Page 14 of The Pucking Wrong Man

Someday I’d have a room, a closet, and a place for all my things.

Someday.

That was the word that kept me going. And usually, dreaming about the future helped.

But other times, like this morning, when my leg felt so fucked up I wasn’t sure how I was going to walk, let alone do a freaking plié, I wondered if my “someday” would actually ever be a reality.

I made my way to the communal bathroom, passing by some of the other regulars, their tired eyes and hollow cheeks a reflection of their own struggles. We exchanged nods of recognition, but no words were spoken. Besides the staff, no one here bothered to talk to me. It was lonely, but I got it. When you were just trying to get by, it seemed like too much to ask to get to know someone.

What if they wanted to talk to you? What if they told you their troubles? No one in this room could take on any one else’s burdens. They had too many of their own.

Like the main room, the bathroom was clean, but the tiles were worn and cracked.

I’d take clean and old over dirty and new any day, though.

The Carver’s opinions on “gratefulness” splashed through my mind like spoiled wine.

I was sure they’d approve of that line of thinking.

Splashing some water on my face, I tried to wash away the lingering remnants of sleep, but it was no use.

Because the soundtrack of misery I heard every night...I was a part of it. And even now, the memories of last night’s nightmares clung to me like a second skin, refusing to let go.

Hopefully I hadn’t screamed too loud. There had been a mom with her two little kids in the cots next to me last night.

Staring into the mirror, I sighed, feeling so fucking resigned. Was my life going to be this terrible forever?

That attitude isn’t going to get you anywhere, Anastasia, I swore at myself fiercely.

With grim determination, I slung my bag over my shoulder and hobbled out of the bathroom, steeling myself for another day of struggle.

I got up to the front desk and my first and perhaps only smile of the day slid across my lips.

“Ana, girl, how are you this fine morning?” Montana said warmly, smiling at me like she always did—like she was happy to see me—like I wasn’t a burden.

I’d been coming here for the last three years, and she had worked here the entire time. She was always in a good mood. She was always smiling.

Maybe one day I’d ask her how she managed to do it in the face of so much misery.

“Great,” I said, my voice almost sounding cheerful...it was kind of hard to be dreary in the face of such positivity.

Someday I was going to be like Montana for someone, a burst of sunshine on someone’s cloudy day.

There was that word again.

“I’m having a lot of luck this morning. It was the craziest thing, but Sonic gave me an extra breakfast burrito when I stopped through the drive-thru. I thought maybe you would want it...” she said innocently, her dark-red corkscrew curls bobbing around her head like they were waving at me or something.

“Bless you,” I gasped, a little embarrassed about the squeal in my voice right then.

This was a familiar routine for us. She would pretend that she’d been given extra at some place and give it to me. And I should have felt guiltier about greedily taking it every time considering there was no way they paid her very much for working here.

But as I’d said before...I was desperate.

“You are a literal angel, Montana Thatcher,” I murmured, carefully taking it from her like it was actually gold. I would have to eat it slowly, because I’d only had a piece of bread and some peanut butter yesterday...which I’d burnt off in about ten minutes of class.

My stomach was to the point of cramping and eating it too fast might make me throw up.

On the positive side, no matter how much my stomach ached...my leg pain always hurt worse.

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