Snippet #2074848

It had been three months since they hit the road.

The first two weeks were strictly traveling; getting as far away as possible. Homeless, one might say, but Cleo liked to call it homeful; hopefully looking for a home. They lived in the crowded and sticky old SUV that totted them from city to town and town to village. All six of them crammed into this car, resting, eating and smoking in it. It was stressful and messy, with too much sharing of body fluids and not enough room to sleep. The first two weeks were the worst, constantly on the move; trying to catch the wind. They were seeking a place they could settle into for a while, somewhere they could get jobs and collect enough money to hit the road again.

Their first stop was short lived. The golden six had crashed at Mickey's house, Cleo's good cousin. He was one of the few family members who understood her, but being twelve years her senior, they had a strange and disconnected relationship. Many times in her adolescence she tried to get in contact with Mickey, seeking advice and an understanding ear. Having Cleo and her friends camp out at his place was only a favor for her, something he felt he needed to repay her with, knowing that he ignored her all those years. He let them stay at his tiny loft apartment. A plain, bachelor pad that had had a fordable bed and loud toilet. He would also provide them with a couple beers on occasion, to show some kind of hospitality. As for food though, they had to scavenge their own. Mickey wasn't exactly the most charitable man, and wasn't willing to buy all the food, and we all know he couldn't afford it either. While there, the golden six barely raised a finger, they were sluggish, tired and few worked. They, including Cleo, created a real mess for her cousin. He grew tired of their non-sense early on, and hated seeing his loft being defaced by a group of misfits. Their stay lasted only two weeks, after Mickey got tired of seeing the entire floor of his apartment transformed into one big bed made of blankets and alcohol. With them there he could barely cook dinner, let alone invite any of his friends over. Worst of all though, Mickey felt he couldn't bring any ladies home, and he was itching. Having a short temper, and no more favors to offer Cleo, he kicked them out, half bribed with couple hundred of dollars. That's all he willing to give them, along with some luck.

After that affair, Cleo spent the next four days in hell. Another long journey in the SUV, and summer was dragging into it's hottest month. Somehow, they had also picked up another one, which made the ride even more crowded. All together the seats of the car and the bodies of the travelers were stuck together in heat, even with the windows constantly rolled down. There was little sleep during those days, and they spent a lot of their nights crafting their own chaos in the emptiness of the desert. It wasn't long though, before they found the perfect little city. Known for it's underground drug life and clubs, they settled in New York city. There was plenty of business for those who were unwilling, and untalented. Enough shabby jobs for them to keep an apartment under their belts, and enough parties to keep the wild ones entertained.

Their latest settlement was a scummy old apartment on the west side of town. A “has potential” kind of place, with lofted ceilings and gritty molding. A place that probably cost your first born child to live in back during the turn of the century. Just a simple place, nicely snug enough for the whole crew. The main living area was an open layout, with the kitchen tucked in the far corner and large windows (which were usually draped with long sheets).There were two bedrooms, small, but enough room for a couple of mattresses to lace the floor. No one was quite assigned a room, and most just slept wherever they could get comfortable. There were only two secluded areas in the house, seeing as both the doors of the bedrooms were off their hinges. One was the bathroom, a common place for the drunkard to spend the night (or someone who wanted some peace and quiet); there was a pile of blankets and pillows under the sink just so they could make a nest in the clawfoot bathtub. Other place was the closet in the master bedroom, it was a walk-in that fit a double bed with a foot to spare. Although there were no windows, the small “room” never got stuffy or too hot. Somehow, being layered into the center of the apartment the heat wasn't too terrible. The closet was Grey's haven, a little sanctuary that he tried to keep the others out of.

