Something Like Normal Page 3

  Big Phil used to fill my bag with a cocktail of drugs, and I would deliver his goods and collect his money, no questions asked. In return, he would give my dad cheap drugs, and the cheaper the drugs, the bigger the addiction. Therefore, I ended up working for Big Phil full time.

  As I got older, I knew what was happening, but I was still that scared, little eight-year-old whenever my father begged me to help him, promising it was the last time.

  It never was. And that’s how I ended up in the situation I’m in now.

  I don’t know if anyone would have discovered his body by now, because he had no friends or family. It was just us. Big Phil was supposedly coming over, but what if he never did? Is my dad lying dead and undiscovered? That thought turns my blood cold.

  So, why did I shoot my dad?

  I ended his miserable life because he deserved it. I shot him because being a drug pusher wasn’t good enough anymore.

  I hate myself for ruining so many people’s lives, but in the end, they had a choice. It was their choice to fuck themselves up beyond repair, and they could stop if they wanted. No one held a gun to their head to get high.

  I, on the other hand, did have a gun pointed to my head—literally.

  The day my father pointed a gun at me and threatened to end my life if I didn’t become a ‘working girl’ for Phil to pay for his increasing drug debt was the day I had enough.

  Like I previously said, it was either me or him.

  I just regret I didn’t do it sooner.

  Chapter 4

  New Friends

  ‘Holy fuck!’ I screech as a beetle, the size of a small child, comes crawling out of room nine.

  Hank really needs to invest in some pest control, and pronto!

  I scamper out of the way as the lazy bug is none the wiser that it has just scared the bejesus outta me.

  This is the third room I’ve cleaned that has had some bug out of Arachnophobia come creeping out, ready to attack me.

  Pathetic, I know. After all the shit I’ve seen in my life, you’d think a tiny bug wouldn’t give me the heebie jeebies—but they do, as they’re one of the only things I fear with a vengeance. Of course there’s a reason for my phobia, and that reason can be found in my shitty childhood.

  There’s another thing I fear, and that’s cheerleaders, although I guess you could say I loathe them, as opposed to fearing them. I mean, are they for real with their rah-rah-rahs and colorful pom poms which could take out an eye?

  Yes, I know I’m not a people person, but I’ve come to accept it, and I like being a loner. Anyway, I don’t plan on staying here long enough to meet anyone to change my views.

  In hindsight, I wish I’d never said that, because my views are about to get flipped on their ass.

  ***

  “Paige, you’ve done a wonderful job,” Hank says with a smile while looking into room twelve.

  He’s looking the perfect Grandpa part today in his grey trousers, which are held up by navy suspenders. He has on a white, loose t-shirt which has a coffee stain on the front, and to the left of that stain is something that looks like jelly.

  “Thanks,” I reply, wiping my hands on my white apron as I rearrange the cleaning products on my silver cart.

  “So, what are the plans for today?” he asks as we stroll down the walkway to the office.

  I shrug because I haven’t really given it much thought. After the crappy sleep I had, I was hoping to catch some shuteye. Apart from that, I have no other plans.

  “Oh, c’mon. After all the hard work you’ve just done, you should go out and explore.”

  Raising my eyebrow at him and pursing my lips, I’m about to tell him I don’t plan on staying here for longer than a month, but he gives me a lopsided grin, reading my thoughts.

  “Yes, I know, you’re not here to stay, but you’re young. Go out and have some fun.”

  Fun? I really don’t see how I can have any ‘fun’ in a town like South Boston. I looked up the population in the little welcome brochure in my bedside dresser and it’s pretty measly. Pulling in at just over 8,100 people, I’m pretty certain no fun will be found in the city streets.

  “I don’t even know my way around. I’ll get lost,” I reply as we reach the office.

  Grandpa unlocks the door and I enter before him, hoping to push my cart into the backroom and get away from him before he has any more bright ideas.

