his boxers and tube socks playing his stupid video game. I’d roll my eyes, but he wouldn’t see or care.
“I’m going to bed. It was a long shift,” I tell him.
“Pfft. It’s not like you do anything there. What’d you have, five customers tonight?”
“Yeah, around that.” I pull my sheet out from under his bed and roll my coat into a ball. I used to climb into his bed, trying to be cute, pretending to forget about the no bed rule. But it never worked. He’d take what he wanted from me, and I’d be back on the ground within minutes. After a while, I tried to get one of those inflatable mattresses in here, but he got pissed off and said he’d trip over it in the middle of the night. Instead, he trips over me. “I think I’m going to sleep in one of the other rooms tonight.” There are two other bedrooms, and no one is using them right now. Not that I know of anyway. His friends are always crashing here, which is normally why I can’t sleep in another room, but the hallway was quiet when I walked through.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” he says. “Wheezer and Scoobs might be dropping in late night.” It is late night. And because his friends might be coming by, I have to sleep on the floor. I know if I said that out loud, he’d just tell me to go home though. “Well, I’ll go sleep on the couch downstairs.”
“Daphne, cut the shit. Just go to sleep. I’ve told you before, I don’t want anyone walking in, seeing you asleep on the couch.” I stop arguing, knowing it’s useless. I try to stuff some of his clothes under the sheet to give it a little extra padding tonight since my back is aching from that long shift. “Okay fine. I’ll leave and go sleep in my car.” It’s my last useless guilt trip.
“No. You’re sleeping here, next to me. That’s it.” I used to fight back, but it never led anywhere good. I’ve come to realize it’s easier to just do what he says.
I know I’m being an idiot. I do. But I can’t afford my own place and going to my parents’ house really is as bad as I’m making it sound. And my friends—they’re long gone.
I fold the sheet in half and slip inside, fluffing my coat up into a ball. “Shit. Are you really going to bed?” he asks looking back and forth between the TV and me.
“Yeah. I said I’m tired.” Now the Xbox goes off. Now the lights go off. Now I’m allowed on his bed.
I’ll spare you the complete details of what happens next. Because it’s not pretty. But tonight, I vomited all over him, because he went too far. He has a habit of going too far. But he doesn’t care. He threw me a dirty towel and told me to change his sheets. That meant giving him the sheet I sleep on.
Freed from his needs, I curl back up on the ground, wrapping my arms around my coat and holding it the way I wish someone would hold me. When my eyes close, I see Kemper. I wonder how he’s feeling while he falls asleep tonight. He’s probably thinking about his poor brother. It breaks my heart.
* * *
“You were sleeping with a smile on your face last night. Were you thinking about me?” Trent asks, sitting up and doing little to conceal his morning wood.
Yes, Trent, I think. After I choked on your disgusting cock, I was smiling about you.
I don’t respond. I feel angrier than usual this morning. Maybe it’s because I slept on his stiff, ancient carpeting with no sheet or blanket, but I should really be blaming myself for that. Maybe I’m just pissed because I hate what he did to me last night.
I stand up and drop my notebook into my bag and throw it over my shoulder. “What are you writing about?” he asks.
“You,” I give him a coy grin. You as in, what you did to me last night, because some day I’m going to read all of the pages I’ve wasted on him and realize how stupid I am. Or was. Hopefully.
“Aw, babe. That’s sweet. Are you going somewhere?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes with one hand, while scratching his balls with the other.
“The same place I go every morning, Trent.”
“I don’t know why you waste your damn time with that shit. You’re twenty-three, past your prime. Give it up.” I look at him for a long second, debating whether to offer him a response. But I know where it will lead, and I’m not in the mood to sit in this bad breath infused bedroom with the murky sun glowing through his Power Ranger curtains any longer. I scoop up my things and consider leaving him with a kiss. But the closer I get, the more I smell last night’s beer and weed laced with morning breath. Considering my stomach is still on the fritz, I’ll pass.
“Wait—are you coming to the gym later?” he asks.
“Nope. I have to be at work early.” He smiles at this response. It’s a normal thing to smile at, obviously. Insert sarcasm here.
“Why do you have to be at work early?” he asks. And there it is.
“One of the regulars is celebrating his birthday tonight and we’re expecting a large elderly crowd,” I lie. When the guys come home from overseas, the crowd at the bar remains consistent for at least a week.
He nods, believing me, and fluffs up his three pillows before lying back down. “Leave the garage door open on your way out.”
There was a time when I’d ask him why he wants me to leave the garage door open since his friends all have keys. There was a time when I cared. You know, back at the beginning, when everything was supposed to be all rainbows and cupcakes.
Yeah. It was never like that with us.