Read Online Working Girl by A. E. Woodward - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: A. E. Woodward
Tags: Fiction
Ads: Link
me the cash since today was her idea in the first place. Every cent counts now so I’m thankful for her stepping up, knowing I wouldn’t have been able to swing it otherwise.
Forgoing the popcorn and sweet treats, we head into the theatre and I try to remember the last time I went to see a movie. It’s been years for sure. Life keeps getting in the way of me being a typical teenager, so movies are pretty much out of the question.
From the corner of my eye, I see one of the girls vying for position. She’s obviously into Emerson, and is lagging between us, pretending to casually chitchat with him as we walk down the aisle to our seats. He laughs at something she says just as we slow to head into the row that they’ve picked and both of them stop, waiting for the other to go first. Emerson nods for her to go ahead. “I’m gonna hang back and sit next to Presley.”
She huffs and heads in to sit next to her other bitchy little friend. Emerson smiles gently at me. He has no idea. He’s clueless as to the pull he has on the opposite sex. His confidence is intoxicating, and it makes him irresistible to most. With his eyes on mine, he lets a couple of the guys pass him, letting Chrissy take a seat with them. I walk into the aisle and take a spot next to Chrissy. Emerson plants himself next to me.
Seconds later the lights flash, indicating that the show is about to start. Chrissy nudges me with her elbow, and I glare in her direction as she laughs and turns to talk to the guy on her right, leaving me offering up a silent prayer that we can make it through the show without Chrissy offering to bang one of them in the bathroom.
THE LIGHTS GO DOWN AND I my heart beats somewhere in my throat. What the hell is wrong with me? Taking a deep cleansing breath, I attempt to get comfortable in my seat, realizing that the only thing preventing me from completely relaxing is the fact that I have nowhere to put my arms. Chrissy and Emerson are apparently armrest hogs, so I eventually decide to just cross my arms over my chest.
Pictures fill the screen, but my mind’s too busy to really take in what’s happening in front of me. Maybe that’s the real reason I never bother with movies; it just gives my mind time to think, and I hate thinking. Thinking equates to feeling, and I’ve spent years attempting to keep my feelings at bay.
Eventually, I feel my mind quiet and I’m able to pick up on the picture. I’m seeing it, but I’m not feeling it and therein lies the problem. Everything about this situation only affirms to me that I prefer books. Movies are a waste of my time, and time is precious these days.
Without warning, panic rises in my chest as each second passes until suddenly, I’m not seeing the movie anymore. Instead, I’m faced with visions of Momma passing before my eyes. I imagine her out on the streets, fighting for survival without the protection the brothel offers. It’ll only be a matter of time before she gets knocked around until she breaks.
Or worse.
I start to panic more. My breathing shortens, my head pounds, and I’m pretty sure there is an elephant sitting on my chest. Black dots cloud my vision and the ringing in my ears tells me I’m about to pass out.
I shouldn’t be here .
An ache in my chest starts to perpetuate and I know I have to get out of here. The blood rushes through my ears as my breathing becomes sporadic, and my skin crawls with anxiousness, not-so-politely informing me that my little day of pretending is over.
I stand, and Emerson moves his legs for me. “You okay?” he asks as I pass him. Unable to form a verbal answer, I shrug and quickly walk my ass out of the deathtrap people call a theatre.
Walking as fast as my feet can carry me, I bolt out to the sidewalk. The minute the fresh air hits my face, relief washes through me. My lungs expand as I take in a deep breath . . . well, as deep a breath as I can take. I bend over with my hands on my knees trying to regulate my
Forgoing the popcorn and sweet treats, we head into the theatre and I try to remember the last time I went to see a movie. It’s been years for sure. Life keeps getting in the way of me being a typical teenager, so movies are pretty much out of the question.
From the corner of my eye, I see one of the girls vying for position. She’s obviously into Emerson, and is lagging between us, pretending to casually chitchat with him as we walk down the aisle to our seats. He laughs at something she says just as we slow to head into the row that they’ve picked and both of them stop, waiting for the other to go first. Emerson nods for her to go ahead. “I’m gonna hang back and sit next to Presley.”
She huffs and heads in to sit next to her other bitchy little friend. Emerson smiles gently at me. He has no idea. He’s clueless as to the pull he has on the opposite sex. His confidence is intoxicating, and it makes him irresistible to most. With his eyes on mine, he lets a couple of the guys pass him, letting Chrissy take a seat with them. I walk into the aisle and take a spot next to Chrissy. Emerson plants himself next to me.
Seconds later the lights flash, indicating that the show is about to start. Chrissy nudges me with her elbow, and I glare in her direction as she laughs and turns to talk to the guy on her right, leaving me offering up a silent prayer that we can make it through the show without Chrissy offering to bang one of them in the bathroom.
THE LIGHTS GO DOWN AND I my heart beats somewhere in my throat. What the hell is wrong with me? Taking a deep cleansing breath, I attempt to get comfortable in my seat, realizing that the only thing preventing me from completely relaxing is the fact that I have nowhere to put my arms. Chrissy and Emerson are apparently armrest hogs, so I eventually decide to just cross my arms over my chest.
Pictures fill the screen, but my mind’s too busy to really take in what’s happening in front of me. Maybe that’s the real reason I never bother with movies; it just gives my mind time to think, and I hate thinking. Thinking equates to feeling, and I’ve spent years attempting to keep my feelings at bay.
Eventually, I feel my mind quiet and I’m able to pick up on the picture. I’m seeing it, but I’m not feeling it and therein lies the problem. Everything about this situation only affirms to me that I prefer books. Movies are a waste of my time, and time is precious these days.
Without warning, panic rises in my chest as each second passes until suddenly, I’m not seeing the movie anymore. Instead, I’m faced with visions of Momma passing before my eyes. I imagine her out on the streets, fighting for survival without the protection the brothel offers. It’ll only be a matter of time before she gets knocked around until she breaks.
Or worse.
I start to panic more. My breathing shortens, my head pounds, and I’m pretty sure there is an elephant sitting on my chest. Black dots cloud my vision and the ringing in my ears tells me I’m about to pass out.
I shouldn’t be here .
An ache in my chest starts to perpetuate and I know I have to get out of here. The blood rushes through my ears as my breathing becomes sporadic, and my skin crawls with anxiousness, not-so-politely informing me that my little day of pretending is over.
I stand, and Emerson moves his legs for me. “You okay?” he asks as I pass him. Unable to form a verbal answer, I shrug and quickly walk my ass out of the deathtrap people call a theatre.
Walking as fast as my feet can carry me, I bolt out to the sidewalk. The minute the fresh air hits my face, relief washes through me. My lungs expand as I take in a deep breath . . . well, as deep a breath as I can take. I bend over with my hands on my knees trying to regulate my
Similar Books
