by Laura Lee
I hoof it the three blocks it takes me to get to my car and think about how this is my first official walk of shame. I’ve never apologized for my actions or have been anything but upfront about what I want from men. Before Gavin, no one has ever questioned my desire to leave immediately after the deed is done. Shit, most guys appreciate it. Before Gavin though, no one has even remotely tempted me to stay. I silently admonish myself for being so stupid. It’s bad enough that we traded names. I know not to trust a stranger well enough to sleep beside them. I couldn’t have been out for more than a couple of hours, but that’s two hours too many. Nothing good ever comes from being that vulnerable. If anyone knows that all too well, I do. And I wouldn’t wish the nightmares I’ve lived through on my worst enemy.
Rose’s parking lot is fairly full when I get there. I ignore the curious gazes of patrons through the windows as I unlock my car and get inside. I back out of my spot without another thought and head home. Today’s home is different than yesterday’s. My latest round of foster parents left a lot to be desired so I packed up my meager belongings and told them I was leaving. The fact that they didn’t even try to talk me out of it should tell you how invested they were. I mostly keep to myself…do my best to fly under the radar, but I’ve learned to speak up for myself when necessary. When my sleazy foster brother, Lucas, their biological son, suggested I provide the entertainment for his drunken house party, in the form of blow jobs, I had enough. I told him to go fuck himself and he in turn, told his parents that the party was my idea. That I was the asshole that took advantage of their weekend away to celebrate their wedding anniversary. That my friends were the ones who puked on the carpet and dumped Grandma Betty’s ashes off the mantel. Of course I tried telling them the truth about their precious son, but they weren’t having it. It’s a lot easier to blame the person you don’t share DNA with, I suppose. It’d be nice if my own mother got that memo one of these days.
I pull into the assigned space of the crappy two-story walk up that Cybil and I have lived in for as long as I can remember. She had her license revoked from too many DUI’s so I’m the lucky one who gets to drive our shared vehicle. Which also means that I’m the one responsible for gas and insurance. Cybil thinks that if you don’t get behind the wheel, you aren’t financially liable. Never mind the fact that I have to run errands or chauffeur her to and from Newport, the next town over, for court appearances.
I take a deep breath as I look at my home sweet home. The white paint on the U-shaped building should have been refreshed at least ten years ago. Now, it’s mostly a dingy gray with some yellow spots here and there. There’s a concrete staircase on each end leading to the second level apartments. The exterior seems to be modeled after a cheap motel but the inside isn’t too bad. Sure, it’s outdated, and the place reeks like cigarettes from years of smoke, but I have my own bedroom which is a luxury when you’re bounced from one foster home to another. More importantly, there’s a heavy-duty lock on the door so I don’t need to worry about any of my mother’s clients mistaking my bedroom door for hers.
I unlock the front door and prepare myself for what I might see. In the past, it’s been something as innocuous as Mom being passed out on the couch fully clothed. More often than not though, there’s someone in some stage of undress or inebriation. Then there was that one time when there were six fully undressed people having a grand ol’ time; so much so, that they didn’t even notice when I walked through the door screaming at my mother for having an orgy in our living room. Just a day in the life of Kat Kennedy.
I sigh in relief as I walk into an empty space. “Cybil?”
I open the fridge and scan the contents for anything edible. Sadly, my choices consist of mustard, cheap beer, or leftover pizza. I lift the lid to the pizza box and quickly regret doing so. Clearly it’s the same one from my last night here over four months ago. Well, now it’s more like a science experiment but you get the point. I mentally add grocery shopping to my list of things to do.
I walk down the short hall and give the handle to my bedroom an experimental tug. I’m surprised to find that it’s still locked after all this time. Usually, if Cybil gets too hard up she’ll break in to see what she can sell. Business must’ve been good in my absence.
I knock on the door to her bedroom. “Cybil? Are you home?”
