Birthday Girl

“Oh, that’s awesome,” I shoot back sarcastically, grabbing a pair of his boxers out of a drawer and one of his flannel shirts off the chair. “I’m only here to be with you, and you’re always gone. You know, I spend more time with your dad! Don’t you think that’s a little awkward for him?”

“You got somewhere else to go, then go if you’re so uncomfortable.”

My breath catches in my throat, and I glare at him. “Are you serious? You’re actually saying that to me right now.”

I already feel like a pathetic freeloader when I’m not the one who got us evicted. I’ve always been there for him. We’re friends, dammit. We’ve always looked out for each other. I would never make him feel.... Son of a bitch.

I pull on the boxers and throw off the towel, pulling on the red and brown flannel shirt and buttoning it. Tears spring to my eyes.

My sister was right. I could’ve sucked it up for a few weeks, worked at The Hook, and been able to stay in my place. At least I wouldn’t feel like I’m not wanted.

He moves toward me again, his voice softer. “All I’m saying is it would be nice to put the stress behind us once in a while and show each other a little attention. I can’t remember the last time we had sex.”

And after the sex? Everything that’s wrong would still be wrong.

“Maybe if I weren’t doing all your shit around here and working until 2 a.m., I wouldn’t be so tired all the time,” I tell him. “And maybe if you were helping me save money, so we could get our own place again instead of drinking your paychecks away every damn night, I wouldn’t be so worried and stressed about money. I feel fucking alone. Where are you?”

He just shakes his head, and I can’t help the tears from welling. But I refuse to cry. We need to talk, and he won’t. He won’t give me the one thing that will fix this.

He comes for me, taking my face in his hands. “Just shut up for a while and fuck me.”

He kisses me, and I squeeze my eyes shut, the tears now spilling over and streaming down my cheeks. Goddamn him. He steals my breath, covering my mouth and moving over my lips hard and forceful, and I want to give in. The stress and the worry have gone on so long and been too much, and if I could just forget for a while it would feel so good.

Gripping my ass in both hands, he lifts me up, forcing my legs around his waist, and we fall back on the bed, him coming down on top of me.

Something holds me back, though. Like I’m back in the trailer park with my dad and stepmom. They don’t see me.

Cole doesn’t see me. I could be anyone right now.

I tear my mouth away and push at him. “Get off me.”

“Baby, please.” He kisses my neck, and I know him well enough to know that sound in his voice. He’s upset, too. “Just be a girlfriend for tonight. We used to have fun. Let’s just have fun.”

“No.” I shake my head, tensing. “I’m pissed at you. I need some air.”

And I’ll feel worse when it’s over.

He keeps kissing me, and I growl, shoving him off. He finally lets go and falls to the bed next to me. He barely hesitates and then he’s on his feet and yanking open the bedroom door, charging out of the room.

In moments, I hear his engine start, tires peel, and then he’s gone.

Asshole.

But part of me can’t help but breathe easier now, too.

I feel like I belong here more when he’s not here.

He never used to treat me like that. Tears well in my eyes, but I blink, pushing them away.

Rising from the bed, I go over to the TV stand and pick up the stack of bills to be paid laying on top. A water bill from the old apartment, a doctor bill still not completely paid off from when I thought I broke my ankle last summer, a phone bill, and two of Cole’s credit card bills about to go to collection. I don’t have medical insurance, and every day I’m scared something is going to happen that will take me to the hospital for a twenty-thousand-dollar emergency room visit.

I have no working car, and even if I did, I can barely afford the insurance anyway, with whatever extra student loan money I’ll have after my tuition is paid in the fall going to living expenses. I can take out another loan, but I don’t want to be weighed down with that bill for the rest of my life, so I try not to take out much.

And every time I check the mail, there’s a new, unfortunate surprise.

Opening the top drawer of the bureau, I pull out my tips I’d made the last week that I haven’t deposited yet and spread out the wrinkled bills in my hands.

A hundred-forty-two dollars. The hole I’m in keeps getting deeper, because I’m not making enough to dig myself out.