  “I’ll tell ya what. I don’t need my truck today. How ’bout ya take the old girl for a spin? My neighbor gave me her old GP something or other, and God knows I have no use for it. All these modern gadgets are too complicated for my old brain,” he says, reaching behind the counter and handing me a set of keys, which are hanging off an old Dodge key ring.

  I peer down at the keys like they’re from outer space. Is he really lending me his truck? For the first time in forever, I’m shocked.

  “I…can’t take your truck,” I say, shaking my head.

  Grandpa lets out a warm laugh. “You’re not taking it, you’re borrowing it. There’s a big difference. Go on,” he smiles, sliding the keys further toward me.

  I don’t know what to do, as this is a circumstance where someone is being nice to me without wanting anything in return.

  As I continue to hesitate, Grandpa reaches for my hand and places the keys into my sweaty palm. His hand clasps over mine, and where I would normally flinch or pull away, I involuntarily squeeze his hand in gratitude.

  “Thank you, I… thank you,” I stammer, looking into his grey eyes.

  Grandpa removes his hand from mine and waves it off like it’s nothing, but little does he know how his kindness has touched me so.

  ***

  Standing in front of the bathroom mirror and peering at myself for the first time since arriving here, I realize my eyes are way too big for my slender face, and I have serious bags underneath them. The intense color is just as vivid and deep as I remember it, but my eyes look tired and drawn. I’ve added kohl to my upper eyelids, attempting to drown out my weariness, but sadly, it hasn’t worked.

  I’m totally avoiding going out into the real world, so I’ve decided to waste some time and blend some pearl shimmer around my eyes, which works well with the dark kohl. At least now I don’t look too pasty.

  I’ve meticulously brushed my hair so it sits in wavy curls down my back, but taking a closer look at the cherry coloring, I realize it’s time to touch up my highlights as they’re beginning to fade and look tacky.

  I’m pleased as I slip the small, silver hoop piercing into my nostril, because it gives my upturned nose a look of arrogance, which I like.

  I scored and found a brand new shimmery lip gloss in one of the rooms this morning. I decide to apply it to my full lips, which is good, as it gives my pale cheeks a little color. However, I know no amount of makeup can hide the fact I look paler than a ghost.

  My black jean shorts, which show off a bit of leg, are one of my favorite articles of clothing. I like them because they remind me of my one and only friend back home. Amy convinced me to buy them because they showed off my ‘killer legs.’

  However, I didn’t buy them for that reason. I actually bought them because if I needed to hightail it out of a sticky situation, I could run like the wind in them.

  I have decided to don my black motorcycle boots, and again, I’m not dressed for style, I’m dressed for practicality. I have hidden my flick knife in my right boot, and seeing as my boots are knee-high, I can conceal my weapon in them without being detected.

  A girl can never be too safe in an unknown neighborhood.

  My white slouchy t-shirt sits quite loosely on me, as I’ve lost some weight since I last wore it, something I hate. I don’t like being this slender, and I’ll make it my goal to beef up before leaving this town.

  One last look in the mirror and I’m ready to go, but the question is, where?

  When I up and left L.A., I had no desire to visit anywhere in particular. So now that I’m here, I don’t know w
hat to do.

  I decide to listen to Grandpa and use the GPS, and let it choose something for me to do.

  Locking my door and shoving the keys into my pocket, it’s show time.

  Seeing Grandpa’s ‘Old Girl’ parked out front, with the driver’s side window wound down, warms the cockles of my heart, and I’m in love.

  It’s a faded blue Dodge pickup. Looking at its condition, I would say it was built in the mid-80’s.

  This car may be seen as a ‘rust bucket’ to some, but to me, it screams personality and character. Looks like me and the Old Girl are going to get along like a house on fire.

  ***

  Arriving into downtown South Boston in less time than originally anticipated, I funnily enough don’t hate what I see.

  There’s an old, antique feel to the shops, but it’s also modern in what it has to offer its locals. From services such as cardio kickboxing to yoga classes, to traditional diners and a movie theatre, downtown is not what I was expecting.

