I left the blinds open.
The sunlight is absolutely blinding and I feel like throwing up.
I do.
After brushing my teeth I grab a cup of coffee.
2 creams, 3 sugars.
Still oddly bitter,
but good.
I grab the bottle of extra strength Tylenol and it feels too light.
Empty.
Fuck.
I throw on the same flip flops from last night and make my way to the convenience store.
7/11,
truly a convenient store.
The bell chimes and I see the same girl from last night working the register.
"You go home last night?"
She smiles a little.
"Stayed home long enough to sleep."
The bags under her eyes seem to easily validate her claim.
"Tough."
I squint and press a hand to my forehead.
Goddamn migraine.
I grab a bottle of Tylenol and another slushee.
Cherry.
I open the bottle, pop one, then set the opened bottle on the counter.
The girl raises an eyebrow but scans without asking any questions.
"$6.50"
Tch.
"Fucking pharmaceutical companies."
She laughs a little.
Sounds nice.
"See ya."
She says and I press my hand to my heart,
"Scouts honor."
I shoot her a wink and I see a small blush arise on her pale face.
Cute.
The migraine rears it's head as I make my way home.
Thank god it's my day off.
Or at least I would be relieved if my mother wasn't camping by my front door.
"What? You leave your pension on my door mat?"
"Becca you know why I'm here."
I squint at her.
Wish she was a fucking mirage.
"Look mom, I don't wanna date Steve fucking whatever ok? I don't want to get married and I don't even want to be with a guy."
Here we go again.
"Becca, you know how I feel about this. It's unnatural."
She seems queasier than me after a bender.
"Yeah, well, your beach blonde dye job is unnatural. One more dye and you'll need a wig."
Her face resembles a fire hydrant and I slip past her petite body.
"Thanks for visiting mom. Always happy to hear your religious trauma bullshit."
She opens her mouth to talk again but I slam the door in her face.
Bad idea.
Another colossal crack blooms on my poor door.
Maybe I'll use moms pension to pay for a new door.
I laugh a little.
What a nut-case.
Bang Bang Bang.
Shit.
"BECCA STOP SLAMMING YOUR GODDAMN DOOR OR I'M TAKING IT OFF THE HINGES."
"Sorry Aren! I'll be more careful! Prick."
I whisper that last part obviously.
Aren. My dear neighbor.
If the drug dealers don't take him out, his high cholesterol will.
I open my door and see my moms Volvo is gone.
Geez that woman is persistent.
I gently close my door and collapse on my couch.
Slam!
"Oh! Becca, you're home! Listen I found this sweet new blanket at Walmart. Here feel it. Oh my it's so soft!"
I feel a thin sheet being tossed onto my face and it really is soft.
"That's great Marie, but I really cannot handle your energy right now."
She nods slightly.
"Your mom huh? Geez that woman needs to learn how to mind her own bees wax."
You tell em Marie.
"Well try not to get too hammered. I need you at the shop tomorrow! Oh and keep the blanket. Consider it a your-mom-is-shitty-so-you-need-some-type-of-comfort gift!"
She skips out the door and slams it.
I wince slightly.
Bang Bang Bang.
"STRIKE TWO BECCA YOU DOOR SLAMMING HEATHEN."
Ugh.
YOU ARE READING
These Walls Belong to Us
Fiction généraleA convenience store employee just trying to get by and a woman shunned by her family for her way of life. The only commonality: they have paper thin walls.