I hear shuffling behind the door so I know she’s in there. I also hear muted voices so I know she’s not alone. After a moment, she opens the door wearing a short peach robe that doesn’t cover much on her five-foot-ten-inch frame. “Katherine! You’re back!”
She pulls me into an uncharacteristic hug and I’m momentarily stunned. “Yep, in the flesh.”
She pulls back and looks at me. “How long has it been? A few weeks now?”
I roll my eyes. “Four months, Mom. I’ve been gone for four months. Nice of you to notice.”
She ignores my jibe. “Well, you look lovely, darling. Have you gotten taller?”
“Really, Cybil? Don’t you think I’m done growing by now?”
She gasps. “Oh my fuck! I know what’s different! You’re older! You had a birthday, didn’t you?”
“I sure did. The big one-eight. I can legally buy your cigarettes now. Yay me!”
She smiles. “Oh, that’s wonderful dear. You’ll be able to fully support yourself now.”
I raise my eyebrows. “And how would you suggest I do that? Part-time baristas don’t get paid very well, Mom. I can’t even afford gas without my tips. School starts soon. I can’t work more than twenty hours per week once that happens. This is my senior year. I have too many things on my plate as it is. I need to maintain my GPA if I have any chance of getting a scholarship. As the parent in this relationship, you should understand that.”
My eyes shift to the man coming up behind her. He places his meaty paws on her shoulders and scoots her behind him. He’s not a bad looking guy…he’s slightly taller than her so I’d guess he’s around six feet or so. He’s in his mid-forties maybe, with a full head of hair and an impressive build. I know this because he’s standing in front of me wearing a pair of boxers and nothing else. “Who’s this lovely creature, Cybil?”
My hackles rise. “I’m her daughter. Who the fuck are you?”
He laughs. “Oh, Katherine, right? Yeah, your mom has told me all about you. She warned me you had a bit of a bite.”
“She has?” I have a hard time hiding my shock. Not at his veiled reference to my attitude, but the fact that she mentioned me at all.
He swings an arm around her shoulder and pulls her into a side hug. “Yes, of course she has. She also told me how gorgeous you are and clearly she wasn’t exaggerating.”
“Thanks,” I reply snidely. “You still didn’t tell me who you are.”
My mother beams as she shoves her left hand in front of my face. The left hand that bears an awfully large rock. “Katherine, this is Marcus. He’s going to be your new step-father. We’re getting married!”
“Oh, you’ve got to me kidding me,” I mutter.
She rubs his back affectionately. “Not at all, Baby Girl. Marcus has one of those big houses on the cliff overlooking the ocean. I’m finally moving out of this dump at the end of next month. I spoke to the landlord and he said you can keep the place if you can prove enough income.”
“Of course, you’re also welcome to come live with us,” Marcus adds. “I know that you’re legally an adult now, but as I understand it, you have one year left of high school, correct?”
I eye him suspiciously. “Yeah, I do. Which leaves me few options in the way of full-time employment.”
Marcus smiles. “There’s plenty of room for two beautiful women in the house. I may be able to help you with the income part should you decide to stay here. You’re quite fetching and in my business, that means money.”
I cross my arms over my chest. I don’t miss the way he stares at my braless breasts when I do. “Oh, really? And what business would that be?” Is my mother seriously c
onsidering marrying a pimp? And is he really propositioning me to follow her lead? Could my life be more fucked up at the moment?
“He owns that gentleman’s club off the main highway,” Cybil offers. “You know the place…The Pitiful Princess?”
“Ah,” I muse as everything clicks into place. My shields automatically go into defense mode…also known as bitch mode. “I do know the place. Although I like to refer to it as, Girls with Daddy Issues. I mean, seriously? What’s with the name?”
