Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 49888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
As soon as he is gone, the tears start to really come. They burn trails down my cheeks as my chest convulses rhythmically. Betty comes over and wraps her slender arms around me, patting my shoulders.
“What an asshole!” she yells supportively. “Who does he think he is?”
“I know!” I sniffle dramatically. “I can’t believe him!”
She guides me gently over toward the sofa, handing me a tissue so I can wipe the snot off my upper lip.
“I can’t believe you dated him,” she grumbles sarcastically, flopping herself down on the couch next to me. “You deserve so much more than that.”
“We were engaged,” I moan pitifully.
“God, that’s even worse! Many did you ever dodge a bullet.”
I mumble my agreement, but inside, I am not so sure. Roger was kind of okay to me. Not great, but nice. He was handsome. Is handsome. And he does own this big house. For somebody without a college degree, and apparently only qualified to get fired from a shitty cashier job that a teenager could do, what more should I expect for my life? Maybe he’s right. I am a goddamn mess.
But if I say that out loud, Betty will feel obligated to argue with me. And she will be lying. What is the point?
She pats my hand sympathetically, the gaudy jewels on her rings twinkling at me.
“I would help you kid, if I could,” she begins apologetically.
“Oh, no!” I object immediately. “Betty, I would never ask you to do that! I could never.”
“I know, sweetie, I know,” she sighs. “But still, I would if I could.”
She sits there for a little while, and we just kind of sniffle and think. I look around the living room. Is this all really going away? My living room? This place? I love this place.
It makes me want to start crying all over again. I feel like I’m staring down a deep well. How did it all go so wrong?
“Oh, shit, Betty, what am I going to do?” I moan.
“Well, I don’t think he can just kick you out,” she sniffs. “All that stuff just now, that was just bullshit. You still have four days.”
“I don’t really think four days is going to make a difference.”
Silence falls between us again. It’s the truth. What the hell can I possibly do in four days? Pack everything in boxes? Even that seems impossible.
“Well, it’s like my mom always said,” Betty sighs heavily. “You can always become a hooker!”
“Ha!” I laugh, shifting my weight and wincing as my nether regions complain mightily.
Betty laughs at her own joke and then smiles at me, then her eyes narrow. She pushes back a lock of hair from my neck.
“Um, what is this? You and Roger didn’t…” she begins suspiciously.
I shake my head, not understanding.
“Girl, you have a hickey on your neck,” she smirks.
“What? No I—” My voice trails off.
Her eyes widen dramatically. “Wait a second. You know about this? It’s not just a necrotic mosquito bite or something? This is a real thing?”
I wince, gritting my teeth. Should I tell her?
“Okay, let me get you some cookies,” I begin.
Betty munches thoughtfully as I explain the whole day to her, from the fire and everything that happened afterward. Every time I think her eyes can’t get any wider, they totally do. I’m afraid I’m going to give her a heart attack.
“You… did what?” she says over and over again.
“Yes, I’m afraid I did!” I confirm.
Hearing the story out loud, it is both outrageous and horrible and amazing all at once. Part of me is mortified, and part of me is extremely proud.
“Firefighters, you say? Real firefighters?”
“The realest.”
“Are you sure you didn’t pass out during the fire? Maybe hit your head and dreamed all of this? It’s possible.”
“Oh, stop!” I laugh, slapping her lightly on the knee.
As I move, my pussy complains all over again.
“Yeah, I bet that hurts,” Betty smirks, noting my grimace. “Say, do you have any firefighters left over for me? Your good old friend Betty who’s always been kind to you?”
“What! You’re so bad!”
She shrugs imperiously. “Why do the young people always think older people don’t think about sex?” she muses. “You think you’re so naughty… Who do you think invented this stuff? How do you think you all got here?”
My eyes go wide. “Are you saying… You never…”
“No, my dear, I never boned three guys at once,” she admits sadly as she pats my hand. “You alone get that honor. But I have had some pretty good rolls in the hay. You better believe it.”
“Oh, I believe it.”
I do believe it. Betty is a sexy old broad, and I am not afraid to admit it. I don’t know a whole lot about her life. I know she was a singer at one time. I know she used to play guitar, because it is still in the corner of her living room. She cut an album in San Francisco.