Why is life always like that? I lie on my bed and stare at the cracked ceiling. I got home from Claudia’s after three, and I’ve barely slept. I took a very, very long shower and then lay awake, flinching every time Katie’s mattress springs squeaked. I should be happy. I played my part last night. When I left Claudia, she had a half-drunk, sleepy smile of satisfaction on her face, and I had two hundred dollars in my pocket. A stipend, she whispered. So I could get started on the commission. Yeah. Right. I’m a fucking prostitute, no matter what she calls it. I press my knuckles over my eyes and clench my teeth. What if I got in my truck and started to drive? How far would I get on two hundred bucks? I sit up and push those thoughts away. I didn’t go to Claudia’s for myself. If I’d been doing anything for myself, it would have been staying with Romy on that bench. Maybe tasting her mouth, maybe asking her out, maybe trying to figure out what her story is. But my sister needs me, and then there’s Romy herself.
