Page 4 of Filthy Liar

Reaching over, I touch the alarm icon and stop the offending noise. Lying in bed, I tug the sheets up to my neck, covering my nakedness. I should have put my pajamas on after my secret lover left last night, but I couldn’t make myself do that.

I wasn’t ready to cover my skin with clothes. I didn’t want to cover up the memory of his touch. My skin was still hyperaware, and I felt sexy. It’s silly, I know it is, but it’s the way I felt. The way I always feel when it comes to him.

Unable to take my eyes off him, I watched from the window as he climbed onto his bike and rode away, wondering where he was going. Wishing not for the first time I could go with him. That I could see his face in the light.

It seems the longer this goes on between us, the more time I spend thinking about him, daydreaming about the wayhis hands feel on my body. The way our bodies tangle in the darkness.

Even though I don’t know what he looks like, I can’t deny it is exciting—the fact that I couldn’t pick him out of a lineup if I tried. Of course, I want to see his face, to look into his eyes, but it feels dangerous and enthralling both at the same time that I know nothing.

I’m not someone who does risky things, ever.

My family always lived a bit on the outskirts of society. More than just the outskirts—they were the epitome of the outside of society, and I hated it. I was nothing like them, and I’m still not.

The moment I could get away from them, I ran. I went as far as I could. I wanted to start fresh and live a good, clean life. Until my family all died, and I was left this house—a house that is fully and totally paid off—free and clear.

A house that belonged to my brother. A man who I haven’t seen since I walked away. I didn’t want to see him either. And I know it sounds bad, but I’m not sad that he’s gone. It’s a relief more than anything.

I could have sold the house for cash. I probably should have, but when I lost my job, I would have been homeless because there is no way I would have gotten enough out of it to buy anything in Shreveport. A house free and clear was worth a lot to me when my paycheck vanished.

Everything in my life has been pretty bleak since I walked away from my family and their world. I tried school, and I graduated, but my grades were awful, and I still had no idea what I wanted to do in life. I tried working, and that was a failure. The only jobs I’ve been able to hold down are ones that barely pay the bills.

So, I gave up, packed my car, and moved to Pineville, Texas. At least it isn’t Shreveport. I might only be a little over an hour from my old life, but it feels like a whole new world here.

Thinking about my family has become a pastime here in this house. My brother’s house. I never wanted to see them again, and I’m not sad I won’t ever, but the guilt for not feeling bad or even a little sad fills my thoughts and has me wondering if I should have given them another chance.

Nothing like something being impossible to make you have some regrets. But if he were alive, if any of them were alive, I would want absolutely nothing to do with them. It’s a conundrum that is unanswerable—and it won’t be solved today, either. It’s just something I have to live with.

Throwing the sheets off my body, I stand up and stretch before making my way to the bathroom. Starting the shower, I don’t look at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t like what stares back at me, not because I think that I’m ugly. I know I’m not, but it’s because I look too much like my mother, or at least the memories I have of her.

She wasn’t the nicest person to me. She degraded me regularly and hit me a lot. Then she went and left me when I was ten. She never once came back. Never contacted me. As far as I know, she could be dead.

I’ve got her straight, long, light-brown hair with big green eyes. My hips flare, and my waist is small, along with my boobs. My bottom half is bigger than my top half. Freckles on my nose. Long legs but thighs that are thicker than I would like.

Wearing shorts seems to be a difficult task most of the time. It looks far too much like my vagina is trying to eat my shorts… the life of a thick-thighed girl is not for the faint of heart. So, I don’t look at my reflection unless I absolutely have to, and I don’t have to today, so I don’t.

Once I’ve showered, I get dressed. I need food. My house has been pretty empty lately. Not because I don’t like to eat, but because I’ve been too lazy to go to the store… at least that’s what I tell myself, and not the fact that I’m broke and don’t have a job.

That has to change.

I need a job.

But first… food.

Grabbing my purse off the counter, I head out of the house and toward my car. I sink down into the front seat and shove my key in the ignition. Turning it, I start the car, letting the warm air conditioning wash over me.

I close my eyes as I wait for the air to cool down, although it’s still only slightly cooler before I begin to drive. You could sit here all day long and waste a tank of gas trying to get a car to cool completely down in the Texas heat.

I start to make my way toward the grocery store but get sidetracked and suddenly find myself parked in front of a bakery—well, not just any bakery, butthebakery. I’ve only been here once, but I’m still having dreams about how amazing the cupcake tasted that I scarfed.

Shifting the car intoPark, I stare at the window. I can see movement inside of the shop. Watching for a moment, I can’t help but wonder what it’s like. The women behind the counter are laughing with huge smiles on their faces.

There is another woman sitting at a table. The three of them appear to be chatting. The two behind the counter keep looking over at the one at the table, their mouths moving as they converse. I can’t help but stare at the three of them.

I’ve never had a smile as easy as the way theirs appears. It seems as if they truly enjoy not only their environment but their lives. I’m not completely alone or anything. Not only do I have my secret lover, but I’ve also met a couple of the baristas at the coffee shop down the street, and they’re really nice. We have hung out a few times together, but something about these women hits differently.

Turning my car off, I open the door and make my way toward the bakery. I think I need a muffin or something. It’s not a wantright now. I can’t afford wants. It’s a need. And that is what I tell myself over and over to justify my coming here.

Wrapping my fingers around the handle, I gently tug the door open. I can hear the women’s voices, but I don’t listen to what they’re saying exactly as the bell dings above my head, and I step through the doorway. As soon as they realize I’m here, their voices stop.

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