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I need to be there.
I will be there.
But no one can know.
If my step-mother finds out my plans, she’ll punish me. Probably harsher than she has in the past. I shiver at the thought. I should disappear, leave all of this behind. But I won’t. I’ll endure what I need to because I won’t leave my dad or lose my mother’s house.
My phone vibrates in my hand, interrupting my thoughts. A small smile graces my lips when I see my best friend Suri’s name.
Suri: Hey, I’m home, but of course, the king and his witch aren’t here.
Me: Glad you made it home safely. It’s probably for the best that the witch isn’t there. Where did they go?
Suri: True. They are staying in the city for the night. I’m going to take advantage of them being gone by catching up on Netflix. Do you want to come over and hang out?
Me: I wish I could, but I have to work.
Suri: That sucks. Maybe another time. Love you, have a good night.??
Me: Love you! ??
I walk in my room, a space that looks more like a storage closet than anything else. Boxes line the walls, full of my stuff. Stuff connected to memories from what feels like a past life. A life full of lightness, love, and laughter. A life where I didn’t have to worry about surviving.
I used to have a big room upstairs that my mom had decorated just for me when I was younger. She took time to make sure that the room held all of my favorites, even down to the purple frames that held pictures of her and my father. Fairy statues lined my bookshelves along with her collection of classic books. Fairy lights hung across the ceiling above the bed and lace curtains lined the windows giving the room a light and airy feel.
The day that my father was admitted to the hospital after his cancer took a turn for the worse, I came home after sitting by my father’s bedside all day to everything boxed up and moved to my current closet-like room. I tried to say something but they acted as if it was just stuff and not items that hold memories of the only woman who loved me.
Shaking off the melancholy feeling that always comes when I think about my past, I push through the boxes that engulf my room and grab my uniform for work off the top of the small chest of drawers.
Undressing, I look at myself in the one small mirror I have. I can’t look for long. I don’t want to see what I’ve become. My brown eyes have dark purple circles underneath them and they’ve lost their shine.
My body has taken a beating and not necessarily the kind you can see from the outside. It’s the kind that lives in your heart and in your mind. The amount of stress that weighs me down, defending myself constantly from the anger that is thrown my way. It pushes me past my limits. My body is slowly disappearing. When I do want to eat, which isn’t often, I can’t because the step-monsters usually eat all of my groceries. These days I shove food down my throat in between shifts at the bar.
Mom died when I was ten and Dad decided he needed help raising me—and not a nanny…a new mom. He went on a few blind dates until he met my step-mother and her hideous daughters. Three months later, they were married.
At first when they came to live with us, I was excited to have siblings. I had always wanted sisters. But I quickly learned that these girls didn’t want to be my sister. They wanted someone to berate. Someone to do their chores. They wanted me to know that I was beneath them.
In front of my dad, they treated me so nicely it was sickening, but as soon as he turned his back they would go back to their evil selves. Pushing me, stealing my stuff and hiding it, and making up rumors they would spread at school.
My step-mother never showed any feelings toward me. She wasn’t rude or loving. It was like I didn’t exist. Once my dad became sick about five years ago, she decided to notice me. And that was worse. Now she encourages her girls to put me down and she takes everything that means something to me.
So I survive and just try to get through each day, working to make enough money to buy this house before my dad dies. Before she can convince the lawyers that she should get the house instead. I know she won’t care that his will names me as the beneficiary of the house. All she cares about is what she can get. But if I buy the house before he dies, then it doesn’t matter what she thinks. I can kick them out and get on with my life. But all of that seems impossible.
Like I’m living in a horrible nightmare with no fairy tale ending in sight.
My phone alarm goes off, reminding me that I need to get going. Quickly I pull a tight, black body suit up over my torso followed by my tight skinny jeans. Turning around I glance at the mirror to check out my ass. Yep, these are the ones that should get me some extra tips.
Running to the bathroom, I line my eyes with black liner that makes my blue eyes pop. I coat my long lashes with mascara and I gloss my lips, smacking them. Perfect!
Dashing back to my room, I grab my keys and wallet, shoving them into my pockets as I glance at the time. Shit, I need to be at work in ten minutes. I shove my feet into my shoes and run toward the train stop, praying I make it in time.
When I scoot through the sliding doors, I drop down in the nearest seat. I place my hand on my chest and try to catch my breath.
“I made it.”
A few stops later, I get off and briskly walk through the back door of the bar where I work, The Tower. Taking a deep breath, I relax and get my game face on, ready to work.
“That was close,” a soft voice from my right says.
