Page 11 of Throttle

“Oh! Now that’s a good idea. Get her mind off, manwhore, over there.”

“You guys make me sound pathetic.” I am. “You…” I point to Angel, who’s so eager to find me a date. “Fell in love with a guy who helped get Jules kidnapped. I’d say I’m still winning.”

“Ouch.” Angel defends herself, then smirks. “She’s right.”

“Yup. And I got pregnant in my senior year. We are not the poster inspiration for teenage girls anywhere.” Jules looks at me and shrugs.

I shake my head, taking one last look at Throttle before I decide to ignore him for the rest of the night.

I drive the twenty minutes back to my apartment without stopping at any red lights. When there's a drug deal happening on almost every street corner, the first rule is pretend like you spot nothing.

Bracing myself with pepper spray clipped to my keychain, I ascend the grungy sketchy stairs to my door. My neighborhood is clearly unsafe, even though I've never had to use my only weapon for defense. But being a single woman living here is terrifying.

With the sound of a siren filling the night, I make it to the third floor, kicking Frank in the hallway by accident.

“Hey, honey. Got a couple dollars to spare tonight?” Each word slurs as I step over his outstretched prosthetic leg.

“Frank, I'm sure you recall I gave you money the other day. Did you use it to buy alcohol again?”

“I’m saddened by the fact you would have such an opinion of me.” He dramatically holds his chest.

He has nothing in his life except vodka, and it makes me feel sorry for him. I'm convinced that the old man has a sad backstory. Such sorrow fills his eyes.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you more cash, but only if you promise to use some of it and buy yourself food to soak up that alcohol.”

We all have something that keeps us going, but his poor habit might kill him one day.

He shows off his toothless smile. “Oh, honey, you’re a doll.”

Once I hand him the bucks from tonight's tips, I rush to unlock my apartment door.

Those same tattooed, questionable guys who've been present every night pause their conversation and fix their gaze on me down the hallway. “Hey, babe. When you gonna stop pretending like you don’t notice me and get that fine ass of yours over here?” The one they call Jasper sneers at me and my skin crawls.

Ignoring him, I enter and lock the door, shutting out their laughter. My head rests on the cold wood as I drown in my disgust for this place. I can't stand it, but it's the only thing I can pay for right now. Although Chain pays me fairly, I’m unable to sustain myself on a bartender's salary and afford to live in a luxurious apartment with school expenses and other bills. Yet, my place isn’t awful. Okay, it’s dreadful. Sections of the dry wall have fallen. I have a leaky pipe in the bathroom which my landlord can give two fucks about, and I’d say the mysterious scent is one I won’t ever get used to. Would it come as a surprise if mold infestation was causing my death? Not at all.

I leave the comfort of my door, approach Nemo, and switch on his tank light. His goofy little eyes beam up at me as if I’m his only friend in the world. “What do you think, buddy? Want me to buy you a friend?” He swims back under his rock. “No, I figured as much.” Being alone can have its advantages.

Stripping out of my clothes, I sigh and put on Throttle's baggy T-shirt. It always carries the same smell, woodsy with a dash of sport, if that’s even a thing.

Once I'm cozy on the couch, I reach for my laptop and check my school emails. All the grades from the last exam are up. I slide over the screen, search for my name, and excitement hits me when I catch sight of my A.

The wait will be worth it soon. My plan is to graduate, find a job, and escape to a less horrifying and revolting place. I aspire to be a teacher because I enjoy assisting others and adore children. It was rewarding to spend my junior and senior years in high school tutoring and pushing students toward their untapped capabilities. We all need a little boost from time to time.

I’m startled when my phone plays “Momma’s Song” and I hurry to answer it. “Hey, Mom. I was just going to text you.”

“I've always believed that we are on the same wavelength. How’s my girl?”

With a smile, I cross my legs and tuck my feet under me. I find solace by snuggling my pillow to my chest, attempting to conceal the overpowering emotion that arises whenever she calls. I miss her every day. When you're unable to visit family, the distance to New York can feel significant.

“Everything is perfect,” I lie. “How are you and Dad?”

“Oh, you know.” She sighs. No, I don’t, which saddens me. “Your father just dropped food off at your brothers. Still taking care of him. Even at twenty-one.” She chuckles, and it makes my heart ache not being able to hear it in person. “Those roommates of his can’t cook to save their lives. And your brother never could prepare a proper meal.”

“It sounds like Andrew.”

“Are you planning to come home for Thanksgiving this year? We miss you, Hazel.”

It was during the summer when we were all last together. I’ve been meaning to take the drive, but I’ve never had a chance and I’m running out of excuses why they can’t visit here. Hell would break loose if they saw where I live. And if they found out where I was bartending, they would drag me back to New York.

---