"No amount of security is worth the suffering of a mediocre life chained to a routine that has killed your dream"

Morgan Ann Bennett

Another morning waking up in a twin-sized bed. That meant another morning with an aching back, some thanks to my E cup sized breasts, too. While I was thankful, I sometimes wish I could chop them off.

It wasn't all bad, at least I woke up at all, right?

Monday's weren't my favorites, work was slow. Plus my shift was only four hours today, too, so I wasn't going to make much.

Cracking any and every body part I could, I felt relieved.

Ready to start the day, I let my blonde hair down from the bun that had become a mess in my sleep, and massaged my scalp.

Everything ached, I couldn't wait to get in a hot shower!

Once I lazily made my bed, I stepped into my slippers and trudged across the carpeted floor.

The Terrian-colored carpets throughout the entire house were all old, brittle and stained, had no more cushion to them.
Hell, everything in the three bedroom house was old.
My closet door was off the hinges and had no door handle on either side. My ceiling fan spun in the wrong direction, not generating cool air ever.

Two of three windows in the living room couldn't stay up unless something was wedged under it, same with the one in the kitchen by the dining table.

In the bathroom, there were three cabinets. The one in the middle had a different knob because when Callie bought them from Lowe's, she just dug in a bin and pulled out three that were black and about the same size.

Let's see, what else? Our microwave handle broke off one night after Callie's drunken antics. Ah, the dishwasher hadn't worked in years. Or maybe it did, I wouldn't know because the last time we used it, soap filled the floor and Callie feared it would cause damage so she said we couldn't use it ever again. That and she said it ran the electric bill up.

The air conditioning was a wild concept to her, as you can imagine. Which, that is beyond me considering we live in Arizona and it's late May where it reaches ninety-nine degrees regularly. It's dry heat, though, not humid, so we could stand when it got up to a hundred and seven degrees, or so.

Callie was cheap but not because she cared about saving money or she had goals. No, because she rarely went to work to collect a paycheck to have money to pay for good things.

I say that and yet I will never call her "lazy." Do you know how offensive that can be to a depressed person?

Callie has Dysthymia:

A mild but long-term form of depression.
Dysthymia is defined as a low mood occurring for at least two years, along with at least two other symptoms of depression.

She basically hates herself, hates her life, resents her daughter, and wishes she weren't here.

Of course she wasn't always like that. She used to be fun, love life just for the hell of it. I used to look up to her and dream about being half as cool as her when I got older.

I wanna say it was about six months after we moved out that I started noticing she wasn't herself.

Our parents sent us pity money, enough to get the house. We thanked them the first few times, then cut communication. They only did it because they mostly felt sorry for letting me leave but knew it was too late. We never had any papers signed emancipating me from them, either. So I guess you could call me a runaway.
The money stopped coming once I turned eighteen.

Whenever Callie had a man in her life, she was fine for a while - stable. Though once those "relationships" ended, either good or bad, she would spiral. The usual was locking herself in her room, not eating for a couple of days, mental breakdowns or panic attacks.
I didn't get that, but it wasn't for me to get.

I tried talking her into therapy, or admittance into some type of asylum, but she wouldn't go.

Sometimes I wished I could just tell her to be happy. To snap out of it and get better. But I learned quickly that it doesn't work like that.

After curating a decent playlist to vibe to in the shower, I started the hot water.

Not before undressing, I brushed my teeth and washed my face per my usual morning routine amongst other tedious roles.

Seeing the steam rise from the standing shower, I decided to finally hop in.

"Ahh," I breathed out. The warm droplets felt so good against my skin. It had been a good twelve hours since my last shower and this heat was much needed. My showers were my only form of relaxation next to nail appointments.

Lathered in soap, I had just started to hum along to 'Find My Boy' by Alessia Cara when the water got cold, making me jump from under the stream.

Annoyed at this happening yet again, I threw my head back and let out a groan.

Seeing as though it would take entirely too long to heat up again, I got out after only a few minutes.

I hate it here, I thought in my head. Okay, not really; I'm usually pretty optimistic, but this shit sucked.

Once dressed in my denim shorts, low top sneakers, and light blue work t-shirt, I stuffed my Kate Spade purse with the usual: iPhone, charger, lipgloss, and wallet. My keys were— I had no idea where my keys were.

Meow.

The cat scared me, appearing out of no where in the narrow hallway.

I squeezed past mounds of boxes that Callie always said she would get "tomorrow."

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I waited for her to acknowledge me outside of her bedroom door before barging in.

"Huh," she croaked. I could tell she was face down in a pillow by the way her voice was muffled.

I entered and immediately covered my nose, having been smacked by a smell like musty old underwear and sweaty armpits. It smelled like B.O. and cigarettes, that's why I hated going in her room.

Her bedroom was such a contrast from the rest of the house because it was a reflection of how she felt. The only reason the rest of the house was somewhat clean usually, was because I cleaned it. Nothing in the house would get done if it weren't for me: the dishes, taking out the trash, feeding this random cat we had yet to name, watering the plants.
Sometimes I hated playing maid but I knew if I didn't, we'd live in a total pigsty. And it's not like anyone ever came over to see it except for whatever guy she was boning that week, but I couldn't stand the mess.

I had Kyle but he rarely come over, when he did it was announced so I'd have time to tidy up.

"Have you seen my keys?" I asked with a tone, eyeing piles of dirty clothes that covered the carpet.

"Unh-unh," she griped, never emerging from the bedding.

