Daytona Baby [N.H]

50

—6 months later—

Olivia Campbell

The clean line of white powder burned my nose as I inhaled it off the counter. It used to be an occasional indulgence but it's quickly become my sole supporter. Just to help me get through my shift, which technically starts in five minutes. I grabbed a glass from beside the sink, rinsed it once and filled it with water under the tap. I downed it in three gulps to saturate my dry mouth. My never-failing wake-up routine.

I headed to the bathroom, stepping over dirty clothes and quickly put on some makeup. Although, it was more like touching it up because when I got back from work early this morning I was too tired to wash it off so I ended up wiping my eye shadow and lipstick with a wet paper towel and going to bed before the sunrise.

I haven't seen the sun in months. My shifts usually start around nine or ten at night and I'm off by three-thirty in the morning at the latest if it's busy. And since we're approaching winter, I'm always asleep during the short window of daylight. I've been living a monotonous cycle of working all night, sleeping all day, only giving myself enough time in between to shower and eat if I feel like it. Which is almost never.

When a stranger asks how I'm doing out of obligatory politeness, I say "Living the dream" and they laugh, because we all know that's a lie. This isn't a dream, it's a fucking nightmare. There used to be a time where if someone asked the same question I could give the same answer and actually mean it. It feels like an eternity ago and at the same time I remember every detail. Like it was only yesterday that my life was so viciously upturned, when it was over six months ago now.

My parents were the opposite of sympathetic. Acting as if I was some begging stranger and not their only child coming to them for help when I had nowhere else to go. My dad hardly spoke to me except to say he's become more and more disappointed every time he's heard from me, wondering how I managed to turn out the way I did. My mother only listened to what I had to say so she could snub her nose at me, reminding me that she was right about them all along. For once, I could agree.

Then when I mentioned coming home for a bit until I could save up some money and get back on my feet, they laughed. They actually fucking laughed at me and said they'd given me a chance weeks ago to come home and sort everything out, and I'd said no. I'd told my mother on the phone that day in Nashville that I'd be fine without her help, so she made the decision right then and there to cut me off from it. And now that I needed them, the door was closed. I should've known they'd be that cold to me. They sent me on my way without even the possibility of staying the night. Because as I put it before, I'm a grown adult and I can take care of myself.

And I have been. I've been...surviving. There's a two-month pile of take-out containers by the kitchen sink, clothes covering the bathroom floor, and I hate my job so much that sometimes I want to die, but I'm surviving. Barely. But surviving nonetheless.

So after my parents basically disowned me, I resorted to my backup plan and made my way to Mackenzie's place since Kayla lived on campus and I wouldn't be allowed in the dorms. But I quickly reached a dead end in this plan, too. Mackenzie wasn't as happy to see me as I'd hoped. She was confused at first, considering how late it was, and she let me in. Then once I told her my predicament, she became hostile, saying I only cared to reach out because I needed something, after I ignored her and Kayla for a month.

I tried to explain everything, about the tour, about my phone, about how I meant to get back to them, but she wasn't having any of it. Apparently she and Kayla discussed it in length and decided they're done being my last option. I didn't fight her on it since I wasn't making a good case for myself by showing up after dark begging for help.