after getting ready for work, I pause and stare at Kent’s door. Why does he insist on bagging girls on the couch when he has a perfectly good bedroom?
My curiosity is piqued.
I risk opening his door. Light shines in through beige curtains, warming his bedroom in a golden haze. His king bed is made with comfortable-looking swaths of black sheets and white pillows. It smells like cologne, clean clothes, and citrus. I spy an orange candle by his bed and suspect that’s why. There isn’t a single thing out of place. I push his closet open and am not surprised to find it organized impeccably. His shirts hang from hangers, his jeans are folded by color, and his shoes line the floor. The man is organized.
I leave his closet alone and examine his dresser. Cologne bottles, hairbrushes, and hair products that he obviously never uses decorate the top. There’s a large mirror behind it. Stuck to the corner is a picture of a woman. She can’t be any older than us. She has long onyx hair and the brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen. Her face is sharply beautiful, all angles and clear skin. She’s smiling at the camera like the man she loves is taking the picture. For some reason I can’t stop looking at her. I’m struck by how much I want happiness like that. I want to smile at a man and know he’s never going to leave me.
Why does Kent have a picture of this girl?
I quickly put her back where I found her and then leave his bedroom. So his room isn’t the problem. If anything, it’s kind of a turn on. He’s so clean in his separate life. Why can’t he be that way all the time? His social life is sloppy, scattered, and unsafe. He’s with different women, drinking that drink, and worrying about tomorrow as if it weren’t the same as yesterday.
We’re all running from something in our lives. Some of us don’t have to run as hard, and others have to sprint for their lives. I had a feeling Kent has been running as fast as he can away from something. Or from someone. I’ve run from my childhood every chance I get. From the nights waking up alone without my parents, having to rely on Becca. From the mornings waking up with colds and an empty belly with no one there to take care of me but my sister who was only two years older than me. Becca was my parent, but at the same time she was her own kind of messed up. She searched for in men what she didn’t get from our father. I avoid men because of him.
We’ve been running in our own ways. Every choice I make is to prevent my future from looking like screaming and fighting. Every man Becca sleeps with was an attempt to prove they aren’t all like our father.
But they are.
Men are the reason I fear my own emotions.
Chapter Four
When I get to Oblivion it’s no different than last night. I take a deep breath, enjoy the few seconds of sanity I still possess, and then enter into the chaos.
Henley is at the computer system, drumming her fingers on the touch screen when I come in. “Samantha called in sick,” is her greeting.
“Let me guess. I get all of her tables?”
“You got it. Can you handle it? Maybe one of the other girls will help out.”
I try not to show my irritation. I’m not mad at Henley or even Samantha. I’m mad at Kent. “No, I can handle it. Catch me up.”
As she lets me know about the tables I’m serving tonight, I think about what made Samantha call in sick. Is she upset with herself? Is she sore? Kent did sound like he was hurting her. Or maybe she doesn’t give a shit that she left me during the busiest shift because she fell for Kent’s BS. Something I absolutely refuse to do again. No more thumbs in my mouth. I’ll let girls like Auburn Hair and Samantha fall for it from now on.
I grab my order pad and approach a new table. After taking and putting in their orders I start my rounds. I pour beer, pick up wings, and work Oblivion like a madwoman. The first three hours fly by and so does my break. I’m coming back into the main floor when Henley taps me on my shoulder.
“Handsome requested he sit in your section.” She nods