Marcus’s laughter booms through the apartment. “I like you, Katherine. I didn’t mean to offend you; I’m simply trying to point out your options. You let me know if you’d like a tour of the place. Most of my dancers are students at the community college. Almost every one plans to transfer to a university once they make a little more money. They’re smart girls. They know that we’re the only game in town which makes their tips go through the roof. There’s no other place around here where you can work three short nights a week and take home full-time income. I have a reputation for only hiring delectable young co-eds such as yourself. Men come from two counties over to see them.”
“Yeah, and to get a blow job on the side,” I huff.
“Katherine!” Cybil scolds.
I roll my eyes. “Save it, mother.”
Marcus grins. “I assure you, Katherine, I do not run that kind of establishment.” He looks at me thoughtfully. “What you choose to do in your own time, is your prerogative, of course.”
“Of course.” Yeah, buddy, I can read between those lines just fine. That’s twice now in twelve hours that someone has assumed I can be bought. “Look, I’ve had a long night and I’d really like to reacquaint myself with my own bed. I’ll let you two get back to what you were doing.”
Cybil lights a cigarette and takes a drag. “Okay, Baby Girl; you get some rest. It’s good to have you home.”
Yeah, it’s great. Just great.
MY ALARM SOUNDS so I hit the snooze button. When it goes off again, I crack one eye open and reluctantly check the time.
I bolt upright in bed. “Shit!”
I’d hit the snooze button five times! How did that happen? I have exactly twenty-one minutes to get to work. Not a great way to start your week. I really like my job but these occasional early morning shifts kill me. I slept half the day away yesterday after my happy homecoming which totally fucked with my internal clock. I couldn’t fall asleep until after two so now I’m running on less than three hours and I don’t even have time to take a proper shower. I’m actually looking forward to starting school next week so I can have some routine in my life. How fucked up is that?
As I get dressed, I mentally calculate how long it will take me to drive. As I’m brushing my teeth, I decide to forgo any makeup. My tips are much better when I put on the pretty, but I simply don’t have time today. They’ll just have to settle for the fresh-faced teenager look. I pull my long locks into a ponytail and run out the door.
I pull into the lot where the coffee cart sits with one minute to spare before we’re officially open. Damn it! I need at least fifteen minutes of prep time. There are already two cars waiting in the drive-thru. I unlock the trailer and move around as fast as possible brewing the drip coffees, unwrapping the pastries, powering up the register, and organizing the flavored syrups the way I like them. It’s 6:13 when I officially open for business. With fake enthusiasm, I lift the shade and slide open the window to take my first order of the day.
Unfortunately for me, today is the day when our owner is the first car waiting. My smile immediately falls when I see how pissed she is. Marilyn runs a tight ship and this isn’t the first time I’ve been caught opening late.
“Uh, hi, Marilyn. What can I get for you?”
She looks into her rear view, most likely at the lineup of cars behind her. “Time is money, Kat. How many times do I have to tell you that? Six cars have driven away already because you can’t seem to abide by the posted business hours.”
“I know, Marilyn. I’m really sorry; I accidentally turned off my alarm.”
She rolls her eyes. “We’ll talk about this after your shift. I’ll be back then.” With that, she squeals her tires out of the gravel lot.
I square my shoulders and paint on a smile as the next car arrives. I somehow manage to get through the first rush with my sanity intact. Once I have a lull, I take the time to think about the possible consequences facing me at the end of my shift. I’ve seen Marilyn pissed before, but never that pissed. I’m so screwed if she fires me. I need this damn job. I’m already dealing with a cereal and Ramen noodles food budget. I qualify for assistance from the district so I’ll get free breakfast and lunch once school starts but that doesn’t pay for gas and insurance. Or rent, I remind myself. Fuck! I slam my fist on the counter when I consider the real possibility that I’m walking away from this place without a steady paycheck.
“Ow!” I scream as the pain slices through my knuckles. Great, now I have to make it through the rest of my shift with anxiety and a swollen hand.
“Hey, Kitty Kat,” Dylan calls as he walks into the trailer.
