Chapter 9:

The man paid me fifty fucking dollars. I had become a whore for dinner and to avoid thinking about Aaron. I loved him still, even though he laughed at me. But he still fucking thought I was joking. Or that I was being stupid. Fuck that.

After the man had left and I bought sustenance, I didn’t know what to do anymore. Just stick in front of the 7-11 for the rest of my life, whoring myself out until Aaron thought to look at the goddamn convenience store. I was giving that term a whole new meaning. “Get your illegal pedophile sex AND your stale ramen AND COCA-COLA! PLUS THE GAS TO GET YA HOME TO FUCK YOUR GODDAMN WIFE!” yeah. Convenient was right. Maybe it was good for me to be a whore. Maybe I was supposed to be.

Yeah, right.

I was sitting at one of those booths; you know the ones covered in cheap, bright Formica and plywood? Yeah. Well, I was eating a fucking sandwich, and staring out of the window, and I see Aaron’s mom’s car. I thought for a minute. Food could get rid of pain, but it wasn’t working for me. I needed a drug.

I bought a bottle of Nyquil, and chugged about half or more of it, sitting in the bathroom that smelled like someone had been smoking crack in there, and slept on the goddamn toilet.

I’m the classiest motherfucker—or father fucker—you’ve ever met.

Before I passed out, though, I heard Aaron’s mom asking the fucking Arab out there if he’d seen me. Probably with a picture or something, but the man was just telling her to buy something or get the fuck out of his store.

I woke up to the same man prodding my with a broom handle, and then he kicked me out. I knew I’d be back tomorrow. Who knows, maybe I’ll need more money or something. Whatever. I wouldn’t go back; I was getting as far away from Aaron as I possibly can. Knowing Aaron’s mom, I’d probably be running from the cops on top of everything else.

Damnit.