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I place my hands on his blocky shoulders and push, but the man doesn’t budge. I falter backward and my head hits the wall.
“Now you listen here. If you want to go anywhere in life and make something of yourself, the first thing you need to do is get rid of that shit in your pocket.” His voice lowers. “Nobody ever succeeds doing that.”
“You’ve got it all wrong. I love my life. I don’t need anybody telling me what to do.”
“Is that so?” He smirks. “Why didn’t you take these two back to your place? Would’ve been a lot more comfortable in your own bed.”
I avert my eyes to the twins still asleep on the couch.
“Exactly.” He walks away and relaxes back in his chair. He turns on his computer, slipping a small pair of glasses onto the bridge of his nose.
“Fuck you,” I mutter, turning for the door.
“The only person you’re fucking here is yourself, kid.”
I spin around. “Life fucked me. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t do anything to deserve this. I’m doing the best I can to make the most out of what I’ve got.”
“If this is your best, I’d hate to see you at your worst.”
My arms spread wide. “What the fuck do you suggest I do, oh wise one? Tell me. I’d love to hear your perfect solution.”
“Step one is admitting you have a problem.”
I laugh. “You’re going to put me on some NA steps? That’s your solution? Thanks, but no thanks.” I turn to leave again.
“I could just call the cops, if you’d prefer.”
My body stills in the doorway.
“The drugs and trespassing charges should be enough, but they’ll really throw the book at you for participating in illegal gambling at an underground fighting ring.”
How does he know about the fighting?
“Then again, maybe you want to go to jail. At least you’d have a bed and three meals a day.” He gestures to the twins. “But they don’t have that in jail.”
“Fine. You want me to admit I have a problem? I love heroin. There. I said it.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not admitting to your problem.”
I run my fingers through my hair and let out a puff of air. “I’m addicted to heroin. Are we done now? Can I leave?”
Rocking back in his chair, he folds his arms over his chest and smiles. “You can’t leave yet. We’re just getting started.”
Chapter Thirteen
The Present
Carla
“Why do people always wear overalls when they’re painting?”
I look down at my ripped denim overalls and chuckle. “I don’t know. It’s what they wear in the movies.”
“We look too cute to work,” Mallory says. “Let’s do brunch instead.”
I dip the roller into the paint tray. “We can do brunch once our apartment is painted and decorated. We only have a few things left on our list.”
“You get way too excited about to-do lists.”
