What's So Good About Picking Up The Pieces?

One: Ten Years Later

"No, do not place the Robertsons' in 2204... Because, A-1 Prestige is coming to look at the plumbing... it's backed up for whatever reason... Look, I know they made reservations last month... Just, given them the complimentary suit... Yes, 4355... Yes, just tell them that Autumn Ray authorized it, and give them free room service for two nights. Is that all, Tiffany? Great. Well, if that's it, I need to return to my conference now; call me if you need anything else." I clicked end and shoved my phone back into my brief case. After exiting my general conference meeting, I made a quick trip to the bathroom. And whenever I began washing my hands, my reflection seemed very bold for some reason. So I took a step back and analyzed myself. Wow, I've changed so much; in high school, I never would have thought I would get a job like this. To be honest, when I was eighteen, I kind of saw myself job hopping between many different things. But as of now, I've been one of the three general managers at The US Grant Hotel in San Diego for five years. I know, I told myself, The point in high school was to get far away from San Diego. But oddly, after meeting my current boyfriend Damen, he urged me to stay. And since Damen didn't work any job at all, I was forced to live this double-life.

What do I mean by double-life? Well let me start with when I wake up in the morning.

My morning starts at 4:30 A.M, Monday through Sunday, and I have to be at The US Grant by six A.M. So, I proceed waking up by curling my hair into some fancy up-do shit that I would never wear outside of work. After my hair is snooty and pretentious looking, I then am obliged to put on a face of makeup that I don't even want to wear (besides the eyeliner and mascara, but I can't even go too heavy on those two). And after I brush my teeth, I have to slip on some formal attire of usually a black pencil skirt, a white button up blouse, and a black, long sleeve dress jacket, 'complimenting' the whole outfit with black heels. The whole get-up isn't my style, but I have no choice. It's work. I have to dress professional.

Then my days end normally around 2 P.M., unless some asshole customers decide to raise hell, in which case some days I find myself staying even later or until the next general manager comes in for her shift at 3 P.M. So then, I drive the car, which my boyfriend and I share, back to our little one bedroom, one bathroom house. After arriving home... well, you'll see.

"Hi Damen," I sighed with exhaustion as I trudged through the front door and sat down my brief case. 

"Excuse me, hi what?" he questioned angrily.

Shit, he hates it when I call him by anything other than the names he approves of. I flinched, hoping he wouldn't reach out for me. "I-I'm sorry. Hello, dear."

A smile washed over his once furious face. "Much better." He walked over and kissed my cheek quickly. "How was work?"

"Well, it was-"

"Nuh uh, hold it. Don't even bother speaking to me until you get out of that god awful outfit." He made a disgusted face.

"Yes, dear," I answered to his command, turning on my heels and strolling down the hallway.

See the thing with Damen was... his moods shifted, a lot. One minute he was incredibly happy and loving, the Damen that I fell for, and the next moment he turned into the Spawn of Satan it seemed. Yes, he's hit me. Yes, he's cursed at me. Yes, he's done bad things to me. But all of that could usually be avoided... if I followed his every command and kept him happy. I never thought too much of it though; I mean, it's kind of the life I grew up with anyway. 

I walked into our bedroom and headed immediately for the dresser drawers, pulling out a pair of black and white checkered shorts and a loose, grey tank top. Once I stripped myself of the heels, stockings, skirt, blouse, and jacket, I looked at myself in the mirror. The only thing that was the same about my body now versus ten years ago was my thin composure, showing rib-cage, and icy blue eyes. Other than that, my hair was now dyed completely black, and my green tips were gone; I had a couple tattoos up and down my arms, and I had several piercings. Then, my eyes caught something that was the same, yet different about my body... my cuts. They were still there, in the same spot as ten years ago, only now they've migrated also to my stomach and my thighs. I exhaled with great sadness, wondering just how my life ended up the way it did.