Shallow River - Page 4
“Oh, look. We can agree on something,” I answer, emotionless as ever. “Do you have the goddamn money or what?”
She reaches into her dirty nightgown pocket and pulls out a few wadded up bills.
Dollar bills, to be precise.
“Please tell me you’re fucking joking.”
An evil grin slides across her face. Some of the crust cracks and flutters to her lap. I can hardly feel disgust.
“That’s all you deserve.”
I roll my eyes. If this waste of flesh had it her way, she wouldn’t even give me half a penny. Not that the woman would put any effort into sawing the penny in half anyway—not when she has to save her energy for fucking men for drugs.
“What I deserve and what you’re required to do are two different things, Barbie,” I retort, trying to keep my cool and failing. I’m not even angry she doesn’t have my money. I expected it actually. But fuck, having to be in this woman’s vicinity more than what’s absolutely necessary does strike irritation in my soul. Barbie not having all the money means I have to come back.
She isn’t used to our new arrangement yet, but she has no choice but to get intimate with this new relationship between us.
“Where’s the rest?” I ask while simultaneously begging Jesus for patience. And maybe some divine intervention. If a tree is struck by lightning and falls directly onto the house exactly where she’s standing, I’d become a nun.
“In my veins,” she snips, turning to open the fridge. I curl my lip when mold wafts from the old thing. The fridge was broken when I still lived here, and Lord knows she can’t afford a new one when she snorts or injects all the money she’s not forking over to me.
She pulls out a half empty water bottle.
I never was a half-glass-full type of chick.
I snort when I glimpse the utter emptiness in the fridge before the door swings shut behind her. Which means that mold has been there for a while, and she just never cleaned it. All cleaning ceased to exist the moment I moved out.
Figures.
“Let me guess: didn’t get enough clients? Has your moneymaker finally dried up from all the STD-ridden dicks you stick inside of it?”
“Fuck you, River,” she hisses, throwing the now empty bottle at me. It falls short and thuds uselessly to the ground. How poetic.
“That was just embarrassing to watch,” I say, smiling at her anger. She looks tempted to charge at me, but we both know I’d knock her out easily.
I picked enough fights in my childhood to breed myself into a scrappy bitch. Not that I need to know how to fight when it comes to a half-dead wraith like her trying to hurt me. Those fights were lessons, and they wouldn’t have been as vital as oxygen in my lungs if it wasn’t because of her and her clients. It’s something I’ll never say thank you for, but she can thank herself if she ever has the misfortune of running into my fist.
“I should’ve—”
“We are both well aware of the things you should’ve done, Barbie. But alas, that doesn’t change the fact that you don’t have my fucking money,” I snap, finally becoming fed up with this merry-go-round we constantly find ourselves on.
She opens her mouth to spew more poisonous words my way, but a knock on the front door cuts her off. Her lip curls.
“Get out, I have a client.”
I throw the useless dollar bills back at her, the crumpled paper balls falling at her feet.
“Work extra hard tonight. I want my money by Tuesday.”
Three days should be plenty for a whore like her.
Two
River
PRESENT- TWO YEARS LATER
I SLIDE IN THE car with a bright smile on my face, my eyes already pinned to my boyfriend. Dark blonde hair swept to the side, a maroon sweater with a collared flannel peaking around his neckline and wrists, pressed khakis, loafers and a wristwatch. He drips elegance and class.
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