Trashed and Scattered

“No,” Peyton groaned into her phone, stuffed sloppily against her shoulder. “I can’t make that appointment work. They’ll just have to rebook or come in on Saturday like I’d already god damn suggested.”
Hannah shepherded her most calming tone as she scanned through the list of appointments in Peyton’s busy book, “I’m doing what I can, P…He’s pissed. I don’t know what else to say about it.”
“I get that he’s pissed,” Peyton huffed, tossing a black duffel onto her slovenly organized bed. “But unfortunately, shit comes up. There’s no way around it; I can’t make that appointment. By all means, feel free to take him.”
Hannah scanned the brief of Peyton’s most demanding customer. It was a gigantic piece that Peyton had slaved over the design of over the course of several weeks. It was nothing short of painstakingly beautiful; but Hannah knew full well that it was highly out of her professional league.
“I’ll talk to him,” Hannah sighed. “You’re willing to sit here until when on Saturday, though? He mentioned he works until seven.”
“I’ll sit there until midnight if I fucking have to,” Peyton barked. “I don’t care. That’s all the time I have. He can find a new artist if he doesn’t like it.”
Hannah was accustomed to Peyton’s little outbursts. Any time something presented itself in a way that seemed even remotely out of her control, Peyton would flip a switch. She needed order, even if it was chaotic. Everything, as haphazard as it was, had a place in Peyton’s life. She needed that order to keep herself from unravelling. Hannah had never met anyone quite so tightly wound.
It wasn’t without it’s positives, though. Peyton’s structure meant steady work for Hannah and a sizeable paycheck every other week. Peyton had slaved over her business, working tirelessly to build up a reputation for herself. When she’d brought Hannah on, she’d taken a gamble. It had paid off well enough, Hannah was quite reputable herself; ever growing and always open to criticism. But it meant enduring the wrath of Peyton Winchester time and time again.
“Sorry,” Peyton sighed knowingly, cooling her heels onto the bed as she sank into self-awareness. “This isn’t your fault, I know that.”
Hannah smiled into the phone, scribbling a note onto a yellow sticky and then pushing the book to the side, “It’s all good, P. No worries, really. I’ll talk to Calvin and I’ll convince him to be reasonable.”
“I appreciate that,” Peyton smirked. “Just let me know what I have to do. I’m in the middle of something at home but I’ll be down when I’m finished.”
Hannah nodded, like her boss could see, “Take your time.”
Peyton flipped her phone closed, feigning death as she collapsed backwards onto her mattress. All she wanted was to close her eyes and let sleep rescue her from her current reality. But, no. As always, she would be forced to persevere. That was all life was anyway, wasn’t it? Pushing onward and forward, pretending like the past had absolutely no control over your future? She was tired of it. It had only been seven days since her past had slapped her in the face and she was already deathly tired of it.
“Get up,” she told herself insistently.
The stern tone she’d taken with herself seemed to do the trick. Soon enough, she was back on her feet, trailing around the room digging through piles of clothing on the floor. With a sniff of a few, they were tossed back into the perpetual pile of laundry waiting to be washed. There was never any time for that.
A white and black cat pawed at her door until it creaked open; Peyton jumped at the disturbance. Scolding herself with a demonic grunt, she rolled her eyes at the feline stepping into her turf.
“Zeke,” she growled. “You little fuck.”
He climbed into her mess of a bed and made himself happily at home. She caught herself smiling as she ran her fingers through his fur and he purred back at her with affection. But there was no time for that.
Peyton spent the next twenty minutes frantically searching for her belongings. She wasn’t sure how much to pack but knew that if it didn’t get done now, it never would. Her schedule was unspeakably tight for the next week before she was set to leave for her non-vacation. Most people would probably look forward to a trip to California. They could soak up the sun, take in the beach. But there wasn’t a single ounce of excitement teetering through Peyton’s panicked body.
She was annoyed with herself as she dug through a pile of clothes, searching for her favourite pair of jeans. Nothing was where she’d left it, a result of her catastrophic packing endeavor. The disorder made her blood curdle. She wasn’t sure when she’d become such a tight-shipped weirdo, but assumed it had something to do with her traumatic childhood. Freud would have been so proud to hear her assumption.
“Knock, knock,” Joanna smiled in the doorway, a grey bowl filled to the rim with cereal in her hand.
“What’s up?” Peyton asked flatly, still rummaging through her bedroom until finally having a eureka moment as she pulled her black skull top from the bottom of a pile.
Joanna surveyed the debris with a skeptical brow, “What on earth are you doing in here?”
Her eyes floated over to the bed, where Peyton’s half-packed duffel lay and Zeke lay in the thick of it all.
“Oh my word, you’ve buried Zeke!” Joanna gasped, rushing over to the cat’s aid.
“He likes it in the mess,” Peyton informed her friend neatly.
Joanna ran a hand over her cat’s sleeping body, balancing her bowl of Cheerios with expertise in the other.
“What are you doing in here though?” Joanna laughed quietly. “Seriously.”
Peyton glanced over her shoulder, “Throwing a Mardis Gras parade.”
Joanna rolled her chocolate brown eyes.
“Packing,” Peyton grinned, stepping over a mound of painting supplies to get back to the bed. “What does it look like?”
“Another convention?” her roommate asked curiously.
Peyton often travelled around the country for tattoo conventions. She was invited to a couple in Canada over the past few years. It was always an honor to be invited as a guest artist and she had never declined an invitation. Never, though, is maybe too strong of a word. She had never declined an invitation from any state but California. She’d denied those every single time without hesitation.
