Heads or Tails

I should not be breaking inside right now.

I should be beyond glad that Austin had not taken our monthly hook-ups too seriously. That he still knows that the only reason I'm doing it to pay he rent. I don't like him and he doesn't like me. We like each other's bodies, sure, but that's as far as it goes. As far as it'll ever go.

So why did I run out of my apartment? Why can't I look him in the eye anymore? Why am I practically running to work, even though Trish told me she'd cover for me for the rest of the day?

Half of me wants to turn back, go home, wallow in the sudden sadness. The other half forces me to keep moving forward. Before I know it, the familiar large glass door is in front of me, and the familiar, somewhat comforting smell of coffee and pastries wash over me.

I push the door open.

Trish looks up as I walk in, a pen and small notebook in her hands, taking someone's order. She throws me a confused glance, and I pretend not to notice, mustering a grin instead. I wonder if I fool her. The look on her face tells me I probably haven't.

So I make my way over to a crowd of teenage boys, the loudest group in the small cafe, and take their orders, much too slowly, double-checking what everyone wants. Then I make my way to the kitchen, just as Trish is coming out of it. She grabs my arm.

"What's wrong? What happened with Austin?" I pull my arm away, frowning.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine." Now Trish frowns.

"Bullshit."

I open my mouth to say more, but I glance up, and I see my boss glaring at both of us.

I shrug at Trish, then make my way into the kitchen. I realize I'll have to talk to her eventually, but not now.

I lean against the counter, practically chewing my nails down to the stub. Trish is in the bathroom, and the rest of the waitresses are cleaning, mopping the floor, unloading the dishwasher in the kitchen. Weirdly, no-one asks me to help. Maybe I look more exhausted than I think.

I hear the bathroom door click shut behind me, and Trish props herself up on a stool next to where I'm standing. I sigh and turn to look at her. No avoiding her now. She pats the stool next to her, and I sit, putting my elbows on the counter, my head in my hands.

"I messed up, Trish," I moan, raking my hands through my hair.

"How?" she whispers, leaning closer to me. I look at her.

"I don't know. I think I let myself get in too deep. I let myself get to know him too much."

"I don't see anything wrong with that,"

"I saw him, today, with another girl. About ten minutes after I left his apartment." I take a deep breath and continue. "Ten minutes," I practically hiss. "Dammit, couldn't he have waited a little longer?!"

A few heads turn in my direction, and I lower my voice again. "So, yeah. I'm never doing this again. This thing with him. I'll find a way to pay my rent on my own, and if I can't... Well, too bad. I'll move back in with my parents. Or start taking classes again so I can do something more professional-"

"Ally, you hate your parents. And you would die if you had to start taking classes again."

"What other choice do I have?" I yell. I have to work to lower my voice again, "Do I just keep whoring myself out, in the hopes that Austin'll keep paying my rent? Even though I feel cheap and gross afterwards?"

"But you don't feel cheap and gross afterwards. After you've been with Austin, you're always so happy,"

I shake my head. "Still. This has to end. Now."

"And you're this worked up because you saw Austin with another girl?"

I sigh. "Keep up, Trish."

Trish cocks her head to the side, not saying anything for a while. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you care?"

I blink. "Why do I care?' I repeat stupidly.

"Yeah. What difference does it make, if he's seeing someone else. You've said a million times - this is just you, doing what it takes to keep your apartment. That you don't love him. Or even like him. So why do you care?"

Her question echoes in my head the entire walk home.

Why do you care?

I know what she's hinting at. That I like him more that I think. But that's not it, it can't be. I guess, in between the conversations late at night, and the cuddling, and the way he always seemed reluctant to let me go when morning came... I don't know. I guess I'd been kidding myself that he liked me.

How wrong was I.

I see it, as I turn the corner into the hallway where my apartment is. A little pink bag, hanging by the straps from the doorknob of my front door. I feel my jaw clench, and I march forward and rip it off, praying no-one has seen it.

There's a note on it, folded in two. Just two little words.

Call me.