Page 18 of Little Sunshine

To go out. Have fun. Join the party that everyone else seemed to perpetually live in.

But I’d never done it. Not when I’d been sad, bored, or desperately hungry. I’d forced myself to be responsible, if only to combat the anxiety and memories.

All that sacrifice, and I had nothing to show for it.

Both dreading what I’d find but needing to know what else had been stolen, I stood on trembling legs. I scanned the place, which was easy to do from one spot because my studio apartment really was that tiny, and I really owned that little.

My small TV was no longer sitting on the rickety stand I’d found by the side of the road.

Drawers were left open.

Clothes were strewn on the floor.

A sleeve of dollar store saltines sat on the counter, left open to get more stale than they’d already been. I didn’t care that she’d eaten most of them. In fact, I hoped she’d choked on their dryness. My issue was the jar of peanut butter sitting next to them.

The empty jar.

There was a dirty spork on the counter next to it, inviting ants—or worse—to come feast on the sticky mess and the cracker crumbs.

That peanut butter was the only protein I had in my apartment.

And thanks to my mother, it was gone.

Sad as it was, I hadn’t realized she knew my address. It wasn’t like she’d ever popped in for a visit with her only child. I also had no idea how she’d gotten inside. Even if I had a spare key, which I didn’t, I wouldn’t have given it to her. She’d never had the patience and intricacies needed to pick locks—that was my skill.

That left one likely option.

Ron.

All she had to do was bat her lashes at him, and the shitty building manager would’ve let her right into my apartment.

I eyed my bed with distaste.

Hopefully, that was all he did.

Grimacing, I dropped my gaze to the empty jar of peanut butter. The longer I looked, the more enraged I became.

The Roulette Hotel was a cruddy place filled with skeezy people. But I liked my job. Not necessarily where I’d been doing it, but the work itself was good. It was honest. I had solitude. I had independence since neither Todd nor Steve ever had to micromanage me. I had something to be proud of.

Every day was like one of those satisfying viral videos where a house gets organized or a stain gets removed. I liked sitting back and seeing my hard work pay off.

And the money may have been woefully low for all that effort, but it was still money.

Money she’d stolen.

Along with my savings.

My TV.

My job.

And my peanut butter.

For whatever reason, that enraged me the most. The damn peanut butter.

With a frustrated groan, I picked up the jar and threw it across the room. Thankfully, it was empty and didn’t make much noise as it hit with a hollow thud and fell to the ground.

The last thing I needed was a neighbor in my business. Or, worse, for them to complain.

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