𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖡𝗂𝗀 𝖢𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝖡𝗈𝗒 & 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖡𝗂𝗀 𝖢𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝖦𝗂𝗋𝗅

Chapter 7: The Big City Girl

                 Sammantha

After breakfast, I clean up, go upstairs, and get ready to leave. 

After getting ready I walk about a quarter of the way down the stairs and ask “Can I get your number?” that was kinda rushed. 

“Uhh. Nah, but I can give you my Instagram, or Facebook.” he recipes in a deep monotone voice. “Works for me,” I say as I continue to walk down the stairs and hand him my phone with Instagram already open. I watch him take my phone and his fingers move slowly. “Your hands are hot.” I- I did not just say that. I’m hungover, I- I dont know why the fuck I said that. I cover my face with my hands and SCREAM internally. He chuckles lightly “Thanks” OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD.

“So, uh” I trail off, “ Do you wanna get coffee or lunch sometime?” I really wanna get to know this guy. His apartment is so freaking cool. The black, dark green, and gold accents. Lots of art supplies, cat hair everywhere, and random art pieces on the wall. The art on the wall seems to be clouds, over sunsets or sunrises. Some other stunning land capes along with the clouds. 

He hands me my phone back. Mhm, “The_Big_City_Boys_Art” eh? That profile picture is of a very beautiful white cat. She is all over his Instagram. And stuff about being against rape, SA, drugs, and alcohol. I can't blame him. Too much alcohol and either you're a drunk or end up in jail. Some stuff about shitty parents too. When parents aren’t correcting their kids when they act out in public, or when kids use profanity and the parents dont do anything about it. Little boys going around the playground and looking up little girls' skirts, or just physically assaulting the little girls, and all the parents are saying “He just has a crush on you” Ma’am your child is crying or bleeding. What the actual fuck? 

Lots of art too. God, he’s good at art. Mostly street art. He takes commissions, too, on paper or canvas. Di- did I say he’s good at art already? Because he’s REALLY good at it. 

“I’m too hungover to be making plans right now. Maybe?? I- I don’t know yet” He replies. His voice questioning life. 

“Alright.” I say with a thumbs up. Uh, so I’ll dm you some time then?” “Yeah, whatever.” He says in a low and tired voice. “Alright, look. I need you to leave please.” He says while looking at me dead in the eyes. “I was heading out anyway.” I run back upstairs to get my things and get dressed. I run back downstairs and run out the door.  

I hop into my car and speed back to my apartment.

                            🖌️

I get into my apartment and my dogs are barking and jumping everywhere. “Shhh!” I hush. “Momy’s head hurts right now, so we need to be very very quiet ok?” I get a couple of huffs and low ruffs from Striker and Arlo. I walk by them into the kitchen and very slowly and painfully put out their food bowls and get them food. I live alone in a 500 square foot apartment. I would live in a smaller apartment if my dogs werent so big, I keep them on a raw food diet.
It healthier than kibble. You can’t really trust kibble, even the really expanise shit. Turns out dried food isnt always good for dogs, for one, most of the nutrients is lost when the kibble is being dried, and I sa on a commercial on TV once that moldy food sometimes with the plastic still on them is made into kibble.  Also dried food isnt a good diet for dogs, especially if it’s a working dog, a guard dog, police/military dog, shepard dog, ect. Now, Zade and Arlo are both rescues and are now my guard dogs.  And Spike is my Service Dog, he helps with my Autism. Royce helps me to guide my places, pick things up when I drop them and cant bend over to pick them up. He will lay a couple of feet away from me to give me space so people dont run into me, he will lay in top of me to help with my anxiety it’s called Deep Persure Therapy or DTP. He does a few more things but those are the main ones. I tend to get lots of stares in public for bringing with me where dogs arent allowed, BUT as a Service Dog he has to go with me everywhere I go. For most people, it's a a matter of life and death. Like people who are blind, in a wheelchair, have Postural Othrostatic Tachycardia Symdrom, also known as POTS, diabetes, ect. 

When I went to the doctors a few years ago, he said having a Service Dog would be great for my health, and Autism. He also said I have “Fibromyalgia”. It’s a chronic, long-lasting disorder that causes pain and tenderness throughout the body, as well as fatigue and trouble sleeping. Scientists do not fully understand what causes it, but people with the disorder have an increased sensitivity to pain. My doctor said it could be geneic if anyone else in my family has it. I asked my mom, dad, some aunts and cousin about any really bad health issues in the family other than cancer, that I should worry about becuase my doctor said my health is shit right now.

So yea. They didn’t really tell me much, so I'm in the dark for now. When my parents asked me why I was asking them, I told them hat my doctor told me and that I need a Service Dog. My dad’s a trauma nurse an my mom’s a cop so they understood since I’ve been on he waiting list for as Service Dog since I was 12. Apparently at the time my Autism wasnt enough for my doctor and told to suck it up or kill myself. That’s not what she, my doctor said exactly but that’s how it felt. Neddless to say I got a new doctor shortly after. My dad was pissed. My dad got her fired, and many others came out to sue Dr. Johnson, for being really fucking rude, dimissing people concerns and questions about their health and families health and many many other things as well. 

I set the dogs food bowls down and let them eat. Raw salmon, egg, some frozen chicken legs, some broccoli, beetroot, some blueberries and left over apple slices from my lunch the other day. 

I went to my room, and hopped in the shower. 

The hot water feel so good on my back right now. God,  didn’t even know how tense I was. I start to drift off then I jolted awake to the sound of a dog collar shaking. I finish up in the shower and get the fuck out because I’m about to fall over. I get changed into some cute cat pj’s and slip under the covers to fall back to sleep. When I get comfy, I hear the door slightly creek open and feel something or someone hope on the bed. I open my very tried eyes ever so slightly and see Spike. He laying next to me, sniffed me and licked my cheek a bit. “I love you too, Roycey.” He yawns, that means he’s stressed. I hear the oter two doggies come in and lay down at the foot of my bed, Striker gently closes the door with his nose just like I thaught him. I close my eyes once more and fall in a deep slumber.