Work was bullshit, well more bullshit than usual. I couldn't concentrate, this afternoons events with that green eyed witch doctor turning up at my house has tied my neural pathways into knots all night. My job alone usually leaves me feeling mentally exhausted, after dealing with customers and plastering a forced smile, with a chipper attitude all night. Being a waitress was never my dream job but it pays the bills. The endless, abysmal black hole of bills that I can never seem to claw my way out of, no matter how hard I work. I suppose things would be easier, if I wasn't micromanaging my mother's finances on top of my own, or if she hadn't of put me in $15,000 worth of debt with out so much as a single ounce of remorse or gratitude, and continues to try and suck me dry financially any way she can - as I've said before, I'm indebted to her, I owe her that for existing. My money is her money, because she made me so ergo what I earn is hers. To be fair though, at least it's only her that I'm taking care of these days, I spent three years loving and supporting the man, who was also an adult toddler, that treated my heart like a hacky sack before he so graciously put it in a blender. Things could be worse, Silver linings again. My feet are aching as I walk up the driveway to Frankie's house, looking at the two story house and wonder what it would be like to live somewhere that nice. I've never been one for materialistic things, lavish lifestyles or really cared for those sort of things, but sometimes I get curious. I wonder what it would be like to live in a house where you don't have to play a guessing game every time you get in the shower about the water temperature changing from scalding to freezing unexpectedly, being able to use the kettle and microwave at the same time without it shorting out the power to the house or even something simple like cupboards or doors not just falling off the hinges. I suppose everyone's interpretation of luxury is different, to me, something like a dishwasher or a clothes dryer is a far away dream and a luxury I've never had - I don't even know how to use them. I just, sometimes I day dream about what it's like to not struggle, to be able to exist without some form of overwhelming dread about how you're going to scrape by. That's another reason I don't like people coming to my house, especially compared to what Frankie calls home, my life and living situation is embarrassing. I may not live in a mansion, and my landlord may never fix a damn thing and my oven may smoke if I try to use it but I make the best of it, it's all I can do. I walk up the side of the house towards the stairs to the back deck, counting the seconds until I can see Gizmo, I need some fat furry loaf of bread hugs to soothe the ache in my head. I wish it was a headache that was troubling me but unfortunately it's just become one of those nights; the thick black fog swirling around in my head like cloaked spirits with long fingers and sharp nails that claw at the inside of my skull, whispering all of the melancholy chants taunting me like a hum until its deafening. Some days are worse than others, but the stress from today has triggered the usual murmuring into screaming and a god awful nauseous pit in my stomach making my skin crawl, so I doubt I'll be getting any sleep tonight once again. Frankie and Alex are usually in bed when I pick Gizmo up this late, so they put him in the back sun room I have a key to, that leads onto the back deck near the patio doors. Gizmo has his own bed in there which I'm sure he will be making very good use of right now. I drag each foot up the steps like its made of cement, resting my hands in the pockets of my black work skirt. Honestly, some days that's the only thing that has stopped me quitting this job, the fact the uniform for this place is a skirt with pockets - that's how high my standards are these days. At least my boss is nice - annoying, but nice. The customers are intolerable though, hospitality is a special corner of hell and I sometimes think people have a pretentious asshole switch the minute they step into any where, where someone has to provide customer service to them. I have a special distaste for people that are rude to people in serving positions, it costs nothing to be kind, and treating a waitress or waiter like shit doesn't make you important or 'higher' than them, it just makes you a cunt. I close the gate to the deck, once I reach the top of the stairs and walk onto it, looking around to see everything back to its usual state after the party - really the only difference is no tiki torches or crowds of drunk, smoking party goers. I'm so exhausted, my eyes are burning and my body is heavy but my brain is spinning, whirling on its never ending cycle that never turns off regardless of how tired I am. I reach the sun room door, the sheer curtains draped down over the floor length windows and the glow from the blue fairy lights makes the lilac colour of them look almost ultraviolet. I put the key in the doorknob, turning it and pushing the door open softly, stepping lightly into the room but halt in my steps when I look at the day bed against the wall. That sharp cut cherub face normally etched in a taunting smirk is soft and peaceful, attached to a shirtless body asleep on the bed spooning my fat Judas with four legs, who is snoring soundly. I clamp my lips together tightly, fighting the urge to audibly awe that the image - smirky does not get an 'awe' from me, no bloody way. What is he doing spooning my dog like his lover on their honeymoon? What the heck am I meant to do now? I can't inconspicuously pry Gizmo from his arm slumped over his sleeping body, it would be like trying to drag a boulder quietly through a library. A snorting, wheezing boulder. I'm so tired, and I'm way too tired to try and figure this situation out at the moment, this is the last thing I needed. I do the only thing I can think of, and kick the door shut loudly behind me, the bang ringing loudly in the air, and Gizmo doesn't even flinch. I honestly thought he was partially deaf when I first got him, but he's just ignorant and a very deep sleeper. Harry does wake however, his eyes snap open as his head whips to the direction of the noise, looking dazed and trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes blinking with a squint. He stares at me momentarily, like he's trying to register who the figure in the room is, or where he is in general, before his sleepy brows lift on his forehead with his eyes still heavy lidded. "Oh hey heart breaker" he drags out, his drunk voice hoarse and thick with the slumber he's still trying to pull himself from. I'm unsure why he sounds so entrancing when he wakes up, it's like his vocal chords are made of coarse sandpaper someone has dripped thick butter over, but it's irritating how serene it sounds. He sighs heavily, yawning as he lifts his arm, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye before rubbing his large hand over his face to wake himself up, then messing his long wild fingers through his hair to ruffle it, letting it fall carelessly around his face and shoulders. "Finished work already?" he exhales through another long yawn. "Why are you canoodling with my dog?" I ask accusingly, looking from a still sleeping gizmo and back to Harry.