Page 86 of Trailer Trash

She side-eyes me, her smile huge. “Uh, what do you mean?”

I manage to keep a straight face despite the rage simmering underneath. “You know, your ass. Is it a problem for you?”

Her eyes sparkle. She looks over her shoulder at her backside. Her lips purse tightly, but she can’t help but giggle. “Actually, sometimes it’s a thing. Did you know people write ‘booty’ in the dust on my car window?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. It’s true. They think it’s funny. They’ll make beeping noises when I back up, too, like a wide load is coming through. They’re people I know, though. They’re not being mean. They like it. We always laugh.”

They. Who the fuck is they?

I study her face closely as she continues.

“Sometimes — especially with guys in a room — it feels like I have a spotlight on my ass when I walk by.”

I knew it. Men.

I restrain myself from demanding their names.

“Is that a good thing to you? Men watching and wanting you.”

“It can be.” Her gaze lifts to mine, lingering. “If I like the guy. Otherwise, it feels like I’m naked and can’t cover up. That’s the only time I wish I had a normal body. Does that answer your question?”

I nod, but my mother’s words ring in my ears, abrasive and nagging. It pisses me off. Harlow pisses me off, too. I know she likes eyes on her. I saw her in the club.

“Just wear looser clothes,” I say.

“Uh, no. They’re all tight.”

“Or you like guys gawking at you.”

She squints, her smile fading. She places her hands on her hips. “What’s gotten into you today?”

I shrug innocently. “I’m just saying, cover up unless you want guys staring at your ass.”

She scoffs angrily.

I see the hurt flash in her big stupid eyes.

“I won’t dignify that with an answer.” She stalks to the kitchen, practically fleeing.

Fuck. I made things worse.

Might be worth it, though. I’d rather she not get fucked at all.

If I really wanted to, I could date her. Then she’d put out.

How long would that last though? Until she cheated. Left. Until she woke up to find me dead on the bathroom floor.

I could stay sober. Maybe. For her.

I leave her sulking in the kitchen and head to the nearest bathroom, I shut the door and pull the tin from its hiding place.

It’s been a week since I slipped, but I need it. She drug screens me on Mondays. I can get high a few times, be clean for three, then I’ll probably pass the test.

I should tell her. This might get worse.

No.