Learning to Forgive (The Learning Series) Read Free

drop my clutch in front of their table. Like a helpless woman. “Crap.” Boobs faced in their direction I bend over to pick it up, but like always, he’s there to help.
    “No, let me.” He stands back up, and I take in his balding head, dark goatee, and broad shoulders, He’s stocky and obviously likes to indulge if his double chin and gut are any inclination. “Here you go, Ms…?”
    “Galloway. Crystal Galloway.” I give him my hand, and just like the rest of the pricks I’ve met this past year, he kisses the back of it. This one is in the bag, baby . Deciding to stoke his ego I kick up my smile and downcast my eyes. My naivety will make these peacocks believe I’m just a young stupid girl. “Thank you.”
    I go to turn, but he stops me by calling my name. “Would you like a drink Ms. Galloway?”
    Turning around to stare in his direction, I bite my lip. He smiles in victory imagining him have a go at this young, clumsy girl in front of him, but he has no clue he’s the one getting fucked tonight.

    Walking into our room at a cheap motel a few towns over, I notice Mandy hasn’t made it in yet. I take a shower and try to wash the ever-present disgust away, but no matter how hard I scrub my skin, it remains. After all the hot water is gone, I get out and wipe the foggy mirror with my hand to see my reflection. I think of the money I stole from that man tonight and swallow down my guilt. Life is about give and take, though. It’s survival, and he had it coming. Right?
    Taking a deep breath to clear my thoughts, my eyes land on the half sleeve I started while in Vegas. Since I have no desire to play music without Benji, I chose a black Fender guitar smashed into several pieces. Not just any guitar either, but an exact replica of Benji’s scratched, beat-up Fender. Even though I don’t have the heart to part with it, I let my tattoo do the talking with its shattered pieces- just like our dream of making it in the music business.
    Poetry and music pieces float around its shattered form. I branded myself with my own loneliness in each script that’s embedded in my skin. I want people to see it, so they know I’m damaged goods and to back the fuck off. My favorite of all is “ Breathing unwantedly in a world that’s not worthy of my existence”.
    Why haven’t I given up? I have no goddamn clue because I’ve thought about ending it all… Finding Benji again, in whatever heaven I’ve heard about all my life. But I was a coward and still am. Plus when I started making a thousand dollars in one night, I became addicted to money. I’ve saved a sizeable portion and blown the rest on materialistic things, clothes, and hair being the main things. It makes me feel normal and not poor or lonely.
    After packing my bags for our early getaway, I take a long, deep swig of my dear friend Jack and fall into a dreamless sleep for once. When I wake the next morning, everything changes because I have another knife in my back and no money.
     
    “ From Mouse to Bitch. Is that really a bad thing?”
    ~Blaire
     
    As I step off the bus in Alabama, memories of the day Benji and I arrived here try to surface to the forefront of my brain. We spent our last dime on the bus tickets to Mobile with only an old guitar and some talent in our possession. He swore this place would be more promising than the last, and I trusted him. We set up on the streets of downtown and played all day for enough money to sleep in a motel, but on most nights, the streets were our beds. It’s pretty messed up how I felt safer living on the streets than in the house I grew up in. But I never felt like I was home until Janet found us.
    She walked by while we performed Open Arms by Journey and gave us a gig with real jobs at her and her husband’s bar, Jay Jay’s. I remember feeling some excitement for the first time in my whole life while huddling behind Benji. He was always the one to guard me.
    For years, I feared what people would see when they