Page 8 of Demons and Debts
‘Sure,’ I say sweetly and quickly tally their drinks bill. ‘Here’s your check.’
He pulls out a wad of cash in a money clip like he’s a fucking high-flying businessman, or something. My eyes flick down to it nervously. As it stands today, I don’t have enough to make the rent this month and even one of those hundreds would basically set me up for the week.
His eyes don’t leave mine as he takes the money out of the clip and makes a point of unfolding it slowly. He takes out a ten to cover the bill and then a twenty. He holds it out to me, and I hesitate.
‘For such good service,’ he drawls.
I reach for it and at the last second, he pulls it away.
‘But wait what am I thinking? You girls split tips, don’t you? There’s two of you working the tables tonight. One bill isn’t fair.’
He tears it in half.
‘There you go. Now you and your friend can share.’
He and his friends start laughing.
Swallowing my pride and my fury, I sink to the floor to pick up the pieces. I need them.
‘Would you look at that,’ Blondie says. ‘The bitch is already on her knees, and I only gave her a twenty!’
They’re practically rolling on the floor as I stand up, gripping both halves of the bill in my fist, wishing I could bury them in his fucking face.
Starting to feel numb, I’m pushed back as he gets out of the booth, his knuckles brushing against my breast in what must surely be an accident, I think. I turn away without another word and catch one of them murmuring about how weird I am to his friend as they leave.
The rest of my shift is relatively quiet. The frat boys don’t come back and neither does Dreyson. I’m out the door at midnight and walking for the bus. I catch the last one and give the driver a half-smile. It’s empty as usual and I take the seat I always do, settling in to stare out the window while at the same time looking at the reflection of the interior.
There is someone else in the back, I realize, my heart picking up as I surreptitiously stare. Male. Slumped over like he’s drunk. I keep an eye on him, but he doesn’t move in the half an hour it takes to get to my stop.
The driver stops without me having to pull the cord. He knows where I get off.
I murmur a good night and step out into the dark street. He shuts the door, but he always waits until I get inside the building, which makes me feel a little better when I get back late in this neighborhood.
Unlocking the main door, I slip inside, and the bus pulls away. The light in front of me flickers and I look away from it as I climb the stairs. The doors are all closed and I’m glad I don’t have to deal with the people who live in 21a and 25b. Whether from alcohol, drugs, or mental health issues, they tend to be unpredictable, and I’ve had enough of that today.
I get to my door, unlock it, and go inside my dingy apartment. There’s a living room, a small kitchen, and a bedroom down a short, narrow hallway with a small bathroom right next to it.
I shuck my jacket and empty my backpack, putting my wet clothes from earlier out to dry. I turn on the shower and take off my uniform, throwing it directly into the hamper. I hate the smell that clings to me, like stale coffee and onions. I get in while the water’s lukewarm because it never gets any hotter, scrubbing the stench of the diner from my skin and hair until I feel like some semblance of a human being again.
I was going to eat something, but as I get out of the shower, I realize how beat I am. I’ve been feeling more tired than usual for a couple of days now and I hope I’m not coming down with something. I still need another two hundred to make the rent this week and I know my landlady is going to come looking for me early. She wants me out becausesomeonecalled the cops on the couple downstairs dealing Meth who, it turned out, were her son and his girlfriend. #itwastotallyme … Oops. How was I supposed to know that skeevy dude was her son?
I practically fall into bed, my body aching as I pull up the comforter and close my eyes, hoping that tomorrow will be a better day.
* * *
Sie
The contractedgirl I fed from in the bar wasn’t enough and I’m going to need more. Soon.
I’m getting worse. I should tell Vic, but, knowing him, he’s probably already well aware. He isn’t the boss for nothing.
I glance in the mirror and then away. Red-rimmed eyes, dark bags. Even the scars on my face are starting to show. Fuck, I feel strung out and I’m going to need another meal today, not just the little snacks that seem to sustain the others. A daily buffet of females is going to be required if I don’t find a way to curb my appetite.
I wonder if that pretty little human will be back today. I groan aloud when I think of her, so different from the ones who usually come to the bar looking for us, for what we can do to their bodies and their minds. I don’t love the contracted girls, but I don’t hate them either. I rarely think of them at all to be honest. Sex with them is transactional. We get fed, they get high.
But that one from yesterday would taste so sweet going down. I know that much. She was trying not to appear innocent but compared with the other humans we have, I could smell it a mile off, her arousal too even though she was keeping those cards close to her chest. The things I’d make her feel …
Stop torturing yourself.
