Fourteen hundred dollars. That's what we came home with from the party between the two of us, and it wasn't even hard to do. My mind was blown. All I had to do was show a little leg, a little interest, and the rest seemed to do itself. I can understand how easily people got caught up in this.
Not only that, but I had given out my phone number to several people last night and some of them have already texted me today in hopes of securing something later in the week. I've even got a couple of texts from people I don't know. Should I get a pager? Isn't that what drug dealers do? Drug dealers and doctors, I think. Do they even still make pagers?
I let out a deep breath before lying back against the sofa, struggling to bring my mind back to the now. Although the party was fun and the money was good, I feel exhausted in every sense of the word. My brain is tired, my body is sore, and I'm hungover. At least I assume that's what's happening. It would be my first hangover. I remember the look in my dad's eyes on the first sober days after his frequent binges, and I would bet if I were to look in the mirror right now I wouldn't see much of a difference - which is an idea that bothers me more than I'd like.
I'm wearing an old pair of Kendrik's basketball shorts he left here one day back when we were dating. He'd asked for them back when we broke up but I lied and told him I didn't know where they were. It wasn't that they smelled like him, or that I wanted a memory or anything of the sort, they're just stupid comfortable and I grew attached to them. More attached than I was to the man, that's for sure. I'm grateful for that today because combined with an old worn-out camisole and a ratty messy bun, they seem to be comforting me today, and I definitely need it.
Soft snores are coming from the other side of the couch where Gabby fell asleep watching Room Raiders. It was some horrible reality show they aired in the early two-thousands. To be honest, I don't even know how she found it. It seems like something MTV would try to bury because it's positively horrendous. I often wonder how this made it through multiple sets of checks and balances to make it to an executive that ultimately said, "Yes. That's the one. Greenlight it."
But that's Gabby for you. The more guilty she should be for the pleasure, the more pleasurable she found it. I should really turn it off, but I'm buried in mindlessly scrolling through a deluge of social media videos at the moment and can't seem to get my ass off the sofa, so I don't miss a beat when the text comes through from my Dad.
I'm not sure I can pay the light bill, can you text your grandma and see if you can get some help?
At this point, I'm the only person in the family that hasn't cut him off. I'm not sure I'm capable of it, to be honest. He is my dad after all. Even though I do hold him responsible for my shit childhood and everything that happened with my mother, I can't seem to pull the plug on the relationship. I'm sure there's some sort of healing that it would induce but I'm not in the mind space to examine that just yet.
My father hasn't been able to pay his own bills for quite some time. When I was about twelve years old he had destroyed his back on a job site. After that, what was once a little bit of overdrinking became something else entirely. Partying on the weekends with friends became partying alone. What was once or twice a week became five nights a week. He'd drink in the morning when he woke up and wouldn't let up until days later. And he isn't a nice drunk.
Before I even responded to my dad I was trying to talk myself into texting my Grandma. I couldn't let him go without electricity, but my Grandma won't even answer the phone when he calls. I don't feel good about lying to her, either. There's no way she'd pay the bill when I'm not living there. It's while I'm sorting through my complicated morality of lying in this situation when I get another text.
Hey Girl. It's Benson, from the party last night. Can you meet up?
I find myself sucking my lip into my mouth while my fingers rest just above the open keyboard on my phone. Maybe there was a simpler answer to the question. A simpler solution. One that required less lying. I fired a text back to my dad asking how much he needed first, before responding to Benson.
Yep. How many?
I've watched enough movies to know that if I'm going to text about drug dealing, I need to keep it as vague as humanly possible.
Four
That's a hundred and sixty right there. Granted, it isn't all profit, but if I keep moving things at this rate, I'll be right where I need to be in no time.
Meet ya at Jimmy's in an hour.
***
I left Gabs snoozing on the sofa and got myself just ready enough to make the journey to my favorite burger joint. I realize that I might be doing some damage to my sexy party-girl image, but I don't give a fuck. I'm hungover and I need some greasy food in my stomach.
I pulled the door open and the smell of fried foods wafted out the entryway to greet me immediately. For the first time today, the smell of food didn't cause a deep need to run praying to the porcelain god, and instead made my mouth water in an entirely different kind of anticipation. I arrived intentionally early so I could order some food and grab a booth out of the way of the main part of the restaurant in hopes of avoiding the late afternoon rush.
I was sitting down with my bacon burger when Benson slid in across from me, letting his eyes drift over the grease trap lying on the table in front of me, his eyes alight with humor.
"You're really not like other girls, you know that?"
I cocked my head to the side. "I hate to break it to you, but it's not like there's a chick-xerox machine somewhere just pumping out basic bitches with Jeeps, leggings, and Ugg Boots."
He grins. "I don't think you can make that joke until October. It's still too hot for Ugg Boots."
I look down out my current jeans and t-shirt combo before giving a shrug. He's not wrong. I sink my teeth into my burgers, chewing quickly and washing the bite down with my drink.
"Did you bring the cash?"
He nods, pulling out a hundred and sixty dollars in crisp twenty-dollar bills and setting them on the opposite side of my tray so it wouldn't be clearly visible to anyone that might wander by.
I push over an empty water cup I had secured before he got here that has his pills inside of it. He takes it without hesitation. I realize that I should probably be more nervous than I am, but try not to dwell on it.
"What are you girls up to tonight?"
I look him over briefly then. The set of his mouth, the warmth in his eyes. He's interested. In more than the drugs. It's the look I kept finding in the eyes of the other guys I met at Dave's party last night. And I'm not even being cute. I'd actually argue I'm currently being downright disgusting.
"It's Sunday. Some of us have this thing called classes throughout the week."
My comment didn't melt his smile or seem to put him off his goal in any way as he proceeded, completely skirting my rebuff, "You girls should come over tonight. We're having some of the frat guys over for a little grilling. It'll be chill."
Benson isn't a bad guy, but we've never been particularly friendly. Acquaintances at best. He'd been in a few of my required classes last year, but we never really made any effort to further our friendship. So why was he asking me to come to his house now?
"Thanks, but I'm busy."
His eyes met mine and he knows it's bullshit. I know he knows it's bullshit, and he knows I know he knows. But he doesn't push it, and I'm grateful for it. He does, however, give me some parting knowledge.
"Alright. I get it. Another time. Just so you know, though, I did give your number to a couple of friends. I didn't tell them who you are, though, so you can keep anonymity if you want. Or not even answer the texts. Or if you would rather, I can make them go through me. Whatever you're most comfortable with."
I have my mouth full when he lays down this little nugget of truth. I hadn't really considered branching off into a criminal enterprise, but in truth - I can see the opportunity here. It does seem that people are more than happy to give me their business, but that doesn't mean that I want everyone knowing what I'm up to.
Aside from the police, there's the school, but more than either of those, the idea of Kaden figuring me out any more than he already has rankles. Sure, there's a large part of me that fears his more violent side, but there's another feeling I can sense gliding just beneath the surface as well - one I'm not sure that I'm really ready to look at much further just yet.
I clear my throat before washing down my last bite. "Yeah, sure. I'll see what's up. If I don't want to respond, I'll let you know. Fair?"
Benson gives me a nod, before reaching over and giving me a half handshake/handhold/hand pat thing that was easily the most awkward thing anyone has ever done to me. What the hell?
"Yeah, cool man. See ya," I say, pulling my hand back to my side of the table before he has the opportunity to do anything even more clumsy than he already had.