Chapter 2

First night down and another hellish night to deal with tonight.

I slump in the driver's seat of my beat up hatchback, knees raised to cradle the steering wheel between them. I take comfort in the oddly shaped head rest digging into the back of my skull, a small reassurance that I am in fact alive and made it out of that hellhole.

God. What was I thinking when I took this job?

I dig the palms of my hands into my salt crusted eyes.

Right. I wasn't thinking. Not fully anyway.

I can't even get out of my work contract. I signed on for a minimum of five nights. I still have four left!

"I'm such an idiot."

Tk tk tk

I'm not ready for the loud tapping at my window that makes me jump. I'm also not prepared for the banshee screech that claws its way up and out from my lungs.

From the looks of Mike standing on the other side of my driver's side door, he's just as disturbed as I am by it.

With a concerned look he calmly opens my driver's side door and leans against the roof. His hair, still wet from his routine morning shower, drips onto my arm making me shiver. "So is this where I get mad at you for going behind my back or where I rub it in your face that I was right all along with a big, fat 'I told you so'?"

I groan and shove him out of my way, grabbing my keys for our apartment as I get out of the car and head inside. Mike meanders along behind and I can feel that irritating smirk on his face, mocking my stupid decisions.

The door, still unlocked, creaks open easily with a sound that I've heard play in every horror movie ever produced when they want an easy and relatable out for a teen to be caught. Inside our humble abode is a simple living space that I've seen everyday since I was fifteen years old. Our old cream-now-turned-grey couch faces a small box television that sits on a small but fat bookcase. Our coffee table, a project of Mike's from high school that he dug out of its grave of memories best forgotten, stands as best as it unevenly can in front of our only piece of sitting furniture. A single tall lamp is plugged into an extension cord so we can have light over the wreck of a table. Behind our couch is the snack bar littered with Mike's inventions and gizmos and what-have-yous, and beyond it is the kitchen with our busted stove and loud as crap refrigerator.

It smells like an old gym bag mixed with stale corn cheese puffs. But it's home. And it's affordable.

I toss my keys onto the coffee table and plop myself down, head first, on the couch.

Christy has checked out for the day. Please don't leave a message after the beep, it might explode.

"Chris?"

Oh right. Mike.

"Mmph?"

"Don't just 'mmph' me. We need to talk."

Uh oh. That's his serious voice. I bet if I look right now his brow is going to be so wrinkled he looks like a shar-pei.

"Talk about what?" I roll over and sure enough, angry wrinkly puppy face. I have to force myself not to smile, biting the inside of my cheek, so I don't dig myself into a bigger hole. "I got a job. You're mad at that?"

"Mad at- No! I'm not mad that you went and got a job, I'm disappointed that you went and got the one job I told you not to get." Mike huffs and crosses his arms, wrinkling his work uniform. "Why couldn't you have listened to me and-oh I don't know-gotten a job at the animal shelter?"

I raise at eyebrow at him. "That's only volunteer work."

"That's not the point I'm trying to make here, Crystal."

Crystal.

I can feel the blood rush from my face.

I know he's ticked off and trying not to show it, but to pull out that name.

That name.

No. I'm not having it. I pick up one of our two throw pillows as I sit up and chuck it at him.

"No! You don't have the right!" I exclaim. "I get that you're p*ssed, but that doesn't mean you get to say that name, Michael." I take a deep breath. Mike doesn't say anything, he just watches. "Look, I'm sorry that I went behind your back, but I didn't know what else to do."

Mike sighs, uncrossing his arms and smoothing out his face, and comes over to the couch. I move my legs over onto the ground and he takes a seat beside me and drapes his arm over my shoulders making them sag.

"You gotta start letting me know what's going on in that head of your's, Chris," he says gently. "I'm sorry I said the wrong name. That was wrong of me and I'm really am sorry. I just wish you could trust me to take care of you, sis."

"I do trust you, but I also see reality for what it is right now." I stare into slate grey eyes, hoping to convey to him just how serious I am. "You may have been moved to the day shift and given a bonus, but with me losing my job at Randy's and our bills, my medical bills especially... There's no way we can keep going without that extra income. I've done the math and I know you have too."

"I know," he sighs heavily. "I know. But you're my baby sister, Chris, and now you've gotten yourself tangled up in a mess that I should have better kept you away from. That's on me." He squeezes me to his side and props his chin on my head. "I promised both our moms that I would take care of you. I want to live up to that promise. So how's this." He lets go, letting me scoot back and face him better. "During my shift I'll talk to management and get you out of the contract. Afterwards, I'll head over to Mack-A-Roo's and pull some strings there so you can still have a job, but one that is safe and far away from that crazy pizzeria, yeah?"

Mack-A-Roo's. That's where Mike got his first job in high school and kept it through college until they let him go. It's both a tool shop and an appliance store that fixes up second hand junk to resell it to broke customers who can't afford anything else. The wage isn't that great since they add "the experience needed in the appliance field" as part of your income, but it's good money for students.

And now me, I guess.

"You think you can get me out of the contract?"

"Just trust me to try my best."

I give him a smirk. That line has pretty much been his catchphrase since I was little. "You know I do, big bro. Just don't do anything that'll get you fired?"

"Promise," he swears, crossing his left pointer finger over his closed right eye. Our secret oath ritual. Stronger than any pinky promise.

A shrill beeping from the radio in the kitchen grabs our attention signifying ten minutes before Mike needs to be out the door and headed towards work. He gets up and turns it off with one click and turns back to me where I still sit on the couch.

"Come on and get up," he instructs. "You need to head on to bed. You had a long night and look exhausted. Time to sleep it off."

I stand with a chuckle. "Doc's orders to sleep off the trauma?" I tease.

"Exactly. Now go on. If I stay here worried over you, I'll be late to work."

"Oh please, you'd love to use me as an excuse to get out of work and play with your pile of junk metal." I give Mike's shoulder a playful punch, turning him to face the disaster of a snack bar. He feigns a hurt look, hand grabbing at the center of his chest.

"How dare you," he dramatically gasps. "Those are my babies you're insulting."

"Is it insulting the creation or the creator?" I ponder as I make my way down the hallway to my room. "Gotta be the creator. I mean, it's not like they chose to be created in a way that's so easy to insult."

"Hey now!"

I rush over to my bedroom. "'Kay, have a good day at work, big bro! Love ya!"

I slam the door shut.

Safe!