Page 6 of Savoring Her Snake

“You know that’s not what I do. I couldn’t go. Remember? Mom stole my tuition.” I stand from the edge of the cushion, my hands on my hips. “I’m tired of being the only grown-up in the family. Mom has never been much of a mom, but I thought you would mature eventually.” I sigh and walk to the kitchen. “Levi, stop letting your friend influence you.” Reaching for a glass, I fill it with water. “He got you into this.” I swing the cup, motioning toward his head.

“Stanly has been my friend for years,” he says.

“Yes, I know.” I take a sip. Stanly is an asshole. He uses my brother to win money. Being in the room with him is uncomfortable for me. I don’t know why his girlfriend sticks around. “Why can’t you see he’s a bad guy?”

“Sis, he’s been there for me. You know how hard it was growing up with Mom. He helped me cope. I can’t end our friendship.” We’ve had this conversation before, but I hoped one day he’d realize Stanly is bringing him down.

“How much did he take this time?” I ask. Levi enters fights, and Stanly encourages him to keep doing it. Apparently, in a few years, Stanly will inherit a shit-ton of money from his parents’ estate. He has promised to pay Levi back all the money he’s taken from him when he does.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Right.” I slam down my cup. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“I won. The wounds were small.”

“What about the nights you lose? Don’t you remember how bad it gets?” There have been many nights he can barely walk.

“I’m fine.” He jumps to his feet, holding his arms wide. “I won’t come here anymore if you are sick of taking care of me.” He grabs his coat and moves to the door, but pauses. This is usually the moment I stop him. He knows exactly what to say to make me feel guilty, but not this time.

“I love you, Levi.” I turn to face him. “Please, get your shit together. Don’t bring Stanly here again. I don’t like him.”

“Fine,” he snaps, opening the door. “Thanks,” he says with an angry twist to his lips before leaving and slamming the door.

I sink into the kitchen chair, dropping my head to the table's surface. My black hair covers my face. Crossing my arms over my stomach, I try to hold in the pain.

Stanly is a coyote shifter. Before he shifted in front of me, I thought those creatures were only real in fairy tales and dreams. Being human and never seeing such a sight was shocking at first. After the truth settled in, I took it as another fact of my odd life. Why wouldn’t there be this whole other world? I wondered if I knew other shifters and had been living cluelessly. I can understand their need to keep it a secret. Many humans would love to use them or kill them.

My mom jumped from relationship to a worse relationship. She was the queen of the guilt trip, and Levi was more susceptible to it. He met Stanly when he was fifteen, and they have been close ever since. At the time, I understood Levi’s need to have a friend who would do anything to help my brother forget about his bad home life, including spending his parents’ money on him. However, I didn’t agree with most of Stanly's methods. Many nights, my phone would ring, and I would have to bail my brother out of trouble. He knew I would do anything to keep us together.

A year ago, Stanly told him there was a place that paid you to fight and that he had friends there. This started a year of me patching my brother up and Stanly talking half of the money he made if he won. My objection isn’t with the fighting but with Stanly taking advantage of my brother again and again. He swears he will pay it all back, but I have my doubts. I believe Stanly uses the fights as an excuse, as if Levi owes him from all the money he spent years ago. The fights are varied—both shifters and humans fight—but Levi only steps in the ring with humans.

Pushing off the table, I scoot the chair back and move to the door, locking it. I shut off all the lights as I walk to my bedroom. I live in a small apartment where my living room, kitchen, and dining room are in the same room. My bedroom is small, and the bathroom is attached. I live simply, partly because it’s necessary, and partly because I have to be prepared for a day when I have to help what’s left of my family. I indulge in little things; pillows, blankets, and fuzzy socks. They give me a sense of comfort. I get ready for bed, stripping to my underwear and brushing my teeth and hair. As I wash my face, I twist back and forth, studying my body. My boobs are mostly where they are supposed to be, even though I’m creeping closer to my forties. I’m thirty-six and on the downward slide, very aware things can change overnight. I’ve got curves and a healthy sex drive, but I rarely have relationships. Trusting men is difficult, which isn’t surprising considering my past.

Sighing dramatically, I shut off the light and walk to my bed. Pulling down the blankets, I slide on my socks, settle in the middle of the mattress, and snuggle in.

My mom is a human who is selfish and money hungry. An overall bad person. There are bad people of every kind. Stanly and my mom are examples of very different species, yet they use the people they claim to love.

Janet, my loving mother, is a career scammer. My dad walked away when I was nine. He packed all his shit one day, told my mom to fuck off, and left. He barely glanced my way as he slammed the door. I should be mad, but I get why he did it. He was sick of dealing with a woman who cheated on him and spent every dime he made on alcohol, parties, and other men.

Since I turned fourteen, I’ve worked. My first job was at a restaurant, cleaning tables. I was grateful for the free meal they gave me, knowing Mom didn’t have food in the house. I would use some of the money I made to feed Levi and hide the rest. Even at that age, I knew Mom would steal it if she knew where it was. I got older and graduated to working as a waitress. I couldn’t get away with hiding all my money, so I gave her half and told her that’s all I had. I worked my ass off, going to school and working once the day was done. I didn’t spend time with friends on the weekends but worked at whatever job I could get. I didn’t have much of a childhood since I had to be the adult.

That was my life. In some ways, it still is. I don’t live with my mom, but she is very much a part of it. Unfortunately, she calls several times a week, begging for money or to complain about the man of the month dumping her and taking all her money away. I’m ashamed to say that I have given her what she’s wanted several times just to get her to stop calling. I don’t make lots of money. Working as a receptionist at a hotel, even a nice one, doesn’t pay that well. I also work as a waitress at a bar a few nights a week.

Closing my eyes, I try to relax, hoping my dreams are filled with someone who takes care of me for a change. I’ve given up my dreams for the future. I wish I could have finished my nursing degree. I like taking care of people, making a difference in someone's life, but I’ve been stuck caring for two people who don’t appreciate it. I’m so fucking tired of being strong. Love is never given freely by my family. They say it after I give them what they want. I wonder what it is like to feel it from someone who doesn’t take from me.

I doubt I will ever find that kind of love.

“Sir,” I say sweetly, smiling so brightly my cheeks hurt. “I can upgrade you to another room.” My hand clenches the pen I’m gripping.

“You don’t understand.” He pounds his fist on the counter. “I found a hair on my pillow,” he thunders. I have to force my eyes not to stray to his balding head.

“As I said, I am so sorry.” The customer is a rich asshole, and nothing I have said is making him cool off. I have been on my feet all day, catering to customers like him. It’s taking all my restraint not to punch him.

“Sorry doesn’t mean shit,” he snaps, splaying his hand flat. “What about the emotional damage?” I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood.

“I can reimburse you for the room and upgrade you,” I repeat the same sentence for the tenth time. At the customer's insistence, I have already called my manager, who told me to do exactly what I’m attempting to do.

“It’s not good enough.” The only reaction I allow is the twitch of my eye.

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