The weight of what just happened dawned on me as I got a few steps away. Crying it out at home before reality hit seemed like the best plan. By the time I reached my place, it was already afternoon, way past my shift at the funfair. But today, slacking off was the only thing on my mind.
Tears welled up, and I craved privacy. Honestly, working wouldn't magically complete my rent anyway.
My stomach, however, rumbled a lazy reminder of why I actually needed a job. It was empty and demanding a refill. A wry smile played on my lips. Thankfully, I'd been smart enough to sneak a chicken burger into my uniform pocket while grilling.
Sitting on the floor of my messy room, I muttered to myself between bites, "That damn Mrs. Del Monte thinks she's the greatest, huh? Well, she can deduct the burger from my pay."
My happy babbling was directed solely at my stomach, the only one truly enjoying this stolen feast.
"Wait, Cosima," I interrupted myself, "what about the burgers you've... borrowed before? Where should those be deducted from?"
The happy munching continued. "Not that she'd notice anyway!" I scoffed, then burst out laughing at my own joke.
Oh, the exhaustion. A long, peaceful nap sounded heavenly. But my messy room declared war on that idea. Clothes were scattered everywhere, dirty clothes I'd promised myself (over and over) to wash someday.
Then there was the stench. The leftover pasta from two nights ago had gone rogue, assaulting my nose with its putrid odor. Even for someone who enjoyed a little mess, this was a bit much. The pasta must have perished because the smell clung to the clothes I wore to the restaurant today, clothes I wouldn't be getting back from the storage room anytime soon. Not after chucking my sneakers at a customer's head.
Whistling (badly), I grabbed the pasta container. Before the maggots could stage a full-blown invasion of my room, I packed it up and bolted outside to dump it in the trash can. Thankfully, the nylon bag was still wrapped around it, making a quick getaway (trash can bound) a little easier.
"Phew!" I sighed, slamming the lid shut. Just as I turned to head back inside, I spotted three figures in black suits approaching my house. Three nightmares coming my way. No explanation needed – I knew who they were. I knew they'd be here soon, but not this soon!
Hopefully, they hadn't seen me. Briefly considering a jump into the trash can (ignoring the maggot soldiers and the ungodly stench), I settled for wedging myself beside it, praying they wouldn't notice.
"Yeah, that'd be real smart," I hissed, realizing how pathetic I looked crouched there.
They got closer, their footsteps echoing. Suddenly, the fabric of my uniform snagged, and I landed flat on my back. Worst. Possible. Scenario. My legs flew open, offering an unwelcome view to the loan sharks.
"What the...?!" Their shocked exclamations pierced the air. I scrambled to my feet, mortified.
"Do you always have to be such a clown?" the one with the ever-present comb snapped, leaning down to me. Shame burned in my cheeks, and I could only hang my head.
Slam! The sound of the comb guy hitting me resonated in my ears. Bystanders were already shooting curious glances our way. Maybe someone would intervene, call the cops... anything!
"Let's take this inside," the apparent leader declared.
The one who'd been squatting beside me stood up. "Excellent idea. This trash can smells like hell," he spat, flicking a wad of saliva onto the ground.
"What are you doing?" the leader barked at me, seeing me frozen in place.
Pretending to be hurt, I winced and clutched my leg. "I can't move it," I whimpered.
"Really?" He smirked, a devious glint in his eyes.
Unfazed, I held my ground. "Yes."
"Okay then," he clapped his hands. "Carry her," he ordered the third guy.
The guy just stood there, scrutinizing me with a smirk. "What are you waiting for? Carry her! She looks like she weighs more than a car."
Ugh, seriously? Heavier than a car?! Before I could voice my outrage, I stood up and pushed him playfully on the forehead.
"I may be a fat woman, but I'm not THAT heavy. Heavier than a car, huh?"
"Well, well," the leader chimed in sarcastically, "it seems a miracle has occurred. The disabled can walk now!" I couldn't help but blush in frustration.
'Stupid Cosima, stupid!' I muttered under my breath.
His tone turned serious. "Inside!" he barked. The sharp command sent a shiver down my spine. I quickly turned and marched towards the house, the three loan sharks following closely behind.
As soon as we were all inside, they started their usual rampage. A vase shattered against the wall, followed by a stand toppling over with a crash. A groan escaped my lips as one of them aimed a vicious kick at the TV screen.
"Not the TV!" I cried out.
The destruction stopped abruptly. All three pairs of eyes locked onto me, waiting for an explanation. My mind scrambled for an excuse, any excuse. Last month's pay was safely tucked away, but this month... this month, I had nothing.
"I- I have the money with me," I stammered out, hoping they'd be appeased with a partial payment and maybe even extend the deadline for the rest.
The leader's gaze held a flicker of doubt. He clearly didn't believe me, but hey, I wasn't lying – the money was there.
"Where is it?" he finally asked.
I pointed towards my room. "In my room."
He tilted his head, suspicion etched on his face. "Are you trying to pull something, Cosima? That wouldn't be your first escape attempt."
"No, no, no! One of you can come with me," I bargained desperately.
He seemed to consider it for a moment before nodding. "Fine." he motioned for the Comb guy to go with me.
Relief washed over me momentarily. Maybe, just maybe, they'd be okay with last month's pay and leave me alone. Leading the comb guy (his real name was probably something much less ridiculous) towards my room, I prayed silently.
As I flung the door open, a mocking smirk spread across the comb guy's face. "Is this a room or a garbage dump?!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with disgust.
A mischievous grin tugged at the corners of my lips.
Serves him right!
I may not have had the upper hand in this situation, but at least I had my gloriously messy and smelly room.
"The money's over there," I announced, pointing to the spot where the pasta container used to be.
That's where I'd stashed the money when I returned from work two nights ago, right before collapsing onto the bed in exhaustion.
But as I reached for the crumpled bills, my heart sank. A horrifying sight met my eyes: the money was riddled with holes, chewed through by the relentless teeth of rats.
I was done for.