Tara
The smell of day-old chocolate chips, the hum of ice cream makers, the buzz of fluorescent lighting and the low pulse of pop music is basically my hell. I smile at the demon sent to torture me, also known as Janet, and weigh her teeny-tiny little cup of barely a squirt of frozen yogurt. “That’ll be $2.65, please.”
She makes a face and prods at the cup. “Seriously? Almost three dollars for this? It’s, like, nothing.”
“I don’t really control the pricing.”
Her mouth falls open and she gives me this look like she can’t believe what I’m saying. “We’re the only people here. Just let me have it.”
“Janet, this is my job. You want me to move out, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Then don’t try to get me fired.”
“Fine, god, you’re so freaking lame, Tara. No wonder your dad moved all the way out here.” She throws her card at me. I fumble it, grab it from the floor, swipe it, and hand her the receipt and the card.
“Enjoy,” I say sweetly.
She rolls her eyes, stomps to the table by the window, puts on headphones, and ignores me while she swipes through her phone and eats her froyo.
I want to die.
No, seriously, for the first time in my life, I really, truly want to disappear. This is beyond a shadow of the doubt the most humiliating moment of my life. My first day running the froyo shop alone and Janet just happens to show up right after opening and just happens to demand free food. Now she’s going to sit there on her phone and make me want to shove my head in one of the machines and let the inner mechanisms drown me or break my neck or whatever the heck it would do.
I am genuinely tempted to be the first girl to die via froyo machine.
Instead, I sit back on the stool I’m allowed to use only when there aren’t any customers in the store and stare at the neon-colored menu on the wall. I read the flavors, getting acclimated to them, and wonder what’s worse.
Being a junkie or this.
At least when I was on heroin, nothing hurt. At least I didn’t care about anything back then.
I could drift through my days alternating between feeling utter bliss when the drugs hit my veins to feeling like I’d do anything at all to get that bliss back every other second of the day.
I’d rather sit in a school bathroom shivering and shaking because I’m starting to go through withdrawal, smoking a cigarette to try to take the edge off, than stand here and be a froyo girl.
And yet, here I am.
At least Dad was happy when I told him I got a job. He said, perfect, now Janet will get off my back for a while, I love you, sweetie. Which means this has always been about him and not about me. Nothing’s ever been about me.
I am in froyo hell.
Janet hums tunelessly as she swipes. I bet she’s not even aware she’s doing it. Her humming clashes with the music and I’m tempted to tell her to knock it off, but god, what’s the point? What’ll that get me? Dad will only give me crap later and maybe kick me out. Janet knows she has all the power in this dynamic. I’m stuck with no way out.
No future. Nothing to look forward to.
I wipe down the counters for the second time since opening ten minutes ago and the door opens. I glance up, frown a little, and look back down at what I’m doing. I’m hallucinating, I’m so damn depressed. I’m finally at rock bottom, because it looks like Kellen and Finn just walked in through that door, but that can’t be real. My broken, fractured mind is making me see things because I’m so utterly pathetic and can’t even keep a firm grip on reality anymore. I might as well start doing drugs again.
“Hello, wife.”
That voice. I look up, frowning, head tilted. He’s standing there in dark jeans and a dark shirt, his muscular arms bulging and crossed over his chest. Finn’s back by the door, and they must be real, because Janet’s gaping at them, her phone forgotten, her earbuds in her lap.
Holy shit, Holy Shit, HOLY SHIT.
Kellen grins at me, that freaking smile, and I feel my heart stop.
He’s really here, standing in front of the counter, right now, this very moment. I grip the rag and I can’t believe he’s seeing me in a bright pink polo shirt and white shorts with a cartoon cup of froyo smiling and saying Eat Me with a massive spoon in its head. Kellen Hayle, gangster and prince, killer and lover, is in this frozen yogurt shop in Nowhere, Florida, and he’s looking at me like he’s been waiting for this moment since the day I left three weeks back.