"I'm going to work, don't forget Callie," I said as a reminder.

If Callie could, she'd sleep the whole day, and let Quinn starve to death. She didn't mean to be so negligent but she couldn't even wash her own ass, how was she to care for another human?

"O.K.!" She roared. I knew her fuse was short when she was going through these episodes, so I dropped my sisterly attitude.

Backing out of the hazy room, I said, "Love you."

She groaned before taking three whole seconds to say it back.

"Love you, too."

At least she said it.

That's one thing about Callie, she'll always say those three words back. We could have just gotten in a fight and if I said it, she'd say it back and we'd make up.

I hated saying just "love you," it seemed insincere, but I noticed over the years she dropped the "I."

I cracked the door, leaving it open some in case Quinn yelled for her mother.

Once maneuvering back down the hall, I was in the living room and resumed the search for my keys.

"Quinn-y," I bubbled at the three-year-old, "I was looking for those! Give me my keys, silly girl."

She giggled, shaking them about.

I gave my precious girl a big kiss on the lips and stuffed the keys to my silver Toyota Camry in the bag that I felt guilty for buying. It was, like, one hundred and fifty dollars, but to me, a lot for a handbag. I got it to treat myself after graduating from the state university which Owen and Kelsey (my parents) put me through just to say they contributed to my success. That and so when people asked they could say one daughter turned out not to be a "total failure."

Quinn was the light of my life, the cutest little girl ever, and just a bundle of joy. She had a lot of mouth for someone so young, but so did I at that age. Or at least that's what Callie always says. I'm sure she was way worse as a kid.

Before going, I hooked Quinn Rae up with some cereal. She knew how to throw it away and wash up.

I stopped and shook my head at her watching reruns of South Park.

"Well, it is a cartoon," I said to myself before turning to Cocomelon.

At the door, I said my goodbyes to Quinn a million times, I just couldn't leave her like that.

She waved, saying, "Bye, Squirt!"

I laughed. She got that from her mother.

"It's not 'bye,' it's see you later."

"See you later!" She talked well for her age, and a lot.

"I love you," I said, blowing a kiss.

Quinn smooched her whole palm and basically threw it at me.

Once that was enough, I got in my car and had a small fit once I saw my tank was on 'E.'

Last pay day was Friday, two days ago, so you'd think I'd have money. Except, I'm a waitress so if there was little to no business meaning little to no tips, I was broke.

Taking a deep breath, I braced myself to check my checking account.

$51.34

Oh, that was more than I expected, to be honest.

Next, my savings.

$5,183.78

But I never touched that anymore.

I had more than that but with Quinn, I just couldn't help myself. Callie and I may have had to make sacrifices but I didn't want Quinn struggling.
She would have the cutest clothes and shoes, her hair stayed groomed, and she never wanted for much.
My rule typically is: if you can't buy it twice (right then and there) you can't afford it. That thinking saved me from a lot of purchases until it came to Quinn. If we were in, say, Target and she wanted a toy, I'd get it and then some.

Thankfully I had no car note. Still with other car expenses, groceries, miscellaneous, and helping with mortgage, it was a lot. Whatever I could to help Callie out, though.

The nearest gas station was three minutes up the road. It was in the opposite direction of work but what choice did I have?

With a few minutes to spare, I set up my phone on the dashboard to start a daily mini vlog on TikTok.

My following had gone up from some goofy videos, viral challenges, and cute or "thirst trap" lip syncs. I had 10,125 followers and 1 million likes. All that and still no income from the app or sponsors. I knew if I kept at it though, like others, it could become a job.

"Hey guys," I said in the camera.

"Bleh," I murmured, discarding the take. "I sound dumb."

While I didn't think I had an accent, my voice was not quite monotone or very deep, but chill and light - usually very bubbly almost like a valley girl but not that superficial. I didn't drag my words or try to sound cool.

~~~

After filling my car up, I stopped at Delta's closet. It's a shop where you can bring in your clothes for instant money or store credit.

"—Thanks. And would you like to look around and use the money from your donation towards your purchase?" asked the girl with the anime aesthetic behind the counter.

"No, thanks, not today," I said, trying to smile.

Normally I would've shopped but this time I just wanted the cash.

I was in my car when I got a text from Delta's that my bags had been looked through.

I anticipated at least sixty dollars since I threw in a few designer items and clean shoes.

When I returned to the girl with super blushed cheeks, she told me I would be getting twenty dollars.

"I'm sorry?" I rang, dumbfounded.

"Some of the items were out of style, and we really need summer clothes right now. Whatever we couldn't use, did you want it back or would you like us to donate it?"

I let her hand be the twenty while I mentally complained about how I felt cheated. There were some great items in there!

"Unbelievable," I said to myself, exiting the store.

~~~

"—You were so great! What's your name again?" The group at one of my tables chatted.

I smiled big, showing the ever so small gap between my two front teeth.

"Morgan," I reminded them all.

"We're gonna ask for you every time we come here," one drunk boyfriend proclaimed.

"Well, thanks," I bubbled, waiting for them to let me go.

The two guys and their two girlfriends entertained me some more before I wished them a good day.

Minutes after they left Kitty's — the beach bar — I circled back to the table to collect my tip.
Surely the group left me a generous tip after my amazing service.

And no tip.

Oh, but wait, they wrote on the ticket:

You're the coolest, Megan!

I snatched it from the table and walked away, my ponytail sweeping the middle of my back.

"Who the fuck is Megan?"