Page 30 of Babydoll

“You haven’t been out with us in a long time. We miss you.”

“I’m fine.” I smooth my scrubs down.

My boss finds and holds my eyes a few seconds too long, presses her lips and nods. She doesn’t believe me but is too polite to call me on my bullshit.

“You’re family, Tallulah.”

Her words, as heavy as a cinderblock, knock me back. “Thanks, Maggie.” I look at my feet. If I were sick, I’d tell her, but I’m not. The mess I’m in isn’t like cancer, some terrible genetic disease or even an eating disorder, hell, it’s not even like a mental illness which would hold its own stigma. This pile-o-shit is my own damn fault. And I won’t drag good people down with me. Not Maggie and not Jeff.

No matter how many times they try to help, it’s better they give up on me than me pull them under.

Chapter Eight

Lu

My car isn’t in the parking lot of the factory when I arrive at work. I scan for it as soon as I step off the bus. It’s been over a week since it’s been gone. I don’t know if it was towed to a junkyard and I’ve lost the only shelter I had left, or if it’s been taken to a shop. And the thought of having to pay for that makes me sick to my stomach, so I avoid Jeff, and Brad for good measure, and throw myself into my job, scrubbing everything with extra zeal as if my stellar cleaning ability will make me worth all the trouble I’ve caused.

Oh, how the urinals do shine. Groaning, I head to the lobby, skipping the break room for now. It’s not like Jeff can’t see me from his desk in the security office. At least not when I’m anywhere besides the bathrooms, or inside the actual break room, but it feels safer to avoid the places he tends to search me out. My heart hates this idea but I’m not talking to her right now. Not after she made a fool out of me almost crying and clinging to him like he was her white knight hero…

Wasn’t he though?

No, I’m my own damn hero. Heroine. Warrior goddess. Whatever. And that’s how I’ve managed to take care of myselfduring the last several carless/homeless nights. Well, that, and a bit of luck. The night shift vet tech is sick, so not only do I get a warm place to sleep at night, but I also get paid—it’s a reduced rate since it’s a sleep shift, but I still get to keep my regular shift, and the extra money means I can afford the bus to get here.

When there’s nothing left to clean but the break room, I head there with only a blip of nerves in my belly. So far leaving it for last has worked; either that or Jeff’s avoiding me too, because he hasn’t come to confront me all week. Which, dammit, annoys me even though I’m the one dodging him. It would be nice if someone told me where my bloody car is though, right? I growl. Apparently with me, you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

What do I bloody well want? Jeff to leave me alone or to seek me out? And if I don’t know then how should he? I swear under my breath. What? People can only be my friend if they can read my mind? I swallow hard. Is that what Jeff is? My friend?

No, he’s your Daddy Grizz. And that train of thought annoys me even more. Because I like that idea too damn much.

In the break room I don’t bother cleaning the fridge out. It’s not really part of my job anyway. I do it because people are damn slobs and if I didn’t the whole room would stink. But today I don’t care. I don’t want to see the tidy sharpie letters of Jeff’s name.

I promise myself right now that even if it takes longer to pay Preacher back, I’m going to start feeding myself. No more pudding. No more starving myself so I can get out of my mess faster. A loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter may not have held much appeal to Tallulah Jane, but it’s nutrition that Lu needs, which won’t cost much. And hell, without insurance on my car I can afford that, and a bus pass. Ignoring the hole of a place to sleep, I congratulate myself.

As I polish a water mark off the tap, I murmur, “I don’t know why you didn’t come up with this idea sooner, Lu.” But a small voice in my head tells me exactly why.

Because I’m a martyr. I’m punishing myself because I’m undeserving of not just good things, but even basic human needs. Ugh, even peanut butter on white bread.

The thought hits me hard, so hard I kick my wash bucket. Dirty water sloshes all over the clean floor and I curse, knowing I have to rewash it now.

When I finish, the room smells like bleach and pine cleaner, but my hands are raw and cracked. I grab the garbage bag and yank it out but the can tips and just as I bend to grab it, Jeff walks in.

“Arg!” I garble, as wet goo pools beside the can onto my clean floor. But that’s not the reason for my cry. It’s because my stomach flips at the sight of him, and Tallulah Jane wants to throw her hands around his neck and kiss the hell out of him while flipping up one of her legs like a fifties-movie-star heroine, which only pisses Lu off.

“Hey.” His words are tentative and that makes me angrier.

“Don’t you ‘hey’ me like I’m a bomb about to go off.” I clench my fists at my sides, the garbage bag still clutched in one, and stare at his raised brows. Those brows, and his darkening eyes make a zing of something intense and fluttery shoot through my middle.

“Quit it, babydoll.” He pulls out a chair at the lunch table and juts his square tidy-bearded jaw at it. “Sit.”

I drop the bag and cross my arms. “Where’s my car?” It’s barely a question. It’s more of a demanding accusation. And then he crosses his arms too, and his brow pinches in disapproval.

And fuck. That makes me want to please him or push his buttons further or maybe just drop to my fucking knees and worship his... Gah!

I toss myself in a chair, but not the one he’s pulled out, because I’m basically a sulky rebellious jerk right now.

Jeff shakes his head and turns to open the fridge.

“I don’t want your damn pudding,” I bark. He only shoots me a look over his shoulder. What kind of look? A damn exasperated one that makes my middle absolutely hum. I turn my head so he won’t read me.

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