Most had gotten work at this point, or rather found some money to contribute to the rent. Cleo wasn't sure but, most everyone didn't have a “real” job. They were panhandling, busking, or selling. At first, it was hard to make everything connect, with having to pay the rent, buy food and booze for seven, and have enough left over for cigarettes. Eventually everyone got into their niche, and found a way of making money. Although jobs were discussed in great detail, they depended on each other to pay their share. In the humidity and heat of August, the golden six, plus one, were making a fairly good life for themselves.

Last night marked Cleo's two weeks at her new job. Cleo, being the possessive and headstrong girl she was, she felt obligated to help pay the rent. Unable to pickpocket, having no musical skills, little education, and no interest in making drugs she was in a rut. After putting on a few pounds, since she had become pencil thin, and convincing everyone in her apartment that she got a job at a movie theater, Cleo secretly slumped into the stripping business. The only person who knew the real identity of her job was Dani. Ashamed wasn't the word, but she kept it from her friends; mostly because she didn't want Grey to know. Cleo couldn't even imagine what Grey's reaction would be, and there would be no end to his harping. She even made sure that the club she worked at was across town, knowing that Grey won't go to the trouble of traveling to the east side of New York for a show. At "The Scene", Cleo's job description consisted of teasing men in the club, pushing drinks, pole dancing, and giving specials. Yes, it was one of those clubs, tucked away in an alley, with back rooms, and women moaning all the night through. Clad in sheer stockings, a frilly garter belt, some lace panties and a corset, Cleo avoided the men who obviously just wanted to take a room in the back. Shying away from the men who payed the most though, almost got her fired. She was unwilling and stiff the first night she had to take someone to the back. A few days in, she had already frozen up on the stage and wasn't doing too well with tips. Cleo was uncomfortable, and reminded of Trenton whenever a tipsy man would slide his hand up her thigh. It was like torture, but it was good money, and that's all that mattered. After teaching herself to ignore, she was began to find her footing in The Scene, becoming more flirty, and reminding herself that it was just her job, nothing more.

It was now noon and Cleo had gotten his refreshing six hours of sleep; having gotten off work at five in the morning. Another downside to her job was that she missed out on the nightlife craze that happened in the apartment. Poor Grey, he was left all alone with these hooligans for a bundle of hours; Cleo worked from one to five. They had offered her more hours, but Cleo strayed away from it, not wanting to be there longer than she had to. Their apartment was quiet, and the residents were just beginning to wake from their slumber. This was a typical time for the seven of them to start rising, seeing as most of them worked when it was dark, and continued to abuse drugs until it was light again.

Cleo had gotten into the habit of putting on whatever clean clothes she could find. Thinking that she looked fine in virtually anything, she didn't care whose clothes she was wearing. Before she got home she had taken off she garter and other things at work, not wanting to have any growing suspicion as to why she came home looking like a hooker. Still having her lace underwear and bra on from work, she had slipped on a pair of mens boxers and a funny little cutoff tank top she'd found at a thrift store. She wasn't sure who the boxers belonged to, she had found them laying in a pile of clean clothes. Cleo also had on a thin denim-like button up, but she was pretty sure that shirt belonged to Grey.

She had been sitting on the kitchen counter the past fifteen minutes, nibbling on an English muffin and soaking in the solitude that came with the silence of the apartment. There was also a pot of coffee on, to maybe help someone sober up when the woke up, or just to get a boost of energy. Cleo waited patiently, her toes crooked over the handle of the lower cabinet, there was even the occasional hum while she was sitting there. After eating she hopped off the counter and headed toward Grey's “room”. It was time to wake him, otherwise he would sleep until the next day. Cleo stepped over a pile of blankets in front of the door of the master bedroom, which was just slightly bigger than the other room. She couldn't really tell who was still sleeping in the room, but she could see lumps of bedding that looked human.

Cleo had slept on the couch the night before, and hadn't come into the master yet, so didn't get a a chance to notice the sign taped to the closet door. She ignored most of the paper warnings and passive aggressive notes that were hung around the house, and saw no need to read this one either. So, without hesitation, Cleo opened the door to wake Grey up.