Cindy. Even thinking her name makes me roll my eyes. She is so…freaking perfect. She fits in with his order and perfection. Why do I care so much? Oh yeah, because she’s going out with my Mr. Vanilla. My? Fuck me. Yeah, like I ever had a chance with him. He thinks I’m strange, which isn’t far off the mark. I clearly would never fit into his world.
Leaning back, I quickly rinse out my hair, and wash my body. Grabbing a couple of big fluffy white towels, I wrap one around my body and use another to dry my hair, dropping it on the floor when I’m done.
The bathroom is completely white, and bigger than my entire rent-by-the-week motel room. There’s not one dash of color anywhere in here. Except for me. The water has remnants of purples and pinks from some of my hair dye washing out, as does the towel I dropped on the floor. Even the tile is spotted with droplets of hair dye, making it look like a unicorn pissed on the floor. For some reason it makes me smile. Maybe because I know that this will probably annoy him as much as I’m annoyed by his date with Cindy. Who knows, maybe it’s not a date.
Who am I kidding? Between what she was wearing, and his putting on a fresh suit, they were obviously going somewhere nice. Probably some place so nice I couldn’t get a job waiting tables there.
Grabbing the t-shirt Vanilla gave me off the sink counter, I slip it on. The shirt fits my hips snugly but still drops to mid-thigh, reminding me how tall he is. His body is lean and has more of a runner’s build than that of a man who lifts a lot of weights.
I bet the shirt would be loose on little Miss Cindy, but I’d also wager she hasn’t eaten all week. That thought reminds me I haven’t eaten all day. Making my way towards the kitchen, I can’t help but notice how bland everything is. The penthouse is beautiful with windows that let in the light from the city, but everything seems so emotionless. I walk over to a window and place my forehead against the cold glass as I look out. His place is on the top floor and it’s hard to make anything out, being up so high. I feel my fingers twitch, and I would give anything to have a paint brush right now. It’s been too long.
Shaking my head at the silly idea of painting, I make my way into the kitchen. I should probably call my brother before he freaks out. It’s still early and I don’t want to forget. Grabbing the phone off the counter, I dial his cell.
It rings twice before going to voicemail, letting me know I just got the ‘fuck you, ignore’ button, but I’m not surprised. Sam never answers phone numbers he doesn’t recognize. I wish I still had a cell phone so I could just text him, but I guess I’ll just leave a message.
“Sam, it’s Becs, just wanted to let you know I won’t be home tonight. I landed a sweet new job that comes with room and board and pays a lot more, so I’ll still be able to help with the rent. I’ll come by around ten tomorrow morning so I can give you all the details. I love you and don’t worry. See you tomorrow, and I’ll bring breakfast. Be safe,” I say before hanging up. I wish I could’ve left a number, but maybe he’ll call back using the caller id of the number that came up.
I hate not being there to make sure he makes it home, too. If he lands himself in jail again, he has no way of getting ahold of me. Or worse, he could end up in the hospital. I love my brother, and though we may not be related by blood, he’s still my brother. He has been for years. Since I was ten years old and he beat the shit out of our foster father when the bastard snuck into my room one night. Sam didn’t come out unscathed. He spent a night in the hospital and had three broken fingers. We got transferred the next day to new homes, and luckily we ended up in the same house. We were always able to land in the same homes after that, until we were old enough to leave on our own. We’ve been jumping from shelter to shelter and the random motels over the past few months.
I’ve only been on the street for about eight months now, but most of the foster homes felt like living on the streets anyways. It wasn’t a big difference, just with the foster homes you always knew you had a place to lay your head at night. We were just checks to most of them, though. Even the times when I tried to be perfect for them, they still didn’t give a shit. That’s when I stopped caring what people thought about me. My parents didn’t want me, no foster family ever wanted to keep me, but I always had Sam. He’s been my one constant since I was ten.
He’s been getting himself mixed up in some bad stuff lately. There are certain people you just stay clear of, but Sam can’t seem to do that. He likes to play with the wrong people, which scares the hell out of me. Nico is the worst. He gives me the freaking creeps with the way he looks at me. It reminds me of a few of my foster fathers’ looks. I know he deals, and God knows what else, but Sam just can’t stay away from him. Every time I bring up not hanging out with Nico anymore, he snaps at me. I think he might be doing jobs for him after Nico gave me the money to bail him out of jail. Sam made me get the money from him, and to say the situation of asking Nico for money was easy is putting it mildly. He practically threw it at me. Ever since then, Nico pretends like he has some claim on me. I keep trying to give him the money back but he won’t take it. Now he randomly shows up to places I’m at. At least now he won’t know where I work anymore.