  It’s nice. And it looks safe.

  Pulling into a parking space, I take in the tree-lined streets and the beautiful Victorian architecture, and suddenly, I feel my heart thump in… excitement.

  I can’t believe I’m here, and I can’t get out of the truck soon enough. I leap out, being sure to lock it. Although, looking around at the friendly, happy faces of the townsfolk, I doubt anyone would look twice if it was unlocked. I’m in awe of the high antique buildings and can’t stop looking at them.

  Walking past a florist, the scent of fresh flowers can be smelled on the light summer breeze, and it’s a scent I haven’t smelled in, well, ever.

  My mouth waters as I glance into the shop window of a gelato shop. The endless flavors on display flip my tummy into a somersault, and I honestly can’t remember the last time I ate.

  Continuing my observation and being enchanted with all there is to see, I’m thankful I ended up here. And even though I won’t be staying, it’s a nice stopover.

  My nose leads me in the direction of an old diner across the road, and when the aroma of waffles can be smelled from over there, my feet lead me before my head has a say.

  The aged building is painted a light green, and in blocked, red letters it reads, ‘Bobby Joe’s.’ I love the 50’s feel to this place, and I haven’t even stepped inside yet. A ‘Help Wanted’ poster is tacked onto the front window, and I wonder if it was a coincidence I decided to eat here.

  Pushing open the glass door, I am greeted by Elvis Presley, who’s playing softly in the background. I was right, the 50’s feel continues on inside.

  There is an old school ‘Diner’ sign hanging above the long counter, which is flashing in a bright fluorescent light. There are red leather booths positioned around the diner, and stools run alongside the lengthy counter, offering patrons the chance to chat to the pretty waitresses behind the counter. If that doesn’t give it enough of a 50’s feel, the floor is the traditional black and white checkered print.

  There are waitresses walking around happily, topping up empty coffee cups with a smile. The smell of coffee has me picking up a menu by the door, and heading quickly to a booth down the back.

  Looking over the menu, I exhale a relieved breath when I see the prices are very affordable. With what little money I have left over, I should be able to afford to eat until Grandpa pays me.

  “What can I get ya?” asks a bubbly voice.

  My eyes snap up and I see a young redhead, pen poised, ready to take my order.

  I haven’t decided what I want to eat, but I know I want coffee, and lots of it.

  “Just a coffee for now please,” I reply.

  The redhead, whose nametag reads ‘Tabitha,’ smiles broadly and gives me a quick nod, which results in her long ponytail bobbing up and down. She picks up the coffee cup in front of me and pours me a cup from the glass pot she’s holding.

  “I haven’t seen you in here before. Are you visiting family or friends?” she asks, filling my cup up to the brim.

  I instantly shuffle in my seat uncomfortably.

  “Um, neither. Just passing through,” I answer, being as vague as possible, without rousing too much suspicion.

  Tabitha smiles and her round face lights up instantly. “Oh, that’s what they all say, and before they know it, they’re here to stay.”

  Attempting to give her a polite nod, my stiff upper lip gives away how uncomfortable I am with this conversation.

  Tabitha reads me loud and clear, and her smile fades slightly. “Okay, well, when you’re ready to order, please give me a yell.”

  Thankfully she strolls off when another customer raises her hand for service.

  Sinking into my booth, I berate myself for being so rude to someone who was just trying to do her job. Tabitha looks similar in age to me, and I wonder if she’s working here to pay for college, or maybe she’s saving for something special.

  Either way, the next time she’s over here, I’m going to try and act normal. Well, something like normal, because that’s what I want. I just want to be normal, and normal people don’t go around giving the stink eye to complete strangers who are trying to be nice to them.

  After a couple of minutes of looking over the menu, I decide on the waffles. I wait for Tabitha to come around to my booth again, as I feel rude sticking up my hand, demanding service.

  I fiddle with my silverware and napkin nervously. Thankfully, Tabitha comes over before I start color coding the packets of sugar.