“Ugh, you know I hate it when you call me that,” I complain, shaking my aching hand.
Dylan and I have been friends with occasional benefits since I started working here a year ago. He’s the only guy that I’ve banged more than once since the inception of my rules. Until the other night, that is. I shake my head to chase away the memory of my night with Sparkles. It’s never going to happen again so why dwell on it? Dylan and I have an understanding which is why I keep him around. His fresh out of the surf style makes him easy on the eyes and his boyish charm is rather…well, charming. I usually don’t mess around with guys from school since I’ve been burned so badly in the past, but he’s cool and he doesn’t kiss and tell. Not with me anyway, since doing so would ruin his chances of hooking up with someone else.
I grab some ice, place it in a towel, and wrap it around my knuckles. This does not go unnoticed.
“What’d you do to your hand, babe?”
I wince from the sting of the ice. “I punched the counter.”
He laughs. “What’d the counter do to you?”
Looking at the digital clock on the register I ask, “What are you doing here so early? Your shift doesn’t start for another hour.”
“Why are you avoiding my question with a question?”
“Dylan,” I sigh with annoyance. He knows my deflection technique by now. Normally he goes with the flow and moves forward.
“Kitty,” he mimics my tone.
I’m given temporary reprieve when a customer pulls up. One skinny half-caff mocha later, I turn toward him. “Quit calling me that. You know it pisses me off.”
He walks up to me, runs his hand down my arm and says, “Ah, but you’re so hot when you’re pissed. I get hard just thinking about it.”
I roll my eyes. “I screwed up. I woke up late so I opened for business late. Again. Your mom was here and she was pissed.” Yep, Dylan is Marilyn’s son. “I got the impression that she’s going to can me after my shift.”
“Seriously? You want me to talk to her?”
“Seriously,” I repeat. “And no, I can deal with it. Thanks for offering though.”
“Man, that blows.”
“Tell me about it,” I agree. “Now you can answer my question. Why are you here so early?”
He shrugs. “It’s always dead this time of day. I thought we could have a little fun.”
Okay, I know what you’re thinking and it’s not as bad as it sounds. All right, maybe we’ve taken advantage of the fact that customers can’t see us from the waist down a time or two. But in my defense, Dylan is very talented orally.
“What happened to Britney?” Britney is the girl he’s been seeing for the past month or so.
“Britney is being…difficult.”
I laugh. “What you really mean, is that Britney hasn’t given it up yet.”
He throws his hands up in exaspera
tion. “Exactly! I mean, what’s the deal? You’ve seen my cock. How could any chick resist that? Justin Bieber ain’t got nothing on me! One night, we got drunk and she gave me a hand job but that’s it! No below the waist action since. She won’t even blow me, Kat. How cruel is that?”
“Oh, so cruel,” I mock.
“Right?” he says, clearly not picking up on my sarcasm. “So what do you say? You up for a little oral exchange to pass the time?”
I watch as he begins unbuckling his belt. “As tempting as that offer is, I’m going to pass.”
His hand pauses as he looks up in disbelief. “What? Why not? C’mon, baby, I’ll even offer to make you come twice before you suck me off. You know it will help get your mind off of everything.”
I shrug. “I’m just not feeling up to it.” No way am I going to tell him that I don’t want to lose myself in sex for the first time since...before. Normally, stress triggers my cravings, no matter how recently I’ve been with someone. I still don’t know what I think of that. I certainly don’t need anyone else to psychoanalyze me.
He smiles. “How about I just take care of you, then? You know your pussy is my favorite.”
“Any pussy is your favorite,” I retort.
“Not true. You can be a prickly one sometimes, but your pussy is sweeter than all the other girls combined. Yours is definitely my fave.”
I smirk at his attempt to sweet talk me. “As flattering as that is, I’m still going to pass. You have a girlfriend, Dylan. You know that’s a hard limit for me—I won’t be anyone’s piece on the side.”