* * *
I had five hundred dollars left to my name. Well, four hundred ninety-six dollars and seventy-two cents, to be exact. The television played in the background of my bedroom while I huddled in bed, hands curled around a microwaved cup of instant ramen. Instead of eating, I bit my lip and considered my options.
I couldn’t count on Avon, obviously, which really sucked. I had let myself believe he wasn’t a player and really wanted to be with me. God, how stupid had I been? I couldn’t stop replaying the moment when he’d dropped to one knee and proposed to me in the Olive Garden, and how everyone had broken into applause when I’d foolishly said yes and let him slip the ring onto my finger. I’d grinned like a total fool, sure I’d met my soul mate.
But then he’d gotten too tired to get with me in bed, or so he said. I should have known. . . . A man like that never got too tired for women. He just got tired of fidelity.
My face burned in shame. Good thing my dark brown skin was dark enough to hide the flush of blood, not that anyone was looking.
Four hundred ninety-six dollars and seventy-two cents to keep me going. I had rent due next week—and Mrs. Basil was not exactly the lenient, forgiving type—and needed groceries and gas to keep my crappy car going if I wanted to make it to my final classes and exams.
What would I do after that?
I had no appetite, especially for these horribly salty noodles, but I needed to keep my energy up. I choked down the salt broth and soggy white flour noodles and took my cup back to the communal kitchen.
Mrs. Basil stood at the stove, pouring steaming water from a kettle into a chipped mug. She turned and gave me a suspicious glance. “Rent’s due on Monday.”
Like I didn’t know.
“You’ll get it Monday morning,” I promised, stuffing cheer I absolutely didn’t feel into my voice.
“I should hope so.” She dropped a tea bag into the water and left.
It took the little willpower I had left to swallowing all the retorts that wanted to fly out of my throat. Fuck it; I needed to get out of here before I said something I’d regret. Walking out on my job was one thing, but I wasn’t yet reckless enough to throw away the roof over my head.
I ran back to my room in the basement long enough to grab my purse, car keys, and coat. Mrs. Basil paid for the cable—she liked to boast about how generous she was with utilities, the old bag—so I left the TV on. Might as well get my money’s worth, even if I wasn’t going to be home to watch it.
While my car warmed up, I rubbed my hands together and debated where to go. There wasn’t much open at this time on a Sunday evening, and it was way too cold to be outside. Plus I couldn’t really spend much.
But one drink at the bar. I could afford that, and I could just keep sipping at it. I smiled. Maybe there would be a guy or two I could charm into buying me more. A little flirting would pass the time nicely, take my mind off things.
Yeah, I thought, backing out of my parking spot on the street, that sounded like just the thing.