Taking What's Mine

Dru

It’s well past midnight by the time I make it to my grungy one-bedroom apartment. Being a waitress at a stripper joint is no easy feat. I wish I could say I started working there just to piss off my daddy. But I would have to know who he is in order for that to happen.

Of course I can barely even remember my own mothers face. That’s what happens when you’re five years old and lose her in a car accident. I would love to say that it was all a drunk driver’s fault, which it is, but her being the one who was drinking.

My life consisted of one foster home after another. Honestly, the only thing that kept me safe was him. Stop that now Dru! I chastise myself. Here I am a twenty-three-year-old woman still thinking about the young kid who became my savior at a youthful age.

I have promised myself over these many years I wouldn’t do this to myself. Not think of his gray blue eyes, his long eyelashes, the way he would bite his bottom lip whenever he was thinking about doing something that would definitely get us into trouble. I do my best not to smile to myself thinking about all those times.

Fact of the matter is I haven’t seen him in eight years. Not since I was fifteen years old. It was the night before his eighteenth birthday and two big burly men came to the foster home for him. We looked at one another confused. The only explanation we got was that his biological father had finally found him and it was time for him to take his rightful place with the family.

He refused but within seconds they carted him away. Kicking and screaming my name. Telling me that he would come back for me. Looking deep into my green eyes he swore to me he would. Needless to say, he never did.

So, I’ve been on my own for the past eight years. That’s fine by me! Yeah, if only that were true Dru. Shaking my head I try to bury the thoughts of my past, just as I make it up my stairs, I place the key in the lock and twist it.

Turning on the light, my tiny little apartment comes into full view. I have a kitchen with no stove, so I have a hot plate. A tiny fridge on the counter, the door to my ridiculously small bathroom right next to it. Then there’s my living room/bedroom all in one. It’s not much but it’s mine.

After closing and locking the door I tear the hair tie out of my hair. The feel of my long brown strands cascading on the back of my neck, stopping just past my shoulders brings a small comfort to me.

Placing my keys on the little side table next to the door, I kick off my heels and decide on a nice hot bath. After the cat calls, inappropriate grabbing of my ass, and men dropping things along the ground just to look down my top I deserve a long soak. At least I’m not one of the dancers on the pole.

I do have some self-respect for myself. Not that I think it’s beneath me or anyone else. I just feel that someone special deserves to see me completely naked. Not a room full of strangers. Especially with many dirty old men. Some old enough to be my grandfather.

Hell, who am I kidding? I’ve been waiting eight years for that somebody. It’s why I haven’t been with a man ever. I’ve barely even kissed another person because my heart has always been set on him.

Once the bath is drawn, I slip out of my low-cut skirt, halter top, and stockings. The mandatory uniform for the waitresses. Stepping into the water the heat brings an almost instant relief to the stress my body has been under all day.

Truth be told I hate this job, but it’s a good paying one that helps me pay my bills. My brows furrow above my closed eyes as I suddenly remember it’s the last day of the month. Meaning tomorrow the bills are due.

Opening my eyes I look over my shoulder at the pile of mail on my end table next to my futon in the living room. Once I’m finished here, I really need to take a look.

Knowing it will do nothing but bring dread and even more stress to me, I decide to lay my head back and just relax. Not think of a damn thing for a bit while I can.

…

Once I emerge from the tub, dried off and sitting down at the futon with a TV dinner do I decide I can’t put it off anymore. With a huff I bring the big pile onto my lap. Sorting through what I must keep and what’s trash. Only when I make it to the bottom of the pile do I see the envelope that only has my name on the front.

No sign of my address or a returning address. That’s strange. Opening the envelope a small card falls onto my lap. When I pick it up to read what it says, I find myself needing to read it over a few more times.

What I’m seeing cannot be right. It’s a wedding invitation. Only it’s inviting me to see Rocco Lombardi take Drusilla Cooper as his wife. Holy shit! My heart suddenly feels like it’s beating so fast it’s going to pop out of my chest.

There’s a note that says a specific address. Telling me I have two days to be there or else. Or else what?!

I don’t understand this. I only knew one Rocco all my life, but his last name wasn’t Lombardi. It was Conners. I haven’t heard from him in eight years. So, this has to be some kind of mistake. Not to mention the person he’s marrying in a week…is supposed to be me!