Ignite (The Disciples 4)

“Wait. What job?” She sounds concerned and I couldn’t care less. All I want is to get off the phone.

“Just a job. I told you this earlier. Listen, I’ve got to go. Don’t worry about anything. Take care of you.”

“Toni, don’t hang up. I feel horrible.”

I almost say, Not that horrible, since you’re more than happy to leave me to deal with all this shit, but I don’t. I’m done. This day has been a roller coaster of emotions and I’m drained. I need to get inside and hide under the covers.

“Talk soon.” I don’t wait to hear what she says. Hanging up, I move to open the door.

“Hey, Toni.” I freeze for a split second and frantically put my key in the lock.

“Jesus Christ, can this day get worse?” I hiss as I swing the door open to dart inside. A thin white arm holds it open.

“I’ve been calling you. Did your dingbat friend inform you that you’re two months behind in rent?”

My slumlord stands in front of me. He’s not wearing his usual sweatpants today and is dressed in some tight skinny jeans that make his shape look even worse than in his stupid sweats.

“Hey, Ryan.” I smile and act as if I’m shocked and flustered with my bag and phone. Anything to get rid of him before he opens his mouth again. His garlic breath, which is already making me gag, fills the apartment.

“I just got off the phone with Bella.” I hold up my hand to stop him from talking. “And don’t worry. I’ll have the rent. But, you need to know that this is not our fault. Heather stole the money, so I need a little time to—”

He starts laughing and leans against the door, his black-rimmed glasses making him look like he tries too hard. I turn to face my apartment and try not to breathe.

“Listen, this is not my problem, Toni. I don’t run a charity here. You trusted Heather.” He crosses his arms, making his thin upper body accentuate his stomach, which is rolling over his tight pants and tight T-shirt.

“You know what that tells me? That you’re not too bright yourself. Get me my money by the first. In case you can’t remember, that’s in two days.” He looks at me like he means business and I have to fight my eye roll. Instead I smile.

“Will do.”

He’s such an arrogant dick and he has nothing, and I mean nothing to be arrogant about. Heather said he hates us because he’s gay. First, I don’t know if that’s true. Second, that wouldn’t make him hate us. Knowing her, she probably tried to pick him up and he turned her down, so that makes him “gay.”

“Toni? Are you listening?” He claps in my face. “Don’t think I won’t evict your skinny ass.” He lets go of the door and I stumble back.

“I’ll have it.” I slam it shut and bolt it.

Ryan sucks. He’s an all-around unattractive man with terrible garlic breath. His dad owns this block, so he’s a trust fund brat. Whatever, he’s a weirdo and has no compassion. Although he was never all that nasty to me. I was hoping he would give me a break, but now, desperation flows through me.

Dropping my dance bag, I try to calm my racing thoughts. Step by step is how I need to handle this. God. Why is everything piling on top of me lately?

“Okay. It’s okay,” I chant. As I exhale, warm tingles of fear snake their way up my esophagus. My stomach flips as I think about being homeless.

I need to get my mind back in the game. First, I’ll get the pole down and tell Crystal I can do double shifts. I don’t even know if they do that, but I’ll ask.

I need clothes, wigs, shoes… God, what am I going to do?

Screw it.

I’m broke and I’ll have to make do. I have plenty of costumes and I own one wig. It’s black and cut in a straight bob with bangs.

I march into my room, purposely ignoring that the place is trashed. Fucking Heather can’t even do moving right.

Swinging open my bedroom door, I go straight to my closet. It’s no use: I’ll have to suck it up and use one of my ballerina costumes. For a moment, I stop and let the bone-deep pain that shows up at the worst times run through me.

“They’re dead. Freakin’ stop, Antoinette.” I freeze. I’m talking to myself way too much. This happens when I’m stressed and scared. Flinging open my closet, I jerk my current clothes to the side to let all the ghosts of my past float out. Logically I know they can’t hurt me.

But they do.

After all this time, I still get that overwhelming dread that I’m bad luck. Nothing but darkness, sadness, and tragedy follow me. I fight back the tears—all they do is make my nose stuffy and serve no purpose. After I take a deep breath, my body calms.