Trapped in Venice

OK, so I wrote this one day when I was bored, and I've been thinking a lot about this story and where I want it to go. The big question is: Do you think I should continue? If you do, the next chapter will have a picture of her. :)

I pulled my blond hair back into a rough ponytail and hefted the laundry basket up so I could carry it down to the basement.

I lived in an apartment with my best friend, Ricky, but, as always, he didn’t pull his weight. I’d already cleaned up the whole place, but when I saw the towels tossed on the bathroom floor and his filthy sheets, I lost it.

I dropped the basket on the concrete floor, and a deep thud reverberated throughout the dark basement. My bare feet felt cold against the dusty floor.

I opened the washing powders and the not so welcome cloud of whatever that stuff was flew up to meet my nose, and sinuses. Sneezes raked my body for at least two minutes. My eyes were watering when I went to pour the powders into the washing machine, then let the fabric softener plop into its designated slot. I was getting so tired of this.

Ricky had promised to do the laundry when we’d first moved here. I’d halfway expected him to be cleaner than he was. But, back before we moved in together, he had his boyfriend doing all of his stuff for him, so he automatically went back to that habit with me when the relationship ended.

You’d expect a gay guy to be a bit cleaner.

"I don’t deserve this." I told myself. I’d just quit my job, and didn’t know what to do. If I ran to my parents, they’d feel glad that I’d finally come running back to rich mommy and daddy again. That was something I didn’t want to experience. Plus, they were trying to get me with a skinny computer geek with a fortune. He, to top it all off, was the most perverted person I’d ever known.

Laundry in the washing machine, I made my way back up the stairs, basket in hand. The phone started ringing, and I ran up the rest of the way to get it before it hit the machine. If it was my parents, they so did not want to hear the message on there that me and Ricky made the night of his sister’s bachelorette party. My parents would freak.

Low and behold, my mom was the one calling. From her third cell phone. (she had five)

"Hello, darling," she said when I picked up.

"Hey, mom. Whatchya want?"

"Your father and I are going on a small cruise to Europe on Wednesday and were wondering if you wanted to join us." She said with her rich northern accent. Wednesday?! That was in two days!

"Thanks for the moment’s notice, mom," I said, my voice betraying just how tired I was.

"Oh, honey. You need to go on a vacation. That’s just what I’m offering you. Come on. You know your father is just dying to see you again! You haven’t even said hello to him in months!"

"Mom, you mean to say that you’re dying to see me. Dad’s too busy to remember."

"Well, darling, it’s all the same. Come on. You can pack some of your clothes today, drive up to the vacation house tomorrow, you know it only takes you two hours, and I’ll take you shopping once you get settled in. I know you’re in dire need of some good clothes."

"But, mom…" I groaned.

"You know you need it. Just take me up on my offer. You can’t miss out."

"Fine. I’ll probably be there by eleven AM tomorrow. Is that OK?"

"Yes, darling. Can’t wait. See you then. Chao."

I dashed upstairs, presumably to pack, when I saw Ricky stagger into the living room.

"What are you doing?" I asked, shocked at the sight before me.

"Lainey, I’m home!" he yelled out happily, and I winced. My name was Laine with a silent e at the end. He added that to aggervate me. And it helped that it sounded a bit like Lucy, too.

"Ugh, duh. I can see that. Come on, let’s get you to your room," I said, then added under by breath, "so if you throw up, you can make a mess in your own room." He let me lead him to his room, and I left him to his own facilities.

"Of all the stupid, idiotic things for him to do today of all days." I said to myself while going to work in my room, trying to find clothes suitable to wear in the presence of my mother. If I had something that had cost less than twenty bucks, she’d have my hide. And, of course, that was most of my wardrobe. But, everything was perfectly fine! Suitable for my job, when I’d had one.

I talked to myself for hours, tossing a few things into my suitcase here and there, grateful that she wouldn’t see my underwear. At least, I hoped she wouldn’t. The last thing I wanted was for her to take me to Victoria’s Secret with her. I was twenty-three and hell would freeze over before I’d let her take me bra shopping now. She’d already tortured me enough in my life to last a life time.

Finally, so tired I was almost catatonic, I collapsed onto my huge, soft bed, and fell asleep.