Page 15 of Run Away Home: Tempered

That’s it. He can’t talk to me that way.

“Nope. Peter will be at work. I’ll be watching my show. You can sit in your room. I don’t care.”

I yank the door open again and slam it as I leave. I’m surprised he doesn’t follow me, shouting like the overgrown baby he is. So much for “positive change.” No one in this apartment changed at all today! I wonder who my horoscope could have been referring to?

I go to my room, open the bottom drawer of my nightstand, and find my plastic baggie of kickers.

I could quit if I wanted to. I just don’t want to, right? Now’s just not the right time. I’ll know when it is. My horoscope will say something about it, for sure.

Chapter Three

Peter

“JOB NUMBER ONE, DONE,” I say to myself as I get out of the car. My legs are throbbing already. Waiting tables isn’t so bad. I’ve only been doing it for a few days now, but I’m already wondering if it’s worth it. When there’s no lunch rush, I barely make minimum wage.

It’s time to get ready for my second job, bartending at McAlister’s. I’ve worked there for a while now. I make way more money there than at my day job. I need two jobs and government benefits to afford all the bills, and that’s still just getting by.

I walk toward the apartment, rubbing my hands to warm them. My skin feels like it could peel right off.

What do I want for lunch? I’ll just have something easy. Maybe a granola bar? I think we still have one left.

As I open the front door, I hear talking. Is someone here with Hayley? Who?

I walk up the stairs quickly and hang my keys on the hook. Hayley’s sitting on the couch with a man. He has greasy brown hair, a few straggly curls on his chin, angular cheekbones, and a long, sunken-in face. He’s wearing a stained wife-beater which looks like it hasn’t been laundered in weeks. One of his bare arms has a poorly drawn tattoo of someMario Brotherscharacters. Bowser’s holding Yogi in the air with one arm, and his other hand is a fist, like he’s going to clock Yogi in the face. What a clatty basturt. The more I examine him, the more afraid I become to breathe in through my nose. God only knows what he smells like.

“Peter, this is Tristian.”

“Oh. Hello,” I answer politely.

“Hey, what’s up.” He doesn’t look at me. His voice is monotone, so his greeting doesn’t even sound like a question.

“Not too much.”

I can’t help but look around the apartment. There’s garbage everywhere. Empty chip bags and napkins. Is that spit in a plastic cup? I finally take a deep breath in through my nose, but I instantly regret it. The room smells like skunk. There’s a half-eaten sandwich on the coffee table, no plate. Who eats straight off of the table?

“I’ll get you a plate,” I say.

“Don’t need one. Thanks, brother.”

“Okay... Well, in my house, we eat on plates.”

“It’s an apartment, not a house.”

Who is this guy?

“I know, but that wasn’t the point. I’ve been trying to keep it clean in here, and I—”

“I’ll put it on my lap.” He picks up the sandwich and places it on his dirty jeans. The bread crumbles, and pieces fall onto the carpet. I guess I’ll need to vacuum tonight.

“Well...I’m going to go to the bathroom now.” I stare at Hayley. She knows, but she doesn’t look back.

“Cool accent,” he says.

“What?” I ask.

“You have a cool accent. How long did it take you to grow all that hair?”

“I don’t know. My whole life, I guess.” I start walking away.

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