Page 20 of Shattered
What would Rourke think of this?
“Teaching art?” I asked.
“Well,” she huffed, “What are you doing right now?”
I thought about lying, but Rourke’s mechanical words popped into my head:Underneath the bullshit hypocrisy of the world. When you pull back the layers and layers of societal norms. What are you hiding?
Was there any reason to be ashamed of what I was doing?
“I’m a server at the Dahlia District,” I said.
She covered her mouth, then slanted her body away from me. After she braced herself, she spoke, “I suppose that’s my fault somehow. But this will give you a better opportunity for the future. You can’t serve there forever.”
I wanted to shoot back that there were always management opportunities. That we servers could show how valuable we were to Dahlia, and she would find a way to make sure we prosperedwithher. That we could live beyond the entertainment side, working off the rest of our debts in a career path that was well suited for anyone, even people like Beth.
But the reality was that a path like that rarely happened for anyone. Most servers were downgraded to bartenders, janitors, maintenance, even reception. It was hard to say what happened to them once that transfer occurred.
“All you have to do is show up,” Beth said, “Pretend to care.”
“That’s more than showing up.”
“I want this for you. I want to figure out a way to mend the pain I caused. This is the perfect opportunity for you.Please.Let me help you.”
I looked up, focusing on the lamp lighting the porch, even though the sun was out. One of my neighbors scurried across his lawn and gawked at me before ducking inside of his garage. Was I another victim to him? Someone who would be gone in the coming days, like the rest of the Pros’ Angel’s victims? Rourke’s targets.
Did I want to spend what could have been one of the last days of my life, arguing with my mother?
“I’ll show up,” I said.
“That’s all you have to do,” Beth said, her pitch raising. “You won’t regret it.”
She scampered down the stairs to her car, not bothering to ask if she could come inside. As if she knew I wouldn’t let her in. Not yet. Not after all of these years. There was no hug. No warm welcome. We slipped back into our old, distant selves.
But was that who I was underneath all of it? Was I an art teacher like she thought I was? I saw those expressionless windows into his eyes, heard his voice in my mind:Deep inside, we’re all just humans trying to survive. Rage fills us, threatens to overflow. How many people are willing to look in the mirror and see what’s really there?
He was in my head. Mocking me. Judging me silently behind those bulbous lenses. Insulting me for the lack of courage I had to be myself. But I couldn’t do it. Not in front of my mother. Not in the Dahlia District.
Yet it was Rourke who could admit who he was.
That evening, as I was aimlessly brushing a blank canvas with strokes of pink and gray, trying to capture a sunset, Garrett texted me right before the club opened:Are you working tonight?
I texted back quickly,Night off.And within five minutes, a ping sounded on my phone. He had added money to my account, as if we were there. I sent a quick thank you. Then my phone rang;Jakeblinked on the screen.
I answered, “What’s up?”
“Your homeboy is here,” he said. It sounded like he was outside, smoking a cigarette, the long drags in between his sentences. “Where are you? You’re not on the schedule?”
“I don’t know. Dahlia didn’t update the penalty on the schedule yet.”
“Ah. Well,” he sucked in another breath, “that new member is here, and the wolves are watching him like he’s a filet mignon. There’s one other club member here, and he’s already with Teagen. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone actually grilled the steak this time.”
Cut the crap, man. Get to the damn point. “Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“You think I should come in, then?”
“Bro. Get your ass in here. Don’t let the vultures get him.”
