Peaches

Twenty One

"Steady," I mumbled to myself, twisting the base of my pole counterclockwise to extend the length and tighten the top of the pole against the ceiling. After four failed attempts to install the damn thing, I was ready to call it quits. You can't spin on a pole that isn't level. I mean, you can if you want to die. "Please don't be crooked."

Taking slow steps back away from the pole, I examined it, relieved to find that it was indeed level, and ready to be played with. Now, my only remaining task is to sanitize it and make it shine.

Setting up my pole was a decision made as a last-ditch effort to relieve my early morning boredom. I deserved to let loosen up a little bit and do some dances strictly for my leisure. The last time I had the opportunity to dance was at the ballet studio with Candy. It's been too long.

I'm sure Chris will enjoy it.

It was now at least 6:00 am and I had yet to hear back from him after sending multiple sweet-nothing texts throughout the long evening hours. This, unfortunately, meant no sleep for me thanks to the unsettling thoughts that invaded my mind.

My puffy eyes were painted with dark circles of old makeup and hours of wasted energy, but I just couldn't bring myself to rest.

If I could just get ahold of him, even for just a minute to hear him tell me he was safe, I would be happy.

I didn't even have an idea as to when he planned on returning home today. All that I could hope for was to see him before going to Honeys for the night, and I was banking on that.

I hated this feeling.

Now that I had officially exhausted all of my energy setting up my pole, I felt no desire to dance. It was too much of a reminder that he wasn't here to see me show off for him.

Plus, I would have to dress up, wouldn't I? I had to at least wear something other than my cotton sweatpants and the t-shirt he wore the night before he left. This was unhealthy, sulking around with an abundance of crack-head energy to direct at meaningless tasks.

"I suppose now's a good time for breakfast," I grumbled to myself, sighing as I took one last look at the shiny new addition to my bedroom.

Pointless, completely, and utterly pointless.

My appetite was shot, I didn't so much as even crave a cup of coffee as I usually would. The mere idea of putting anything into my sensitive stomach nearly made me vomit. The dehydration wasn't helpful either, but even water was a chore to get down.

Before walking to the living room, I impulsively checked Momma's bedroom, opening the door quietly even though I knew she wasn't there. When was she ever really there?

Not a single item in her musty bedroom had been touched since the last time she was home. The bowls filled with old food that I made her sat on her nightstands, creating a stink in the room. Crumpled bits of tin foil that were blackened by her drug use and broken fragments of rubber bands scattered her unmade bed.

I'd have to clean before she comes home, that's a sure fact. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, nobody should have to live like this.

I'll take care of it later. That's the mindset, isn't it?

Feeling sorrow plague my chest, I sat down in Chris's spot on the couch and pulled my knees up to my chest. Taking a deep breath in, I was pleased to find that I could catch a faint smell that reminded me of him. It could have been the scent of his cologne left behind on his t-shirt, or the empty pack of cigarettes sitting on the arm of the couch. Whatever it was, I welcomed it and found comfort in the simple reminder.