As usual, I tried to sprint home from school. I knew that if Jay saw me while he was driving around, he'd take me to an extra trick. NOT something I want. My iPod was blasting my "Jay-Hating" song, Without Your Guitar. The lyrics and beat flooded me with a contempt that made the wheezing grasp for air as I dashed worth it. The knotted cramp was dissapating. "You take everything and leave me nothing. Caught up, I always followed and forgave you. I know all of this will come back to you. Take off the mask you hide behind," Oh, how I hate that man. "Hey, Autumn!" Shit. I have to stop or I won't get anything after my next night of work. Defeat. "Hi, Jay," I mumble. "I got a job for you and Zoey. She's already in the backseat. Come on," he gestures at me lewdly after spitting that out in a drunk voice. My friend from the biz weakly waves at me through the window. I run a hand through my hair. "Come on, Jay, I have my algebra final tomorrow. I gotta study," I beg. This was clearly not the right answer. "Bitch, get in!" he shouts. Should I bolt or submit?
I get in the car.
The job wasn't any worse than what I usually get. I don't want to make this too graphic, so I'll summarize. A drink for me and Zoey. An absence of clothing. A man who had to be about sixty watching us interact with another man. I leave feeling like a completely worthless slut. Oh, wait, I am. Another drink. I'm told to leave while Zoey has to stay. I walk home, trying not to scrape my skin off to rid myself of that man's touch, and pray the only prayer I know, the Glory Be, seventeen times until I've finalky reached my dingy old apartment building. When I climb up to the third floor where I live, I'm let in by Ava.
"Hey, Dove," I whisper as she wraps me in a hug. "Did you have a bad day at work, Autie?" she asks me. I nod. "And I have to go back tonight, Ava. I wish I could stay here and just shower all night, but someone has to make money for us. Where's Arianna?" Ava shrugs. "Doing homework in our room," Yep, the three of us share a small room. We have a bunk bed and a futon. Ari has the futon, I have the bottom bunk, and Ava has the top. "Are the IFP's home yet?" That would be Irresponible Foster Parents, by the way. Ava shakes her head again. "I'm hungry. Will you make dinner?"
Finding a bare pantry, I have to run to the bodega downstairs and get a box of spaghetti since it's all we have money for. Twenty minutes later, my sisters and I are full of pasta and barbeque sauce (we have no marinara), I'm in a tank and shorts and platforms, and I have to go back to "work,"
God, I hate this rut.
