garbage out, since I couldnât last night. I slide into my shoes and goose bumps rise along my arms because of the chill in the air, but from something else, too. The echo of his voice saying my name.
The shit hole is the same, disheveled. I head down the hall, past my motherâs room and into the kitchen, where I tie up the bag, then hesitate before unlocking the door. Did I really stand up to him last night? Lock him out? Fuck, I did. Shit, what the fuck was I thinking? This is gonna get ugly. But if I want something better, something more than this, maybe it has to get ugly first?
Outside is damp and cool. I shiver and walk around back to the can. A fly darts off my ear and I swipe at him. Then another. The fuck? The bag bounces off my calf, and the stench hits me. âShit!â I toss the bag to the ground, and it joins the shredded mess. The canâs been dumped and the
bags ripped. Cameronâs stomped on the contents, so wrappers and food are half buried in the ground or mashed to a pulp. Flies pour out of a Styrofoam carton. I step away and slip on something black and greasy. The stench overwhelms me, and I head back inside.
The door slams behind me, and a moan comes from my momâs room. I donât give a fuck if Iâve woken her up. I first wipe off my sneaker on the doormat and then grab the dustpan and another garbage bag from the cabinet. When I turn sheâs leaning on her doorframe.
âWhatâs up?â She pulls on the ends of her extra long T-shirt. Her hairâs a tangle and looks unwashed, and the greased pattern it falls into does not cover the bruises from last night. Theyâre as bad as ever, and I feel ashamed for being pissed with her.
âNuthinâ. Taking out the trash.â
âOh.â She looks away, as if somewhere far. Like weâve got a double-wide or some shit.
âYeah. Cam fucked it up out there. Needs to be cleaned.â I donât know if I expect her to do something because Iâve said this or that I wish she had done something differently so that I wouldnât have to take care of this, but either way, Iâm still pissed. â Somebodyâs gotta do it.â My voice doesnât seem to register with her. She just keeps staring.
âOh. Okay,â she finally says and turns back into her room and snaps the door in place.
âStupid bitch.â I say it low, to my chest, and it makes my face hot. I know Cam did this, not her, but in a way sheâs responsible. She brought him onto the scene. I know I wasnât just talking about cleaning up this mess. Thereâs so much that needs to be done, but whoâs going to do it? Fuck, I canât go there right now. I head out the door and set to work.
I dry heave once, but manage to get the shit into the bag, and then the can out to the road. Cameron did this once over the summer. It was the first sign that things were turning between them. June was a scorcher, hot and humid, so by the time I got to the garbage, maggots were crawling everywhere, and I did hurl, and then had to clean that up. At least this isnât as bad.
I head back in and go right to the shower. The water takes a while to heat, so I sit on the toilet and wait. Six months. Sheâs been with this douche for half a year, which means sheâll go back and forth for another three months before she dumps him. Or he puts her in the hospital. Same as with Karl. And Steve. And Jake. And all the rest whose names I canât remember. Or just wonât. Oh yeah, and Number One himself, Tony Senior. I wish she could just . . . fuck, thereâs just too much I wish sheâd do.
I shower, scrub until it hurts and my skin is red, but I donât mind the pain. Itâs only superficial. I dress in a plain gray tee and my black jeans, cuffed at the ends because theyâre too long. I slide my sneakers back on, making sure all of whatever the fuck I stepped in is gone, and then throw