  “You ready to order?” She smiles, her sparkling green eyes reflecting nothing but kindness.

  “Yes, thanks. Could I have the American Waffles with all the sides, except for bacon, please?”

  Tabitha nods, writing it all down. “Is coffee still okay? You didn’t want any juice? Tea?”

  Shaking my head, I reply, “Coffee is good, thank you.”

  Tabitha places her pen and paper into the front pocket of her black apron and smiles. “Not a problem. That shouldn’t be too long.”

  Before she has a chance to turn around, I quickly ask, “Um, is that job you have advertised in the window still available?”

  Tabitha taps her chin and gives me a big smile. “Yes, I’m pretty sure it is. I can find out for you?”

  “Only if it isn’t any trouble,” I reply.

  I’m baffled at how friendly Tabitha is, but everyone in this town seems to be high on happy drugs, and for once, these are the drugs I don’t mind being around.

  “Oh, no trouble at all,” she says, shyly gazing at my nose piercing. “Did that hurt?” she asks after a moment of silence, while making a pained face.

  Unable to help myself, a tiny laugh escapes me, and it actually scares me, because I haven’t laughed in a long, long time.

  “No, not really. I just put a bit of ice on the area to numb it, and then pushed the piercing straight through.”

  Tabitha’s hands fly up to her nose and her face scrunches up in pain. “Oh my God, ouch! You’re so brave. I can’t even look at a needle without fainting.”

  Taking a sip of my coffee, I give her a small, slanted smile.

  “It was fine. My tattoo was worse,” I answer, flipping up my wrist to show her my ink.

  Tabitha’s eyes widen in shock and her mouth parts in surprise. “Wow, you’re so cool.”

  I don’t know how to respond to that because I’ve never been called cool before. Freak. Emo. Bride of Frankenstein, yes. But never cool.

  “Thanks,” I reply softly and lower my eyes, unsure of what else to do.

  Tabitha picks up on my discomfort and instantly comes back with, “I know cool when I see it because you know, you’re looking at Queen Cool.”

  Peering up at her from under my mascara-clad lashes, that tiny smile spreads across my cheeks once again—what the hell?

  I know Tabitha is having a dig at herself, because with her bright red hair and freckled cheeks, I can imagine some of the unkind names she probably has been subjected to over the years. She’s slightly plump
and short, with a heavy bust, and I have a feeling she’s been this way for the majority of her teenage years.

  I’ve never been into all that popularity crap, but sadly, I can imagine Tabitha would have been treated like a misfit by the ‘beautiful’ people.

  Well, those people can take a flying leap.

  “I have no doubt you’re the coolest girl in town. I mean, your hair color is amazing, as you can see,” I say, lifting a tuft of dyed, red hair between my fingers. “Mine comes from a bottle, but yours is naturally awesome,” I finish, hoping she takes my comment as a compliment.

  Tabitha’s eyes tear up, and something inside of me warms—slightly.

  “Thank you. No one has ever said that before.”

  I nod like it’s no big deal, and take another sip of my coffee. “Oh, I’m Tabitha by the way.”

  Giving her a nod of acknowledgment, I reply, “Paige.”

  “Well, Paige, how about I stop talking and go get your waffles, and a job application.”

  I raise my coffee cup in salute to her. “That sounds like a plan.”

  Chapter 5

  Distractions

  Tabitha was right and the job is still available.

  I quickly fill out my application while waiting for my waffles.

  I really hope I get the job, as the hours are perfect, and so is the job. It’s waiting tables in the afternoon and into the dinner rush. I could work in the morning at the motel, and then grab a couple hours’ sleep before starting my shift here.

  Completing my form quickly, I hope skimming over some minor details won’t be an issue, as I can’t exactly divulge that I’m a fugitive on the run. That thought sends a shiver down my spine, but I tell myself to breathe and not make a scene.

  Totally engrossed in my own little world, I fail to notice a pair of eyes watching me closely from the booth across the aisle. As I become aware, my body demands I steal a look at the mysterious stranger.