Free Level Five by Carla Cassidy

memories.  She’d learned long ago that nothing was served by dwelling in the past.
                  She was glad Jake wasn’t stopping by tonight.  A weighty depression settled on her shoulders and she knew from experience it would take some time for her to finally slough it off.  She’d be fine by tomorrow when he came to spend the first of the three nights a week they shared.
                  This was one of the reasons she liked her private time. She could deal with the issues that were still ongoing from the trauma so long ago.  She’d always felt that in sharing some of this mess with Jake, she’d just make him one more victim. There were already more than enough to go around.
                  She checked her watch as she stood in the check-out line.  It had taken her longer to get the things than she’d expected. She hoped he was still where he’d been when he’d called, but there were no guarantees.
                  Once she was in her car she headed toward the motel where he’d been staying for the past year thanks to her paying the rent.   
                  The Skylark Motel catered to dope addicts, hookers and down on their luck people who needed a cheap place to flop.  The broken sign out front boasted full kitchenettes, cable television and a heated pool that had years before been filled in with concrete.
                  As she stepped out of the car she imagined her nose was assailed by the scent of vomit and urine and utter hopelessness.  The badly cracked sidewalk that led to the office of the motel spoke of the fact that nobody cared about the people who stayed here.  They were society’s throw-aways, people who had given up on life, on themselves. They had come here to wait for death.
                  The manager was an ex-con who favored filthy undershirts and suffered an instantaneous hearing loss if anyone tried to make a complaint. He hated the world, but especially the cops who occasionally busted one of the units for drug activity or to arrest a suspected felon.
                  She carried three grocery bags as she walked past the office to unit five.  She used her elbow to knock on the door.  The door to unit four flew open and a woman stuck her head out.
                  Eye make-up was smeared dark like bruises beneath her tired eyes and her blond hair was gnarled and showing three inch roots.  Her gaze swept the length of Edie in her crisp sun dress and matching sandals. Edie felt her wave of jealousy, of hatred before the woman slammed the door shut once again.
                  Edie’s depression pressed harder across her shoulders.  She hated coming here, but it was her penance.  She knocked again and when there was still no answer, she used the key she possessed to open the door.
                  This time she didn’t have to imagine the smell that struck her nostrils. It was the odor of garbage and booze and dirty clothes.  It stank of mold and stale cigarette smoke and lost dreams.
                  Edie dropped the bags on the small table and then opened the curtains to emit some sunshine. The brilliant illumination only served to highlight the dismal conditions.
                  It took only minutes to store the groceries where they belonged and then she grabbed a garbage bag and began to clean up.  Fast food wrappers, booze bottles, unidentifiable fruit that had gone black with rot all made its way into the bag.
                  There was nothing she could do about the torn and dirty sheets on the bed, nothing to be done with the sticky, nasty carpeting underfoot.
                  As she gazed around despair clutched at her throat.  Paths.  How many wrong ones had they all taken to end up here in this sordid mess, in this horrible place?  How had it all gone so wrong?