Page 4 of Dancin' with Demons

Her cousin and his club came for us eventually, and that’s when I met Renegade. He’s the man that literally took me off the table I was being raped and tortured on, took me back to their clubhouse, and stayed by my side for three days. I knew he would’ve given up his entire life to help me, but I was just a fucking mess. I didn’t even know I was pregnant then, and to this day, I can’t say which of the men that held me captive is my daughter’s father.

It wasn’t until a few months after I got here to Nags Head that I even found out I was pregnant. That’s why I named her Savior. The night before I ran from Renegade, I’d tried to kill myself, and for months after getting here, I still wanted to. Finding out about her was the only thing that stopped me. Sometimes, when the nightmares are real bad, she’s still the only thing that keeps me breathing.

Our life here isn’t great either, but I’m trying the best I can. I work six days a week at the most popular diner in the area. This is a tourist town, so thankfully, we get enough traffic that I can barely keep up afloat. It’s not cheap here, and we live in one of the most rundown apartments in the area. Even with that, I’m still a month behind on rent, and the electric has been off for almost a month now. I got lucky and found a kerosene heater someone threw out, so at least we have some warmth, and I can cook little things on it.

Since the fridge isn’t usable, Savior mostly lives off oatmeal and canned stuff. Thankfully, at three, she doesn’t really care. She’s smart for her age and so independent and sweet. When she talks, people can’t believe she’s so young. Hell, sometimes, I can’t believe it. There’s been nights in the bast few weeks that I’m in tears and wishing things were different, and she’s the one that comes to hug me and says, “It’s okay, Mommy. At least we have each other.”

I don’t deserve her— I know that much. I also don’t deserve Miss Irene, my neighbor, who’s seventy-five and watches Savior for me so I can work. I pay her by buying food for her house, too, because she refuses to take actual payment for anything. She says she’s just happy to have the company. Miss Irene’s lived her going on eight years. She’s got two kids, but apparently, they dumped her in a nursing home, cleaned out her bank account, and took off. After two years, the money they paid for her living ran out, and she was kicked from the home. Her social security is enough to afford the basics, and that’s about it.

If I ever come into money one day, I’m doing everything I can for that lady until she takes her last breath. Savior and I couldn’t make it without her these last three years.

Stretching, I carefully move the blanket off my legs and set my feet on the floor, a chill running right up my legs. It’s not too cold during the day, but nighttime gets chilly now that we’re moving into the autumn months. Heading over to the heater, I grab the gas can from the wall under the windows and carefully add some so that I can turn the thing up high enough to make Savior breakfast. I’m pulling an all-day shift today, so I have to be at the diner by six when we open and won’t leave until after midnight when we close. I hate being away from my daughter like this, but it’s the only way for me to make enough money.

It’s almost the weekend, so if I can make enough tonight, Saturday, and Sunday, I can put half down on rent and, hopefully, get the electric back on. I’m off tomorrow, so I’ll spend the day with Savior and probably take her to the park. I try to do something fun on my days off with her that doesn’t involve us sitting in the house. She never complains, but the fact she’s stuck inside all the time because I work so much and can’t afford to take her anywhere kills me. I never thought of having kids, not after how I was raised, but now that I do, I want to give Savior everything I never had.

Right now, the only thing I give her that I didn’t have is love. That’s nothing something I got from either of my shit parents, and I make sure to give Savior a hundred percent of me when I’m with her. This morning, though, I’m glad she’s still sleeping. Any time I have nightmares or dreams about Renegade or the hell I went through before he found me, it always takes me a while to get my head right after I wake up. I hate to admit it, but it happens at least three or four days a week still.

I can’t say that I fell in love with Renegade because we were only together for three days. But I know that he showed me more care than anyone ever had before, and what I felt for him, what I still feel for him, could have very easily turned to love if I’d stayed. That’s part of why I left. He was a great guy, better than I deserved, and it felt wrong to stay and force him to be there when I didn’t even know how to begin fixing myself after everything. I wish like hell I’d met him before it all happened. Things may have turned out differently, but this is how it is, and I know at some point, I’m going to have to let it go. Stop thinking about him, stop wondering about the what-ifs, and accept that I ran— I made the choiceforus.

Sighing, I grab the three candles off the worn-down coffee table and half a book of matches and head into the bathroom. Thankfully, the water is included in the rent here, so as long as we don’t get evicted, we have running water. Setting the candles on the sink, I light each one before setting the matches down and turning on the water. Taking one of our three towels out and setting it on the top of the toilet seat, I take off my sweats and tank top and pull the knob to kick the water through the shower head. The water here is luke warm at best, but it’s always been that way.

My first year here, I had a nicer place on the other side of town. I ended up with a little over nine thousand when I cleared my bank accounts and used more than half of that to pay a year’s worth of everything in my first apartment. By the time Savior was a month old, though, the money ran out, and that’s when I got this place and went to work for the diner.

