Page 5 of Daddy's Muse
Whenever I got really sad or scared, I liked to breathe in the faint leather scent and imagine the person who’d given it to me. Whoever it was must’ve been an angel. I just wish that they had left a note or even woken me up to say hi.
Bryan muttered again, rustling through the mini-fridge for another beer that wasn’t there. “Dude, got any drinks? C’mon, Colb. Know you’re awake.”
I forced my voice past the knot in my throat. “No, Bryan.”
“Let me borrow some cash then. I know you get tips from the diner.”
His words slurred together, but I still heard the accusation of stinginess woven through them. I gripped the coat tightly. If he saw it, he’d never believe it wasn’t stolen. He might even try to take it from me and sell it himself. It looked and felt expensive.
“I spent the last of it on textbooks,” I lied. I needed my last twenty dollars for the week to buy snacks. But I knew if I mentioned that, he’d insist that I didn’t need any. I got three meals a day from the dining hall, but my body required snacks and water for the hours between meal times. If I didn’t snack, my blood pressure would drop too low, and I’d feel awful. None of that mattered to him, though.
Ten more weeks of classes, then finals. Ten weeks and I’d never have to see him again.
He groaned and got back into his bed. Within minutes, a rattling snore filled the room. I waited until his breathing settled into its deep, uneven rhythm before I eased upright.
Carefully, I slid the coat into the back corner of my bed, covering it with my pillow. Then I pulled on sweatpants, gathered my shower caddy, and slipped out of the room.
The long hallway was silent, except for the distant hum of an elevator. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I walked. Once in the communal bathroom, I locked myself in the end shower stall and stripped, stepping forward to turn the chipped faucet. I practically purred when the warm water sprayed onto my back.
In three hours, I had a shift at the small diner where I worked. I would shower, study for my Latin quiz, grab a to-go breakfast from the dining hall, and still make it across campus and into the outskirts of town without being late. I was working from 8:30 a.m. to 12 p.m., had a lecture from 1 p.m. to 2:45 p.m., a tutoring session from 3 p.m. to 4 p.m., another class from 4:30p.m. to 6:30 p.m., and then the closing shift at the diner from 8 p.m. to 12 a.m. Thursdays were my busiest days by far.
I leaned against the cool tile wall, letting the water soak my hair. The warmth helped, but it wasn’t enough to chase off the bone-deep fatigue that clung to me. I didn’t even scrub right away—I just stood there, head bowed, arms loose at my sides, letting the stream beat steadily between my shoulder blades.
I was so tired that it made my teeth ache. Not just sleepy—tired in a way that no amount of rest could touch. My eyes felt like they were full of grit, presumably from my lack of sleep.
Every time I blinked, my body begged me to just… stay still. To just let my eyes close for a second and sink down onto the floor of the shower.
I didn’t. I couldn’t. I had too much to do.
I tilted my head back, dragging my fingers through my curls. I couldn’t remember the last time I hadn’t been exhausted.
It wasn’t just from work or school or the heavy backpack I carried everywhere, but fromeverything.
From living this way.
From constantly monitoring how much food I had left, calculating every dollar, every second. From listening to Bryan snore or puke or stomp in at godawful hours and having to act like it didn’t bother me. From refusing to get sick, because I couldn’t afford to miss a shift.
From pretending I was okay.
Because Ineededto be okay.
Most mornings, it felt like I didn’t even wake up—I justresumed,like the pause between consciousness and unconsciousness had disappeared completely. My body hurt in quiet, persistent ways: an ache in my lower back that never went away, the ever-present tightness in my jaw from clenching it in my sleep, and the stiff, red, raised skin across my fingers where I’d burned myself on the grill the day before.
My body felt like a broken vending machine—overworked, understocked, and still expected to keep running.
There was no choice but to keep running.
No other option.
I stayed in the shower a little longer than I should’ve, but it was really the only moment of peace I’d get all day.
When I got out, the bathroom mirror was fogged over. I wiped it with the corner of my towel and stared at my reflection: hollowed cheeks, blueish shadows under my eyes, chapped lips. My skin looked papery pale in the fluorescent light, the way it always did when I didn’t eat enough salt. I stuck out my tongue just to check. Slightly dry. I needed to get something with electrolytes today, if I could swing it. Maybe I could stop by the dollar store for a sports drink in the afternoon.
I forced myself to smile in the mirror, just to see if I could still do it.
It looked strange. Fragile. Like a mask that didn’t quite fit anymore.
I let it drop and bit the inside of my cheek to stop my bottom lip from wobbling.
