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And fuck, he isn’t denying it. “It is my fucking business. You took all my money, and what did you do with it?”
A sneer. It looks so out of place on a face that all but mirrors my own. “All you care about is your money. Money, money, money, all the time.”
“Are you shitting me?” I take a calming breath. “It pays the rent,” I say with as much patience as I can muster. “And for the bills, gasoline and food.”
“Why should I give a damn? Who needs this shit?”
What is he talking about? “It puts a roof over our heads, X. Puts food on the table. What do you want from me?”
“What I want, motherfucker, is for you to leave me alone!” Suddenly he’s in my face, shoving me backward, and I hit the wall, my head thumping hard, making me see stars. “To let me live my own fucking life, and stop controlling me!”
He steps back and I blink, dizzy. “What the hell, X. What life? Where do you go every time you leave here? What are you taking?”
He says nothing, turns around to go.
“Xavier!” I slam my fist into the counter. I’m shaking, from reaction, from anger and despair, from the fucking pain in my back that’s spreading like fire down my spine. “Goddammit.”
He gives me the finger as he stomps out of the kitchen. A few seconds later, I hear the apartment door slam.
I’m not handling this well.
Jesus, that’s the understatement of the year. I fucked it up big time. But how am I supposed to handle it? What the hell am I supposed to do?
I fumble in my pocket for my pack of smokes and crack the window open. My hands are trembling as I light up and draw bitter smoke into my lungs.
I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. In my experience, when things start to go downhill, they usually crash and burn before they reach the bottom.
***
By mid-afternoon, my back is killing me. Literally. I try to lift a crate that has to be filled with rocks or something, and let it drop back down with a very unmanly yelp.
“What’s the matter?” my supervisor snaps, striding over to my side, a scowl on his face. “You need to be careful with this merchandise, Rid. Fragile. Says right there, on top.”
“Fuck, sorry.” I straighten slowly, carefully.
Ow. Hell.
“Is everything okay? You hurt?”
“I’m fine.” I’m getting paid by the hour. Can’t afford to lose any money right now. “I’m okay, boss.”
He gives me a suspicious look, then nods and walks away.
It’s nothing, I tell myself, popping more painkillers and gritting my teeth. Suck it up, Rid. I pulled something, that’s all. I’ll rest and get better by Monday.
Yeah, screw you, Monday. Stop laughing at me. I’ll beat you yet.
Besides, I’m so worried about Xavier I manage to push down the pain as I keep unloading the truck. If he’s not back by tonight, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Go out look for him, I guess. What else is left?
I should talk to Jet.
If Xavier doesn’t come back. If I need to go out searching.
By the time my shift ends, I’m popping painkillers like candy. The pain has spread down my right leg and the thought of driving back home, much less working any longer, is fucking crazy.
I end up calling Fritters and telling my boss I can’t make it today. He’s not pleased, even after I explain why. Tells me in no uncertain terms that this can’t happen again.