I don’t stay in the shower long and put my uniform on once I’m out. Make-up isn’t a luxury I can afford, so thankfully, getting ready for work is pretty easy. Black slacks, the diner t-shirt, my tennis shoes, and hair in a pony tail. Ten minutes, and I’m ready to go. Back in the living room, Savior is still sound asleep, so I grab my composition book and head into the kitchen. After setting it on the table, I go back to grab the candles from the bathroom and sit down to write until I have to wake her up.

In three years, I’ve filled one of these books a month and keep them stacked on the floor against the wall in the living room. I started my first one on the bus the day I left Gatlinburg, and they’re pretty much just letters to Renegade. Every moment of my life, I’ve written it down to him. Everything from detailing what happened before I met him to how I felt with him, to Savior’s pregnancy, and everything we’ve dealt with since. It’s not like he’s ever going to read them, and it gives me an outlet, so I don’t have to keep everything bottled up.

By the time Savior calls me from the living room, the sun’s up enough that I can blow the candles out. After finishing the little bit I’m writing, I close my book and head in to get our day going. Savior is sitting up with her blankie clutched to her chest, her little hand fisted around it, and her ginger hair that matches mine sticking up in odd directions. I can’t help but giggle at her.

“You have bed head,” I say with a smile.

She lets go of her blankie and uses both hands to try and smooth her hair down. After a few passes, she smiles up at me. “All better!”

“How about some oatmeal before we get you ready to go to Miss Irene’s, huh?”

“Okay, Mommy,” she says as she tosses the blanket off her lap and turns to slide down on the floor in front of the table. Going back to the kitchen, I grab the small pot out of the drain board and fill it halfway with water. In the living room, I set it on the top of the heater and go grab our brush and a hair tie from the bathroom. While waiting for the water to boil, I get Savior’s hair up in a ponytail so she can eat without it in her face.

After adding the oatmeal, I take it off the heater and let it sit on the table for a few minutes before putting it in a bowl and giving her a spoon. While she eats, I wash the dishes in the sink and pick out clothes for her to wear. Neither of us owns a lot, but it’s enough for now. At the very least, I make sure to keep what she has clean so that she’s not running around in stained stuff. Just because we’re poor doesn’t mean I can’t teach my daughter to take care of what little we have and make sure that when she’s in public, she has a little dignity.

Forty minutes later, we’re knocking on Miss Irene’s door across the hall. When she answers, her eyes go right to Savior, and a smile lights up her face. “Well, aren’t you just the prettiest thing this morning, Miss Savior?”

Savior giggles and puts her hand on her hip. “Miss Irene, you say that every morning.”

Miss Irene leans down and boops Savior on the tip of her nose. “Well, that’s because you come over here every morning looking like the prettiest girl ever.” The elderly woman turns to the side, and Savior darts into the house and out of sight. “She’ll be just fine, Ray. Try to have a good day at work, okay?”

I reach out and gently grab Miss Irene’s hand. “Thank you again. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Miss Irene waves me off. “It’s my pleasure, dear. Savior is as good as my own grandbaby, and I love having her around. She keeps me young.”

Turning away, Miss Irene quietly shuts the door, and I head down the three flights of stairs to the street. It’s a thirty-minute walk to work, and already, the chill from last night is fading. It’s pretty much the end of beach season, and this weekend is going to be the last of the summer tourists until next April. Things will slow down some for the diner, but thankfully, it has a great reputation, so even in the off-season, we’re busy enough that everyone gets to keep their job.

Thursdays are great days to walk because the little area in the center of town where the diner is also has a weekly farmer’s market, and while I can’t get anything right now, I like looking at what they have. One day, Savior and I are going to have enough to hit these things up all the time and get everything fresh so I can teach her how to cook. It won’t always be how it is now. I have to believe that. Through high school and college, I worked so hard, and I refuse to believe that I’m cursed for my daughter to always live like I did— like we do now.

Turning down the alley next to the diner, I head inside using the side entrance, and bickering comes from the door that leads from the kitchen to the actual dining area. Sounds like my bosses, Troy and Edna, are having a bad morning. Quietly heading that way, I walk through the door and step behind the long counter to put my bag away and get my apron on.

“She’s called out five times in the last two weeks, Edna,” Troy says as he takes the chairs off the tables and sets the right side up on the floor. “I don’t care what the excuse is. She’s a flake, and we need people who want to work.”

Edna rolls her eyes as she sprays the nearest table and wipes it down before setting it with the paper place mats and rolled silverware. “Well, what do you want me to do? Take her off the damn schedule, and what? Ask Ray to work more hours than she already does? Christ, Troy, she can’t take every shift.”

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