And yet, when her life came toppling into debris, she’d forced herself to call out her only contact in California. It hadn’t taken much convincing to get herself a spot at a convention in Los Angeles in just a few shorts weeks. It was exactly six days following her arrival in California, which she figured would be entirely too much time alone with her thoughts.
She liked to keep busy. And for Peyton, that usually meant work. She’d happily overbook and work her bones dry; anything to keep moving. If she found herself stewing for too long, she was bound to spoil.
“No,” she answered shortly. “Well, yes. But not exclusively. It was more of an afterthought, as it were.”
“Well where are you going?” Joanna mused. “If it’s a trip somewhere warm, can I please come?”
“You have exams,” Peyton noted with a point of her finger. “You have to be a doctor or some crazy shit like that. They won’t let you be a doctor if you don’t pass your exams. I’m pretty sure that’s Common Sense 101.”
Joanna grumbled, spooning a mouthful of tiny o’s into her mouth, “Whatever. I don’t need to be a psychologist. I could give it up and be an artist like you.”
“Art doesn’t pay,” Peyton informed her cheekily. “And you don’t have a steady enough hand to do tattoos. Thanks for playing, though. Always a treat to see your hat in the ring.”
“So, in my first class,” Joanna began with a frisky grin, “we learned about this crazy concept called deflection. Do you know what word means, Peyton? Deflection?”
Peyton raised a brow, “Don’t antagonize me, Jo.”
“So you’re familiar,” she concluded, twirling her spoon around in a semicircle before dropping it back into the bowl. “I’m certain that is what’s happening here. Stop deflecting. Just tell me where you’re going. I promise I won’t be too jealous.”
Peyton relented with a sigh, “California.”
“Cali-for-NI-A?” Joanna choked happily. “Okay, I’m super jealous! Where in Cali? Can I come? I’m small; I could probably fit in your bag.”
“Orange County,” she told her quickly, hopeful to evade any further tricky questions headed her way. “And you’re not that small.”
She wasn’t so lucky.
“Blowing right passed that insult…What are you doing in Orange Country?” Joanna asked confusedly.
Peyton had never divulged the contents of her upbringing to her friend. It embarrassed her to talk about, so she’d pretended like it had never happened. As time wore on, Peyton had convinced herself more thoroughly that it had been some sort of bad dream. The more she shielded her present from her past, the further it sank into shadow. But Joanna wasn’t keen on lying, and to make up a story now would simply hinder their friendship when the truth inevitably came out.
“I’m going to fix up my dad’s house,” she said simply.
Joanna crumpled her face, swallowing down her cereal, “What? Your dad lives in Connecticut.”
“He has a house in California,” Peyton replied quickly. “He wants to sell it…I’m going to go and…do that.”
“I don’t understand,” Joanna half-laughed. “You’re being very vague; like I should know what you’re talking about…But I don’t.”
Peyton groaned into the air, “I really just don’t want to get into it. There isn’t enough time on earth to get into it with you.”
“Too bad,” Joanna smirked. “I’ve got at least half a bowl here until I have to motor. So, spill.”
“You’re persistant,” Peyton sighed.
Joanna nodded happily, “It’s part of my charm.”
Against her better judgement, Peyton conceded, “My mother was living in our house back in California. She’s, uh—”
“Dead?” Joanna interjected with grim puzzle. “You said your mom died.”
“My mother is alive,” Peyton said through grit teeth. “But I haven’t seen her since I was a kid…So, she may as well be dead.”
Joanna raised her eyebrows, “That’s a horrible thing to say, Peyton. Even for you.”
“She’s a drug addict,” Peyton informed her closest friend. “And an alcoholic. And probably a schizophrenic. And definitely a felon. She’s a monster of a human being, please don’t pity her on my behalf.”
Joanna raised a hand in defence, shoveling more Cheerios into her mouth to keep from saying anything else ill-advised.
“Anyway,” Peyton continued impatiently, “she’s in prison. Or…on her way. You know, I’m really not totally clear on the details. The point here is that my dad’s finally selling the house…He’s a pussy, so he won’t just go deal with the legalities and labor himself,” she followed this up with a dramatic gesture down her torso, “Cue Peyton.”
Joanna smiled softly, “You’re a good daughter. I’ve always thought so.”
“Shut up,” Peyton scoffed. “The moral of the story is that I’m leaving for…the foreseeable future. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’ll send rent money, though. So don’t worry about that.”
Joanna waved, “I never worry about that. Should I be worrying about you, though?”
“No,” Peyton shrugged, stuffing another outfit into her bag. “But if I’m not back in a month, send a rescue party.”
“Will do,” Joanna nodded sternly.
Glancing at the clock on the screen of her phone, Peyton grumbled to herself. Though there was still much packing to be done, she simply had run out of time. She was meant to meet a client in the shop ten minutes ago—eternally late.
“I have to go,” Peyton rushed. “I’ll be home…Later. I don’t know.”
Joanna nodded, waving with two fingers, making no effort to move as Peyton grabbed a sweater from her nightstand and tore out of the apartment.
“Well, Zeke” Joanna smirked, “I guess it’s just you and me for a while.”
Sensing Peyton’s frustrations and stress levels rising at an unprecedented rate, Joanna took it upon herself to be helpful. She shuffled her feet to the kitchen and tossed her bowl atop the counter. Then she grabbed the biggest garbage bag she could find and stuffed every single piece of clothing Peyton owned inside of it. She knew Peyton would be pissed but she was sure that the spitfire of angst would thank her later.
Like the good friend she was, she threw it over her shoulder like a feminine Santa and carried it down the stairs to the laundry room. As Peyton’s stuff washed and dried, Joanna read her textbook cover-to-cover, perched contently atop the drier.
In the name of friendship, and a bit of damage control, she skipped her class.

Notes

xx