Bad Boy Blues

Okay, first of all: I can’t just get in my car. I can’t.

I won’t.

My blue car that I used to love so much, the car that I spray-painted myself with my dad, scares me now. I can’t touch it. I won’t touch it. Because every time I do, I can’t sleep for days. I get nightmares. Sometimes I throw up, get dizzy, claustrophobic.

But I can’t tell her that. Because she’ll say the same thing that she’s been saying for the past year.

You need to see someone, Cleo. Talk to someone.

“I can’t,” I whisper, threading my fingers together. “I need this job. I need to get my house back.”

My old house. The house I grew up in.

The bank took it away last year because of my dad’s debts. After a lot of pleading, they gave me a second chance, along with a time limit to come up with the money. I only have about four more months to gather it and I need this job to get me there.

“Your parents wouldn’t have wanted this for you.”

“Well they’re not here, are they?”

I was trying to be snappish. But I guess, I sounded more… forlorn, like the orphan that I am.

Sighing, Maggie sits back. “Fine. I can’t make you do anything that you don’t want to do.”

My chest feels heavy but I still manage a trembling smile.

“But,” Maggie says, sternly. “I don’t want you inside the mansion after your shift’s over. Do you understand?”

I straighten my spine. “Yes.”

“No matter what happens. No matter how tempting it is to take revenge. You’re not a vigilante.”

“You mean like Wonder Woman?” I grin.

“It’s not funny.”

I shake my head seriously. “It’s not.”

Maggie nods in approval. “You will not set your foot inside this place if you’re not working. I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if someone else had found you loitering around instead of me. So no more nightly excursions.”

“Got it.”

Maggie looks me over. My navy blue lipstick, my blue hair and my black attire.

I’m used to such looks from people. Back on the south side, no one cared. But here, on the other side of town, people look at me with judgement. My blue, wavy, messy hair is the first indication that I’m not sophisticated enough. My navy blue lipstick means I don’t know a thing about fashion.

But coming from Maggie, it kind of hurts. It makes me self-conscious.

“It’s not a secret that you don’t follow the rules and Nora doesn’t like you very much for it.”

Nora is Mrs. Stewart aka Mrs. S and yup, she hates me.

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“It is. You can still quit and leave this town but since you don’t want to, let’s not flaunt how much we don’t care about the rules in her face. Let’s not try to get fired.”

“I wasn’t trying to –”

“Save it.”

I go quiet and tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear as Maggie continues, “Now, empty your pockets and give me whatever you had in there.”

Looking at her for a few seconds, I decide to just hand her all my goods. I fish out the pack of itch powder and the key and put them on the table.

Shaking her head, Maggie takes them into her possession. “Cleo. Cleo. Cleo.” She sighs. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Love me, maybe?”

Maggie chuckles. “Finish your pie and go home.”

Twenty minutes later and a lot of turning around to see if I’m still being followed, I’m in my cottage.

Servants’ cottages are located a little farther away from the main house. There are about five or six cottages in total, arranged in a semi-circle with woods at our backs.

I live in the smallest one with my best friend, Tina.

We’ve been BFFs ever since we were kids. A few guys stole her pink bike and I punched them to get it back.

Like me, Tina’s on the cleaning staff. College wasn’t for her either but unlike me, she always planned to come work at The Pleiades.

My room has a twin bed, a small dresser and an even smaller closet. The walls are white in color, which I’m not such a fan of.

When I first moved in, I thought I’d paint it blue with my dad’s paintbrushes; I saved a couple of his brushes among other things from my old house. But then I realized, I didn’t want to make it blue.

This isn’t home.

The north side, The Pleiades, they are not home. They are not my safe place. These are not my people.

My people – the people I can really call mine – are dead.

They’ve been dead for a year and I wonder how long it takes for the grief to go away and an orphan to not feel like one.

I put on my mom’s nightie, made of cotton and lace, and blue. My mom was a huge fan of the color blue. In fact, she had blue hair like me.