"Ahh, shit."

I groan, slowly moving from my lowered bed. I woke up with a nagging pain in my chest, and a tender side.

When I finally move to my feet, I quietly shuffle to the bathroom across the hall. Making sure to close the doors without a sound. Looking in the mirror, I almost scare myself.

Because I'm freaking ugly

But also because the black eye I had received a few nights before, had reached its full bruising. I wince a little trying to lift up my shirt. By the looks of my side, it was a small bruise. The dark colors would get more prominent as the days went on. I, unfortunately, know this routine all too well.

With a sigh, I get started with my morning routine: Brushing my teeth, washing my face, covering the wounds and bruises. All with cold water because my mother would be up soon and 'knows when I've used it' as she says.

It won't always be like this

I'll move out soon

I just have to save enough money

Just one more year

Walking back to my room, I get changed in my first work uniform. Packing the other in a small bag for my second job. Gently moving down the stairs, one foot at a time, making sure to miss the creeks in them. I hear the snoring,

That fucking snoring

Too many times have I wanted to just push a pillow over the opened mouthed sleeper. Counting the pros and cons of ending the main cause of my suffering, the cause of my late-night break downs.

I have been far to close to doing so then I'd like to admit

Looking over at her while I approach the front door, I can't help the scowl that grows on my face. Her hair is a mess, I've noticed it's starting to thin.

Liquor bottles litter the once lively living room floor. The smell of alcohol was suffocating, I'm sure it had been stained into the walls by now. They could bulldoze this house and I'm almost certain it would still smell of booze. Lines of a white substance laid in patterns on the coffee table. A half-empty syringe right next to it.

The women's once beautiful body was now littered in tiny scars and bugling dark veins.

It didn't have to be like this, there were different ways to handle the grief that she let overcome her. She just decided to take on the ultimately worst one.

A familiar burning sensation creeps its way to my eyes.

I shake it off.

Crying won't solve shit

I slam the door shut, knowing what will happen when I get home. She doesn't care, so why should I?

I throw my bag in the passenger's seat and drive out of the driveway. The radio's broken so I sit in silence. Which, sucks, silence sucks. I can hear myself think in silence. 

It's true what they say about grief, it really can change someone if not dealt with accordingly. I think it's fair to say most people don't go to the lengths she does, but I'm fully aware of why she does it.

My mother was beautiful, one of the many reasons my father fell in love with her. They were the perfect depiction of love, late-night kitchen dances, I love you's after fights, love-filled looks.

You name it, they had it.

I wish I could say I don't remember the accident. I wish I could say the blow to my head erased the complete event.

But I can't

In fact, I remember it very clearly. The whole ordeal dances in my nightmares, invading my thoughts. I don't think there's ever a time I don't get a small sensation of remembrance while doing small daily tasks. One might call it PTSD, but I refer to it as a pain in the ass.

The passing years only add more detail to the lethal crash.

I remember my father's blood-streaked face, I remember the life leaving his hazel eyes. I remember my brother's body tangled in the passenger's seat, his limbs limp and unmoving. I can recall the sirens of the first responders, the numb feeling I had in my body.

I remember it all

Most importantly I remember my mother's eyes when the police told her my father was gone. At that moment, I'd lost both of my parents.

She was gone, everyone was.

I pull up in the employee parking lot at the small cute diner I worked morning shift for. Checking the clock, I head inside.

"Mornin' honey, how are you?" Ms. Justine, the owner of the diner, chirped at me. I loved this woman, she was an amazing boss and an even more amazing person. Her smooth country accent made every word sound like a beautiful song.

"I'm just fine, Ms. Justine, how are you?" I smile back widely. This small interaction I have with her is the highlight of my day.

"Oh, darlin' I'm always good," Her melodic laugh rings in my ears, "There are a few tables ready for you, Doll."

