The Socialites. [✖]

(REVISED) 7. Teenage Fantasy

Revised Version: Teenage Fantasy

Rickey

East Los Angeles

Black motor oil trickled onto the concrete pavement.

Sweat and sins beaded across my forehead, my calloused hands hardened and sore.

Swiftly rolling my upper half beneath the cool shade of pickup truck finding respite away from the unforgiving sun.

Keeping my eyes fixated on angling the container below the drain plug before allowing the flow of gushing black liquid to pour freely. Laying there I mentally cursed myself for forgetting my headphones but even drowning out my sorrows wasn't enough to ignore the chaos within me.

Seeing Sugar again sent my mind into a tailspin.

And I dreaded the possibility of falling back down that rabbit hole.

For more than half my sentence Sugar captivated my every thought, my every dream to the point I believed my purpose was to be with her. I knew madness ran in my family, yet I never thought of my obsession with Sugar to have been unhealthy until I began my mandated therapy sessions.

And Sugar made it perfectly clear she'd wanted nothing to do with me by her lack of presence and every unanswered letter.

What could she possibly want from me now?

After three years of moving forward and moving on just to end up down the drain in the matter of seconds.

Nah fuck that.

Despite everything that's happened, my mistakes managed to create a life somewhere out there. I could never regret our son. And despite how bad Sugar is for me. I knew I couldn't ignore her forever.

"Yo white boy, you still here?" Sabrina's voice managed to pull me out of my thoughts.

Once the oil stopped draining, I quickly screwed back on its drain plug and rolled back coming in contact with the short latina. "Yup".

Sabrina's eyebrows furrowed in confusion "Woah you've been here since Miguel's shift, and you haven't died of a heat stroke yet!?".

"I've done harder labor in prison unfortunately" I shrugged off her concern using the bottom of my shirt to wipe off some sweat. Sabrina followed me with folded arms. "Alright talk to me. What's wrong?"

Now it was my turn to be confused, why would she possibly care about what's going on. "What do you mean? Nothing's wrong".

"Who in their right mind stays in this hot ass garage for over twelve hours working till your hands go numb just for fun" Sabrina huffed. Her eyes were searching me looking for a reason. "I don't pay you to work yourself to death!"

"You barely pay me at all" I countered earning a scoff from her.

"UNTIL YOU GET YOUR LICENSE TRAINEE....but that's besides my point white boy!" She pointed her finger at my chest accusingly before dragging a stool towards my workstation and taking a seat.

Wiping off my tools I looked over the hood of the pickup truck observing what else needed to be worked on remaining silent and unmoved by her. I didn't necessarily feel like airing out all of my dirty laundry to just anyone. I knew Sabrina worked with many people just like me in this garage so what difference would another sob story make? I didn't need her criticism nor her pity.