Page 3 of Drunk Girl

2

Ashley

I restmy head on the seat back in the Uber car, the events of today rolling through my memory like a movie reel. I swear, if it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have luck at all these days. I’ve bounced from dead-end job to dead-end job, and obviously didn’t learn from my mom’s mistakes when it came to picking the men I date. I can’t fucking believe Chris was fucking that slut.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the reel from today to stop playing on repeat. I thought going out with my friends would help put me in a better mood, but really, it only masked things for a few hours. It also didn’t help I couldn’t really afford to be out at a bar. Without a job as of today, and now an apartment, either, my life is really in the dumps. Moving back in with my mom will have to do until I can find another job and save enough to get a small apartment of my own.

“We’re here,” the driver calls from the front seat. I open my eyes, looking around at the rundown apartment building my mom has lived in since I was a teenager.

“Thanks,” I say before opening the door and sliding out. I walk up the cracked sidewalk and push open the front door that, at one point, used to lock, but hasn’t in at least five years. I walk down the dimly lit hallway to my mom’s unit, passing by Mr. Richards’ unit, where his television is loud enough I can tell exactly what show he’s currently watching on some cable news station. The old man is one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met, but damn, does he need to get his hearing checked.

I rap my knuckles against the door before I slip my key into the lock and open the door. “Mom,” I call out as I step inside. “Mom, it’s me,” I say, a bit louder. I can hear voices coming from down the hall, so I know she’s here, and apparently not alone.

“You fucking bitch!” I hear a man’s voice yell out, and then the telltale sound of skin smacking skin. I run for her bedroom and bust through the door, where I find my mom’s latest boyfriend standing a foot or so away from her as she cradles her cheek. The one he’s just backhanded or slapped. I can see the skin already puckering and turning red from the contact.

“Get the fuck out of here before I call the cops!” I yell at him, the adrenaline taking over. I’ve seen this scene one too many times to allow it to go on.

“Who the fuck are you?” he snarls.

“Her daughter, that’s who. And I said to get. The. Fuck. Out,” I seethe as I grind my teeth together.

He scoffs. “Whatever. I’m outta here.” He turns and beelines it out the door.

“Mom,” I say, turning back to her. “What happened?”

“He didn’t like something I said,” she replies, blowing off what just happened.

“You can’t just take this shit from these men, Mom. You deserve better,” I tell her before I go find her a bag of frozen peas to ice her swollen cheek.

She settles on the couch and flips off the TV while I take a seat on the recliner on the other side of the small living room.

“What brings you by so late?” she finally asks me, breaking the silence that had fallen between us.

I let out a big breath, stalling for a few seconds before I answer her. “I had a pretty shitty day. Got fired, then walked in on Chris fucking some chick, so I left. Ended up going out with a few friends for ladies’ night, but then realized I didn’t have anywhere to go but here, so here I am. I’ll need to stay for a bit, if that’s okay with you.”

“You know you’re always welcome here,” she tells me. “It’s only ever been the two of us, Ash. The only person I can always count on is you.”

Her words bring tears to my eyes and I blink rapidly to keep them from rolling down my cheeks.

“Yeah, at least we have each other.” I lean back in the chair and blow out a breath, wondering where in the hell my life went so wrong. I’m twenty-five and a college dropout. I can’t even keep a steady waitressing job—or a boyfriend, apparently, that either doesn’t think he can put his hands on me or cheat on me. I guess the statistics aren’t in my favor, seeing as I’m falling right into my mom’s steps and following in her example.

“I’m going to head off to bed,” I say a few minutes later. “I love you, Mom.”

I head down the hall to my old room, the one I’ve come and gone from over the years. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to move back home with my mom, but god, do I wish it could be the last. I toss my purse and cell on the bed, then head into the bathroom. Thankfully, I’m able to rummage through the cabinet and find a new toothbrush; one of the free ones the dentist gives you at an appointment. After finishing up in the bathroom, I head back into the bedroom and rummage through the dresser, finding an old t-shirt and some shorts to sleep in. In my haste to get out of my apartment earlier, I didn’t grab anything but what I already had on me when I walked in and then right back out.

I pull back the covers and slip between the cool sheets. This bed is anything but comfortable, but it’s better than sleeping in my car. I remember the day my mom found it on Craigslist for free. I’d been sleeping on the couch for a few months by that point, and desperately needed a bed of my own. It was already old and lumpy when she got it all those years ago, but we’ve always lived paycheck to paycheck, and replacing it was never in the budget.

I was lucky to have enough clothes to get me through the week, and to have food in the house some days. There were a few times the only meal I ate each day was the free lunch from school, and or the food my friends would insist I take from them. I always did my best to hide what my home life was like; it was embarrassing to admit it to my friends my mom was poor. It also didn’t help she didn’t make the best decisions when it came to men coming in and out of our life.

I stare up at the ceiling, willing the tears not to start flowing once again. I make a promise to myself, tomorrow will be a new day. I’ll hit the ground running, finding as many places as I can to fill out applications, to get a new job as soon as possible. I should have asked Nick if they were hiring for any servers. It seemed like a pretty busy place, so maybe I can stop back there tomorrow and see about a job. At this point, I don’t really care what the job is. As long as it’s not stripping, and pays me, I’m happy.

I check my cell one last time, realizing I don’t have a charger for it. Thankfully, it was still charged to about fifty percent, so I put it into airplane mode for the night before finally falling to sleep.

* * *

I wakeby eight the next morning, stretching as soon as I wake up from the lumpy mattress. I drag myself out of bed and into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee to help wake myself up. As I wait for the coffee to brew, I lean against the kitchen counter and stare out the window.

“You’re up early.” My mom’s raspy voice startles me out of my daydream.

---