I nod, pulling the white apron around my waist, heading to my first table of the day. As soon as I bust out of the swinging doors, the biggest fake smile is plastered on my face.

"Good morning ma'am, what are we drinking today?"

***

"Lord have mercy," I mutter, pushing through the weighted bathroom doors.

The day wasn't hard, I didn't have any unusually rude customers, but it still sucked. I quickly change into my next work outfit in the employee bathroom. Nodding a quick goodbye to the kitchen staff.

"Goodnight, Ms. Justine," I sing making my way out of the door.

"Night darlin'!" I hear her just before the door fully closes.

My next job is at a nightclub. I was bartending, despite being underaged I still got the job and work almost every night.

I touch up my makeup, recovering bruises, and pull out of the parking lot.

The club is downtown, which is about thirty-five minutes from the diner. Stopped at a red light, the sound of screeching tires can be heard nearing my car. I peek my head towards the direction, trying to get a look at whatever was happening.

 A dark-colored Mercedes flashes by without a care in the world. Of course no police following, no one planning on stoping this act against the law. You gotta love this city

Just wait, wait until I can get enough money, to move out of my house.

To move out of this city

I want to travel

See things

Get away

I want to be far, far away

A groan emits from the back of my throat as I pull into the club parking lot. Unlike my other job, I hate this one. The men are gross, and the females grosser. Don't even get me started on my sleaze bag boss. He has a strong vendetta against me because when I was first hired I refused to sleep with him. The only reason I stay at this job is because it pays immensely more then the diner one does.

And I'm in desperate need of money

Walking in, I put on my mask. Physically and metaphorically.

Which is part of the uniform, but I can't drive with it on. The uniform is basically lingerie, a black corset, with leather shorts and fishnets. On top of that, black stripper like heels.

All I need is the pole - I'm sure that would pay even better.

I strut to the bar, already being bombarded with rude, frantic hands. Making my way to my spot at the bar, I instantly get to work. 

It seemed like a bachelor party was being thrown tonight. That didn't mean the club was packed, but it meant there was going to be drunk, rude customers all night.

"Hey girl, I need a platter for 4." Amber's chipper voice can be heard from behind me.

She is a server, and probably the closet thing I have to a friend.

"I gotcha, hold on."

Pouring liquor into 4 crystal clear cups, mixing colors, and flavors. This was probably the only thing I liked about this job. Though I don't drink, alcohol has never been appealing to me.

Liquor is my mother's best friend

"Here, love," I wink at her.

"You always make it the best." She smiles in return, strutting to the table full of men.

She's gorgeous, blonde hair, dark green eyes. Yet, a broken smile. Her life hasn't been all peaches and cream. No one's here as.

For hours, I pour drinks:

Mix

Shake

Pour

That's the routine that has been burned into, not only my brain but my arms as well. As soon as the night starts to slow down, I take a seat on an old beer barrel in the far left corner of the bar. These stripper heels really aren't for walking.

Jesus, I don't know how much longer I can do this

"Hey, beautiful, tired?"

I look up to Amber's smiling face, but it's not a real one. There's some underlying apprehension about it.

"What's wrong?" I know her all too well

"Okay, I'll cut to the chase," She breathes out, sitting next to me, "Braxton wants you to serve a private VIP room upstairs." She spits out.

I freeze.

"B-but I'm not a server, " I manage to get out, grief haunts my face.

"I know, Rose, I know," She offers a look of empathy, "I begged him to let me serve it, but he was adamant that you had to be the one," She explains.

"I hate him," I mutter, sighing before getting up.

"You and me both," She agrees, "Remember don't let them touch you. They have no right."

I nod starting on the drinks.

"I saw them come in," She starts, dread pinching at her voice, "They don't look very friendly."

I try to stop my body from shaking, pouring the last drink.

"I'll be careful, Amber, I always am." I try to muster up the best smile I can.

She sends me another look of sympathy before handing me the room key and walking to another table that had been calling her.