via Daily Prompt
Her back ached; the lower back, just above the hips. It was her kidneys. She knew it. It hurt to straighten up. It hurt to walk, to breathe.
The shower pattered over the low murmur of the TV. She longed to dip her body into a warm shampoo bubble bath up to her chin and then drift into a doze. When he got out, that’s just what she would do. He always went first.
She threw back four Advil with just a tad bit of the tap water that tasted like rusty pipes. It was always the same in these dumps–water spot stained ceilings, an odd musty odor and dirty carpet. She had known better, much better, though he didn’t know it.
It wouldn’t be long now. Soon she would sleep in a comfortable bed again. Soon she would eat charred asparagus and prime rib with raw horseradish and pearl onions. She would treat herself to bottle of top shelf cabernet sauvignon. It would be nice to wear a dress again–and a bra.
She peered out the venetian blinds at the black pearl Harley sportster with intricate red trim and raised piping on the luxurious seat and bitch pad. Bitch pad. That thin little strip of leather that she rode hundreds of miles upon.
A rueful little smile parted her lips, just barely. Tomorrow they would deliver eight ounces of cocaine and pick up thirty-five thousand in Sheffield like they did every third Tuesday of the month. Then they would ride six hours to Barton where they would stay at the Knights Inn by the truck stop.
He would force himself on her of course. Then off to the shower he’d go. She would order two double cheese pepperoni pizzas and a two liter bottle of Pepsi like always. He would buy a twelve pack of Budweiser.
After gorging on pizza (and wiping his greasy hands on his t-shirt, the bedspread, her butt) when he was on about his eighth beer, she’d slip him five crushed Sominex and wait until he was snoring. Slobbering.
The two liter bottle and a couple of pillows would muffle the sound of the .32 Berreta enough, she hoped. In any case it was worth the risk. Better than more pizza, more groping and rough house humping. Better than more stinking armpits, sunburn and aching kidneys.
She could endure one more night. One more day. One more long haul.