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“Do you mean motel?” Sliding out of bed is proceeded by grabbing the nearest pair of jeans. “Because hotels cost money, which we both know I don’t have much of after shelling out for our shitty internet connection,” one leg is shoved inside, “student loans,” the other follows suit, “gas,” yanking them up is harshly completed, “and groceries that ‘Pakman’ can’t stop guzzling like he’s actually stuck in the videogame he’s shittily named after.”
“Tommy doesn’t eat that much.”
“When you’re home, maybe.” I button my pants and grab the nearest bra to slide on next. “When you’re not? Him and his Sons of Anarchy never-bes gobble everything in sight like a fucking Korean live-action version of Hungry, Hungry, Hippos.”
“That’s not-”
“And,” maneuvering the article into place while talking is effortlessly executed, “instead of standing in my doorway defending the idiot formerly known as Pakman that has been trailing door to door for blow jobs, how about you get me the box of trash bags – that I paid for – so that I can start packing my shit?”
“He would never do that!”
“He literally does that.”
“You don’t know shit, Bryn!”
“No…” I correct with a snide smirk, tits now properly holster. “You don’t know shit, Patty.” The callousness in my tone increases. “That’s why he likes you. He can fuck chicks at patch parties, get blow jobs from your neighbors – yeah Calista constantly tells everyone who will listen how small his dick is – and bang your roommates – stop wondering why they don’t last very long – without you fucking believing it. You want me out of this trashy apartment version of 90210?” Planting my palms on my low-rise jean covered hips is attached to another sardonic sneer. “Fine. Bring me my box of trash bags for my clothes, and I’ll get my ass out of here in T-minus twenty minutes or less.”
Bafflement bulldozes itself onto her face. “What about the rest of your shit?!”
“Keep it. Sell it. Give it to that jackass boyfriend of yours and let him fucking jerk off on it.” It’s impossible not to toss her an additional spiteful smile. “Bet you didn't know he did that kinda shit, either, huh, princess?”
Patty – like the doormat she is – stomps away to get me exactly what I requested.
Because that’s literally the type of weak-minded person she is.
She’s practically a life-size Dollar Store doll with great credit.
Did I feel bad about accepting her half-hearted offer to rent her spare room after my last place booted me for being four months overdue on the rent?
At first.
But she was lonely – only lonely people buy that many single potpies and cans of seltzer water at one time – and I don’t have many objections to living with people who are practically strangers.
Beats the fuck out of having to live in my car again.
Indoors has running water and air conditioning and doesn’t have me pretending that I’m getting to work early to be a great employee when I really just need somewhere to shit or shower or brush my teeth that isn’t a Loca Mocha Casabloca restroom.
Her prompt return includes not only the requested item but minimal eye contact.
Which is fine.
I don’t need to stare into her sad, the world really sucks, babydoll shaped eyes during my best attempt to hastily pack the few items I consider a must.
And they are few because most stuff?
Is just stuff.
The wise woman who gave me my bright blue eyes and irrefutable sense of independence taught me that.
Along with the fact that I should never trust a person who believes that there can be too much cheese in mac and cheese.
Post shoving as many clothes as I possibly can into a trash bag, I tuck my keys – making sure to leave the one to the apartment somewhere on the bed – blue eyeliner, and cell all into various jean pockets. I immediately head for the front door in irked silence, ignoring the choked cries coming from somewhere in the kitchen.
She’s not getting an ounce of sympathy from me.
Much like her boyfriend didn’t get an ounce of pussy.
I yank the apartment door open and unexpectedly find an attractive, dirty blond-haired male cloaked in a navy-blue designer suit preparing to knock. While his slimmer, soccer player style build and pretty boy features aren’t typically the ones I go for, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed if he somehow managed to find himself there.
