Page 10 of Caged Bliss

Claudia

It’s early and I’m already on my second cup of coffee when someone bangs on my apartment door.

I lean back against the couch and close my eyes. Maybe, just maybe, if I pray hard enough and really put it out there, whoever’s outside will go away. But someone up in the good old heavens doesn’t really give a crap about me, because my uncle’s voice filters through the door.

“I know you’re awake, Claud, open the damn door.”

I get up, groaning, and unlock the bolt, but I leave the chain fastened.

Uncle Rodney’s red face glares at me from the hallway. His eyes are bleary and red-rimmed and his gray hair’s sticking up in patches. He’s got on flannel and jeans, and he smells like a brewery at seven in the morning. I can’t tell if he’s starting the day off wrong or if he’s finally ending yesterday.

“Haven’t seen you around much lately,” he says, glaring at me like I’m mold growing in his shower grout. “And where’s that bitch sister of yours been?”

“What do you want, Rodney?”

He grunts at me. “Need cash. Three hundred bucks.”

“Absolutely not.” I try to slam the door, but he pushes his shoulder against it.

“Don’t be fucking ungrateful,” he growls. “When your worthless dad offed himself and your stupid bitch mom wasted away from cancer, I took your ass in and fed you and clothed you. Without me, you would’ve got thrown into the damn foster system. Don’t you fucking forget it.”

“You never let me,” I say between my teeth and lean harder against the door. “Go away, Rodney. I don’t have any money right now.”

“I know you make bank at that slut club. And I know your sister’s been fucking every rich dick available. I just need three hundred to keep my fucking lights on and to make rent.”

“What happened to your disability check?”

“None of your fucking business is what happened.”

Which means he drank it all away again. “Go away. I don’t have any money for you right now, but I might tomorrow, okay?”

I hate myself for saying it. I really, really do, but we both know that eventually I’m going to give in and hand over the cash. Because Rodney’s not lying: after my parents died, he took me and my sister in when there was nobody else, and even though he was a piece-of-shit guardian, at least he kept us clothed and fed and in school. Yeah, he was abusive, but not in the way that would get him locked up. Just in the typical fucking asshole sort of way.

I still feel like I owe him. It’s pathetic, and I hate myself for it, but he’s still my uncle.

The pressure on the door relents. “Tomorrow then. You promise?”

“I promise. Okay? Just go away now. I have to head into work soon.”

A pause. He sighs. “How’s everything? You good?”

“I’m fine. Serena’s fine. Will you just go?”

“Fuck you then, Claud. That’s what I get for trying to be nice.” Then he moved back and I slam the door shut. “See you tomorrow,” he yells through the door and stomps off down the hall.

I stay leaning like that for a few minutes, my eyes squeezed shut. Three hundred won’t kill me. If I bust my ass and swallow my pride, I could make it all tonight with the right amount of shameless flirting.

I need to cut him off. I know I’m just enabling my asshole alcoholic uncle’s drinking problem. But without me, he’d be in a gutter somewhere, probably dead or dying. Just like without me, Serena would be lost, an empty vessel, one bad night from overdosing.

Without me, everything would fall apart.

I go back to the couch, finish my coffee, pull my shit together, and head into my bedroom to find my sluttiest work outfit. Because I really need those tips.

I serve the crap out of drinks all day. I’m still paranoid that I might get fired because of my bad attitude around that Bianco guy the day before, but nothing materializes. Tommy’s not in, which means Serena’s probably still at his apartment either high, getting high, or asleep, and I’m stuck slinging overpriced martinis and craft beers to horny perverts with more money than morals. My ass gets pinched, my tits get ogled, and one dickhead even shoved a fifty between my cleavage, but I let that one slide. It’s a fifty, after all.

My feet hurt as I head across the crowd and drop off another order. At least when Tommy’s not around, I don’t get to get up in the cage. Rodrigo, the manager, treats me like everyone else, which is a freaking relief, because dealing with Tommy’s constant flirting and attention is exhausting.

And it’s disgusting. I mean, in theory he’s my sister’s boyfriend, but in practice he’s more like her kidnapper and drug dealer.

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