become.
Shane has this natural talent to make me feel like a plain, ordinary girl and well, being ordinary makes me feel like I’m something special.
On my way back from the bathroom, I figured I’d stop in on Shane and find out what’s taking so long to find my Blow Pops. His office door was partly open and I saw through the door crack that he was still sitting at his desk. He wasn’t rummaging through his drawers; instead he was looking over to the other side of the room, talking to someone.
“You know how hard it is to find you?” I heard a female voice tease him. I froze in my tracks.
“Well, I haven’t been hiding,” he answered lightheartedly.
“Maybe not, but I just thought you’d reconsider my offer to thank you properly for your kindness,” she replied.
Broken Girl Page 11