Eighteen (18)(10)

“You’re gonna need to get a job, Shannon. I can’t pay for you anymore.”

I nod. “OK. I’ll look tomorrow.” All I want is to go to my room and collapse on my hard futon. It feels like sleeping on concrete, but things could be worse. I could be sleeping on the disgusting twenty-year-old carpet instead.

“So where were you really? Because I called down to Phil’s and you weren’t there.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Poor baby,” he says, his words rumbling out of his chest. “You’re eighteen now,” he continues, looking me up and down in a way that makes me uncomfortable. He makes me uncomfortable a lot. He came on to me once back in San Diego, but he was very drunk and the next day he pretended it never happened. “Legal.”

“What’s that mean?” I don’t look like Jill at all. She had blonde hair and blue eyes and I have brown hair and brown eyes, so if he thinks I’m her replacement, he’s wrong in every way I can think of.

Jason gets up from the couch and walks towards the small kitchen in the front of the apartment, his fingertips dragging along my knee as he passes. I hiss in a breath but he pretends not to notice. My eyes track him as he grabs another bottle of beer from the fridge, then pops the top off and throws it into the sink. That’s when I notice several more empty bottles on the counter.

He takes a long drag on his beer and then walks back over to me, stopping right in front of my chair. He places both hands on the arms and leans down. “You’re prettier than her, you know that.”

“Well, she’s dead,” I say back. Emotionless. “So it’s not that hard.”

He reaches out and the back of his knuckles sweep down my cheek. My foot comes up automatically and I kick him hard in the chest, sending him reeling backwards. He must be drunker than I figured, because he crashes against the trunk, spilling over a vase with dead flowers left over from Jill’s funeral last month.

The baby starts screaming in the other room and I see the rage in Jason’s eyes. “You f*cking bitch!” he snarls, trying to get up.

But I’m out of there. I bolt for the door and pull it open, but he’s behind me, slamming it shut again. His drunken slowness has no dampening effect on his rage. He spins me around and punches me in the cheek, good enough to see stars.

My rage is out of control. “I hit back, motherf*cker.” I grab his shoulders and bring my knee right into his balls.

He steps back just enough to let me turn and open the door again. I push on the screen and step outside, thankful that I had the good sense to never take my backpack off.

There’s a woman across the grassy area shoving a key into her door. She turns and I close my eyes and grit my teeth.

Jason appears behind me, but he must see the same thing I do, because he says nothing, just slams the door closed behind me.

“Shannon?”

How is it that I’ve lived here for one month and everybody seems to know my name?

I ignore her. She’s a cop who just moved in two weeks ago. But she parks her squad car on the street, not back in the alley. So I see her getting in and out of it all the time when she comes home during a shift.

“Shannon?” she repeats.

I make for the little path that leads to the alley next to the laundry room, but she catches me by the leather jacket and I spin around and shrug her off. “Don’t touch me.” I growl it.

She lets go. “Is everything OK?”

“Does everything f*cking look OK?” I snarl it this time. But I don’t wait for an answer because my face is stinging from the hit I took and I’m pretty sure it’s red and getting ready to bruise. I take off down the alley, walking as fast as I can without running.

Eighteen had better improve fast. Because if this is what it’s gonna be like for the rest of my life, then what is the point?





Chapter Six




I don’t have many options. I could go to the arcade across the street from the high school. That’s only two blocks away and the guy who runs it, Mark, another friend of Jason’s, is cool. He always gets me high when I go there and it’s slow.

Why are all Jason’s friends so nice and he’s such a raging *?

But all the kids from school hang out at the arcade in the evenings and I don’t want to see anyone right now. So I go to Phil’s. It’s a dumb move because if Jason wants to go looking for me that will be the first stop.

But again, limited options.

So I trudge up the alley, my Chucks soaking wet as I splash through the leftover puddles, and cross West Street. Phil’s car isn’t in the driveway, so I know he’s not home. But I knock on the door anyway. Desperate times and all.

The locks disengage and I have half a second of excitement about being wrong, but then I look up into the face of Taking Back Sunday.

Jesus Christ. No breaks, huh?

“Hey,” he says. “Cage the Elephant. Nice jacket. Didn’t have that on this morning.” I hear lots of rowdy voices inside as I wonder if he saw who was wearing this jacket this morning.

“Is Phil here?”

Sunday shakes his head. “Mexico for a few days. I’m watching the dog.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “I’ve never seen you here before.”