The Choice (a Painful Past)

48

I didn't want to look completely dead going into work. I pulled my hair up into a high pony, swept my long bangs to the side, and slid the visor on. I checked the mirror one last time, made a face at myself, then walked out towards the living room.

I could smell the weed already.

"Hey, beautiful." Will said, as I walked into the living room. "Where ya going?"

I raised my eyebrows and looked down at my uniform, then back to him. "To a party." I retorted, rolling my eyes and smiling. "Didn't waste any time chasing that high, huh?"

He grinned and took another long toke. "Nope. Never do. It's my medicine to escape the horrible reality that is mine." He replied, holding the smoke in, so that his voice sounded strained and deep.

"Horrible reality?" I asked, a little offended. "You think you have a horrible life?"

He started to cough in the middle of letting out a huge stream of gray smoke. "Well, yeah." He replied, after it stopped. "I'm a fuck up. I don't have a job. I ruin anything good that I get in my life. Reality isn't something to be happy about right now."

I sighed and sat down in the other recliner. He watched me, and held my gaze when I looked back over to him.

"You didn't ruin things with me." I said softly, then looked down at my hands.

I started to fidget and pull at the skin around my nails.

"I didn't?" He asked.

I shook my head but kept my eyes on my fingers.

"No." I answered. "I just...I don't know where to go from here. I can't forget what happened, and I can't stop it from popping into my mind at the worst possible times, Will. It's hard. This isn't something that I should have to experience. Not when you're supposed to love me."

He started to open his mouth, and I knew it was just going to be a replay of how it wasn't his fault and he was fucked up when it happened. I held my hand up to stop him.

"I know. I know it wasn't your fault and you were fucked up. I know this, but it doesn't make the pain lessen at all. It still happened. You still cheated. So, I have to go to work now, but I would like to talk some things out with you, when I get home." I looked up and watched as a little hope crept into his eyes.

"You want me to be here, when you get home?" He asked, with a small smile.

I smiled back and nodded.

"If you don't mind." I answered. "I would really like to talk to you."

"Yeah, of course, whatever you need." He replied, jumping at the chance.

"Okay, I really have to go now, before I'm late, but I'll see you in the morning." I said, standing up.

He grabbed my hand, as I walked by his chair, so I looked down to see what he wanted.

"If we're not ruined, can I have a kiss goodbye?" He asked, hesitantly.

I smiled and leaned down to press my lips softly against his own.

"I'll see you when I get home." I whispered, then kissed him again, and walked out to my truck.

As I drove to the restaurant, I thought about our relationship. I had put a lot of time and love into it...and I did love him deeply. Giving him another chance was the right thing to do.

I couldn't throw away the entire thing, over a mistake. I could get over this. I knew that I could.

Work that night was as grueling as ever. Drunken people stumbling through the doors, after their night at the clubs and bars. The men always thought that they could put their hands on my body, or say whatever they wanted to me.

I hated this job. I was great at my job, but I hated it with a passion. Waitressing was definitely not what I wanted to do with my life.

Since I was a child, I had always wanted to write. I wrote poetry and short stories from the time I was 8. It was just something I loved to do.

To create my own world, to make it exactly how I wished...there was something special in that. No one could tell me how to make it, or what to do. My characters could fall in love with their soulmate, get their dream life, and live happily ever after.

They could accomplish all of their goals, while easily overcoming their hardships. It was easier to fix their problems with pen and paper than it was to fix my own. Only now, I barely wrote anymore.

I didn't have the time. When I did try to take a few minutes, I was always interrupted by someone. I didn't like for anyone to read what I wrote, so it was impossible to keep it away from Will.

He was just always around.

While I loved his company, it didn't really leave me any "me time."

So, writing wasn't on the agenda anymore. I guess it was just a kid's dream anyway.

By the time I had endured all of the old man hands on my ass as I could take, it was about 5 in the morning. The last customer had finally left. I collapsed on an empty chair, next to the cook, Jeremy, and the other waitress who was working with me that night.

Her name was Rebecca.

"That was a harsh night." Jeremy said, as he scratched his red beard, and peered at me through his glasses.

"Yeah, definitely busier than usual." I sighed.

I lay my head over on Rebecca's shoulder, and turned my head to look up at her.

"How'd you do tonight?" I asked.

"Dunno." She responded. "After all of those assholes, we both better have at least $200 in our pockets."

I let out a bellow sarcastic laughter. "Yeah, right!" I exclaimed. "When was the last time you made anywhere near $200 in one night?"

She tapped her finger against her chin and then smiled. "New Year's. They were too drunk to know that they had already left me a tip, so when they asked me if they did, I would just crinkle my little nose and shake my head."

I sat up and leaned back staring at her. "And?" I asked, knowing there was more to the story.

"Well,then I just played the game. 'No sir, I'm sorry. It's okay, though! Don't worry about it. I'm just glad that I had the pleasure of serving you.'"

My mouth dropped open in surprise. "Becky, you didn't!" I exclaimed, laughing.

"I did! And I had every right to! Nasty fuckers grabbing my ass all night. Do you know that one of them even had the audacity to pinch my boob? Like, who the fuck does that?"