Chapter 5: Thoughts Interluding

(Beth's POV)

Do you ever wake up with one of those headaches that make you regret all the choices in life you’ve made so far? That’s me currently, shoveling through the makeshift medicine cabinet Clara and I have slowly created over the past year. It helps when she’s a nurse. She can get her hands on medicine that the hospital won’t particularly miss.

In fact, most over-the-counter medicine doesn’t expire by the date on the bottle. Most medicines can last up to five years past the date labeled. I remember the first day I heard that. Clara thought I had fallen off my rocker as she said.

After a hefty number of painkillers and caffeine, I set about preparing for my interview tomorrow. I'm exceptionally worried about it now that I know what my potential workplace is like.

I decide to spend my day dancing throughout the kitchen and living room, rocking out to hip-hop music. In my preparations for tomorrow, I clean the entire apartment from head to toe, possibly procrastinating just a bit.

As I clean, thoughts and foggy memories from the previous night swarm my thoughts. I’d been having so much fun. Was it a dream? Did I dream it? Or was it real?

Did last night really happen? What did I wander into? That guy had a knife and cut me. Wait he cut me! I feel along my neck and find the old bandages placed there by the man. Was that an Italian accent he had? Most of all, who is he? I secretly hope and pray that I stumble across him again soon.

Clara’s door opens around 5:30 that evening as I'm throwing something together for dinner. Apart from the bags still lingering beneath her eyes, she has her typical air about her. Happy and chipper.

Not even acknowledging me, she runs past grabbing her workbag, and darts out the door with a wave. Wow. As I said, typical. She probably wouldn’t mention the events of last night at all. Honestly, probably doesn’t remember any of it.

I shake my head, an ironic laugh bubbling in my throat. I am used to this type of behavior. Clara has always been like that. Saves lives when she works and tries to ruin hers while off the clock.

That is the sad reality of most hospital staff. I know of at least four others that Clara regularly spoke to that have the same outlook on life – save others and destroy yourself. After all, you only live once, right?

That night, sleep didn’t come easy. By 3 a.m. I am still mostly awake and thinking about the interview the coming afternoon. Normally, I’m the type of person to over worry. However, currently, that’s all I can do. Exhaustion finally became too much, and I fell asleep with hopes that the interview would be life-changing.

***

I don’t crawl out of bed until almost noon, finding that I am rested and ready to go. Spending the next two hours, I shower and dress in a typical corporate America skirt and blouse. Urgh… I’m already uncomfortable.

It’s going to be a great day. It’s going to be a great day. It’s going to be a great day. I chant in my mind while running down the stairs, choosing them over the elevator. There’s too much energy in my body as it is.

I chose to walk a bit before waving a cab over. Once in the backseat, the old man driving asks, “Where to little lady?”

He seems friendly enough. “Can you take me to Midnight Spirits? The address is…” I ask, looking down at the paper that I’d scrolled the address onto earlier.

He interrupts me a moment later with a confused look and his brows furrowed. “Certainly, little lady. But if you don’t mind me asking, why? You look like a proper woman with a decent job. Why go there and deal with the scum of the underworld. That’s no place for a woman.”

What the h*ll is this old man going on about? “Um, sir, I mean you no disrespect, but my business is my own. I just need to be taken to Midnight Spirits.” I shift and lean back against the seat and pointedly choose to ignore him beyond that.

“I swear if I were your father….” he pauses for a moment. “If you were my daughter, I’d be disappointed in your choices.” The old man says with a side-eyed glance in my direction.

“Maybe that’s why your daughter doesn’t talk to you much, old man. You are a chauvinistic pig. Women can do whatever they want in life. Now take me to the club or I will report you to your company.” I demand. I am not in the mood to play games with old creeps today.

I hear him mutter, “Whatever you crazy b*tch.” I ignore the comment and wait for him to take me there. For the rest of the car ride, he makes comments about me. I make a mental note to report him for harassment later.

If I were your father… If you were my daughter. How dare he make a comment like that. F*cking b*stard… I practically held my breath in the effort to not say anything to his ugly face.

Extremely ready to exit the car, I pay the old man and hurry toward the barren club. I know I'm early by almost forty minutes. Better to be early than on time. The line was once used by my dad. What would he think of me today if he were alive? I could almost imagine the conversation.

He’d laugh at me and tell me to dream a little harder and would tell me that I would be good at anything. I miss him. I miss him a lot. I never got the chance to meet my mother. I was adopted by dad when I was around two and he died the year I graduated high school. We found out he had late-stage lung cancer from the smoking he had done as a teenager and young adult.

Nope. I can’t cry. I have an interview to rock. If I am given this opportunity, I can make dad happy wherever he may be in the universe.

Stealing myself and breathing deeply, I push the doors open and step inside the empty clubhouse.