Damaged goods. No man wants damaged goods.
“Stop it, Liv. Don’t you be part of the double standard! Why is it okay for men to have sex for the sheer purpose of getting off, but a woman does it, and she’s a whore? No, ma’am, you are not allowed to feel guilty for last night. So what if you don’t exactly remember his name? You had a good time, had an orgasm, now move on. Call it a bucket list item; check it off, and on to the next.”
“It’s more than that and you know it, Tabby,” I say on a whisper. She knows my past. She knows not only what happened, but the mixed emotions I go through. Every time I allow myself to think back on it, I don’t know if I’m up or I am down. I need to let go and I can’t.
Maybe I have. Maybe last night was my first step in becoming whole again. It has been so long I don’t know what it feels like anymore.
Last night, though, I went out like a normal twenty-four-year-old. I had drinks with a friend. I found a guy I was attracted to and went for it. Tossing all my cares, insecurities, and past transgressions aside, I went for it. That is empowering. That is becoming.
Having nothing more to say to her, my mind races with memories of the night before.
I move to straighten up the couch and gather my things. After a quick goodbye, I am in a cab and then back to my apartment. No way could I walk today, and Tabby is too hungover to drive safely both ways.
Scraping the last bit of change from the bottom of my borrowed clutch from last night to tip the cabbie, my fingers trace over the delicate fabric of my mask. A mask I was able to hide behind so easily last night.
Carefully, I get out of the car, hyperaware of my lack of undergarments. I am, yet again, mortified at remembering my behavior last night. Hot as he may be, he was a stranger, and now he has my panties. Like a souvenir or something, I don’t know.
At my door, I notice an envelope taped to the door. Tearing it off, I then pick up the newspaper on my doorstep before entering my apartment. The newspaper that I let the salesmen rope me into prepaying for a year subscription to. The newspaper that I shouldn’t have gotten, but in a few more months that will be a bill I can cut loose. For now, it is my only source of current and up-to-date entertainment. The comics are just as funny now as when I was a kid. At least some things never change.
Walking inside, I set down my purse and paper. Opening the envelope from my door, my heart sinks.
Utility Disconnect Notice
Your account with us is seriously past due. Your water is scheduled for disconnect in five business days. Please pay your balance in full to avoid interruption of service. If service is disconnected, customer is responsible for reconnect fees and security deposit before services will be restored.
Feeling defeated, I toss the notice and the newspaper on the bar then make my way to my bedroom. Slipping out of my borrowed dress, I make my way to my bathroom and take a scalding hot shower, wishing I could wash away all my problems as easily as I can wash off the dirt of my previous day.
Once out of the shower, I dress in yoga pants, and a T-shirt, skipping the bra, then head into my tiny kitchen space. Grabbing a bottle of over-the-counter pain killers, I quickly pop two as I stare at the cut-off notice, a glaring reminder that I am slowly losing everything.
I can’t call my mom. She has no extra money to help me. What’s more, nothing would convince me to call my dad. My step-monster would love nothing more than for me to need something, anything, from them.
Therefore, picking up the newspaper, I do the only thing I know to do. It is time to look for a second job. The hospital has great benefits, but the pay for a bottom grade social worker isn’t enough with my college student loans breathing down my neck. The monkey on my back that no one prepared me for when I left for school is always hanging around.
Scanning the classifieds, my heart sinks. There aren’t many options to work with my schedule. What am I going to do?
Then I see a few positions for waitresses and two for barmaids, all saying to apply in person. I could do that.
Circling the ones that seem promising, I look at the clock. It’s mid-afternoon, no time like the present to face my new reality.
I apply at four places before my hangover wins, and I go home. Tomorrow, after work, I will hit up the last spot.
Chapter Five
Hendrix
I’m standing in front of the bar with a sledgehammer in my hand when Jagger pulls up.
“What the hell are you doing?” He hops out of his Dodge Charger and walks toward me.
“Taking out the front windows and the walls.”
“The walls?” he asks, grabbing the sledgehammer. “You know how many times we put these bitches back in?”