Page 55 of Loss Aversion

Birdie shut the door to the bedroom behind her and fell back on the bed.

She smelled like pot roast and hash browns and felt eighty years old. Sitting up, hearing her spine crack along the way, she pulled the day’s tips out of her front pocket and dropped it on the bedspread. Counting the bills and change, she was fairly certain she could make rent without dipping into their twenty-five hundred dollars in savings. Maybe, if she added more shifts, she’d be able to add to their nest egg.

There was also the car parked on the side of the road without rims and slashed tires. Birdie referred to that event as their “welcome to the neighborhood” gesture, which happened the first night they arrived. She reasoned she could always sell the car for the parts and further pad their paltry account. That was always an option.

As she placed her earnings in their hiding place, a slit she had made in the side of the suitcase she’d packed the night they hightailed it out of Wayward, she heard a commotion outside her door. A few minutes later, there was loud music and voices.

Latching the suitcase and shoving it under her bed, she opened her door to about fifteen people in the living room, one with dreads, ghostly pale skin, and several metal bars in his ears and nose, lighting up a bong, and another with a firearm in full view in a holster at his side cutting a powdery substance with a razor.

Not only did they not pay her any attention, they seemed perpetually hostile and ready to party.

“Maisie?” Birdie said with gritted teeth as she grabbed her sister under her arm and yanked. “Can I talk to you? In private?”

With a joint in one hand, Creed interjected, staring at Birdie with a shocking amount of insolence. “Just remember, May-May, this is your crib, too.”

Her chest felt tight at his cold perusal. She couldn’t recall Creed ever making her feel so threatened before and wondered if his slacker vibe was a beard for a far worse persona.

Birdie yanked harder, dragging her sister in her room and slammed the door shut.

“Do you know how many laws are being broken in our living room right now? What are you doing, Maisie? Trying to get us arrested and sent to prison?”

“You heard Creed. This is my home, too. If I want to have friends over, I will.”

Taking a breath, she shook her head. Astounded. “Either tell them to leave or I’m leaving. For good.” Figuring it would be easier for her to move out than getting Maisie to.

“Fine.” She held up her palm. “Hand over my three K.”

“We used that money as a deposit for the apartment.”

“Then it’s my apartment. I don’t care what the lease says.”

“And how do you plan to pay for it?”

“I’ve already discussed it with Creed. He’s going to move in, and we’re going to split the rent.”

“Neither one of you work!” Birdie shouted, pulling at her hair.

“We’ll get jobs.” She shrugged as if it were a no-brainer. “If you can get one, then so can I.”

“Wow, what a concept, Maisie, I’ve been saying that every day for over a month now!”

Birdie stared at her sister and noticed a rather calm resignation to the conversation. Like she was numb. “How long have you been using, Maisie?”

She rolled her eyes. “Like you’ve never done drugs.”

“I haven’t.”

“Oh, yeah? Why do you think you woke up in bed in between Chuckie Fester and Pete Dooley?”

Birdie tilted her head to the side.

Was that why that night had so many crater-sized gaps in her memory? She’d been on drugs?

No, she’d been drugged.

Flashes of her memory returned with Maisie standing at the keg and handing her two Solo cups. One for Lucas and one for her.

Her head jerked up at her sister standing there with her arms crossed and a smug smile on her face. “Did you put drugs in our beer?”

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