"I'm—"
"I don't care." I cut her off because I couldn't care less. "And I wouldn't go around bragging about what an accomplished daughter you have just yet, Doris." I want to squash any hope she has right now. I want to rip away any glimmer of happiness she may be experiencing from the thought that by giving birth to me, she has any right to a damned thing. "That little writing job's not working out so well. I’ll probably quit it soon."
A raspy laugh crackles over the phone. "I should've known better. Should've known you were still that lazy piece of shit I raised. Giving up just when things are getting good." And there she is, the woman who taught me about love and humanity. There she is. "You're a disappointment. Ruined my damn life, and when you have a chance to make it a little better, you don’t. Fifty dollars here and there don’t do much. You did it on purpose, didn't you? You did this to piss me off—not giving to your poor mother. You'd let me die before you'd give me a damn thing worth a shit, huh, you—"
I hang up and block her number, something I should have done a long time ago. The sad thing is no matter how horrible some people are to you, sometimes all you want to do is prove to yourself you are worthy of their love—even when their love is worthless. And how fucked up is that?
Gripping the phone, I clench my jaw and fight back the tears. The thing is, I feel like a fool because I always had hoped that something would change. I thought maybe one day I could have some type of relationship with her. As much as I feign that it doesn't bother me, as many times as I've told people I don't care if she hates me, I do. Wanting love is just human. I just knew that I'd eventually do something to deserve her love, to prove to her I wasn't a mistake, but really, that's just pathetic. The only reason she would ever have a relationship with me is because I'd be able to give her something. And what kind of relationship can you have with a parasite?
I am a product of my environment through and through. And fuck her for that. The person who should have loved me unconditionally treated me like shit, and I know that's why I am untrusting and too often only see the bad in someone. I want to see all the ugly pieces of a person and make my mind up about how and why they will let me down—why I'll never be good enough for them. Because if I already know that I'll never mean anything to them, well, they can't hurt me, can they? Let someone get just close enough then push them away. Never believe a compliment, a promise. Hell, I hardly even believe myself half the time.
I close my eyes and shake the tears away because she’s not worth it. I cry. She wins. I quit this job with Edwin. She fucking wins.
Moments.
There are moments in each person's life where everything shifts. Emotions morph. Hurt turns to rage. Love turns to hate. People change. It is the nature of life, for life is merely a metamorphosis.
I sit in Janine’s car, watching the happy little families drift in and out of Applebee's, watching strangers carry out their lives like animals in a goddamn zoo. A woman in a too-tight black dress saunters in, some stupid man stumbling after her; she's most likely going to fuck him, and he'll never call her again.
Jax. I could fuck Jax, and I bet he’d never call me again.
Another couple stops at the car on the other side of me, kissing with the type of passion you usually only see in movies; in six months, she'll likely find him fucking her best friend.
Jax wouldn’t do that.
A young man and woman stop by the curb, arguing. His face is red, and she's fighting back tears.
Jax wouldn’t yell at me like that.
A mother scolds her child.
I would never do that.
An elderly man with an oxygen tank sits on the bench by the door and lights a cigarette.
He’s saying “fuck you” to death.
A hoard of teenagers race out to their parked cars—BMWs and Mercedes.
They’ll never know what it is to struggle, which means they’ll never really appreciate a fucking thing.
And as I watch the shit show we refer to as life, I realize it's just one big ball of fucked-upness.
I climb out of the car, smiling at the old man puffing away on his cigarette as I reach for the door. He grins, and his entire face wrinkles. The entrance swings open, and the heat from inside sends a small buzz floating through my body.
"Welcome to Applebee’s," the hostess mumbles, barely looking up from the stand, her unkempt hair falling in front of her eyes. "How many?"
"My friend's already in here," I say as I spot Janine tipping back a drink at the bar. I weave through the group of businessmen clogging the entrance, bumping into a few of them.
I'm almost to the bar when Janine sets her drink down and taps her red acrylic nail over the wooden countertop for the bartender. He glances in our direction.
"Another cosmo, my dear sir," she says.
A flirtatious smile crosses his face as he looks at me. “What’ll it be, sweetheart?”