When I wake up, the sun glares through my blinds. I shake my head and wisps of hair cradle my cheeks. I heard that when you wake up, for the first three seconds, you don’t remember anything. You’re dream, the night previous, where you are, your thoughts, who you are. Sometimes three seconds is a lifetime, sometimes it’s just three seconds. Right now, I wish that it felt like a lifetime, because I want to leave all of my past forgotten.
But when I run my fingers through the wisps, I remember it all.
Guilt washes over me at the way that I treated that poor boy. I’m such a bitch. He was doing what I probably would’ve done in that situation as well. I growl, tipping out of my bed with a stumble. I close my curtains with a swish and lazily pull on some black leather pants and a red and white and black flannel over my t-shirt. I need shoes. I’ve got work in . . . I glance at the clock.
Fuck.
I’ve got work in ten minutes ago. I make a mad dash to my coat closet and pull on some black boots. I don’t take the time to lace them up, the tops flapped over themselves. I grab my keys and purse before dashing out of the door and down the sidewalk to my car. I pull open my door and stick the key into the ignition. A sputtering sound emits from my under my hood. “No,” I whisper.
I get out of my car, pulling my key and back with me. My backside hits the ground as I slide down against the side of the SUV. Wisps of hair fall between my finger tips, dangling in front of my face. I can’t lose this job. Mom will tell me she told me I couldn’t keep it together. That I’m still a child. I am. But I need to grow up. I shake my head, letting out a frustrated groan.
I can’t keep it together, is the thing.
I rock back and forth my hindquarters, shaking my head. I can’t sit here, though. I still need to go to work. With a sigh, I’m up on my feet. Wishful thinking leads me to open my car door again. I stab the key into the ignition, turning it over. It just barely sputters to life and I let out a grateful ‘whoop’. I pull out of my complex’s lot and speed as fast as I’m willing to go down the road.
I swing into the parking lot at thirty-five and pull into the closest spot I can find to the door. I hastily jump from my car, locking it down. My beat up flip phone falls out of my jacket pocket and onto the ground. This thing has been through hell and back. I scoop it up, checking the time. I’m only twenty five minutes late. I can work with this; usually I’m on time, if not early, and always punctual either way. If I didn’t make it all today, I bet they’d fire me for sure.
I tuck my phone back into my pocket and push open the door. My manager, Bethany, stands behind the counter flipping though a Rolling Stones magazine. She’s the complete opposite of how you think she’d look; she doesn’t look like she could own a motorcycle or be a total badass. Hell, she looks like I used to: blonde hair, no piercings, and light makeup. I think she uses her personality to her advantage, to surprise people.
I let the door fall closed behind me, shutting out the cold air. Beth lets the magazine fall closed. “Oh, thank god. Took you long enough. I’m going for my break; I’ve been here since Brandon left, and that was three hours ago. Why the hell do we open so early? Marley needs to get his kid's shit straight and not let him make his own decisions. Brandon is practically two.”
