Page 51 of Day Break

The very first time that I’d been around a fight between others was that first month that I’d been behind bars.

The rumbling from the other room reminded me of a fight between Lucy and another large woman. Lucy had spent close to a week in the infirmary.

At first, I hadn’t thought much about it. At least I had the room to myself for that whole time and didn’t have to sneak back in there during the day to use the bathroom.

However, I quickly figured out that Lucy had been my shield of sorts. With her around, no one had dared messed with me.

At the very first meal I had after Lucy had been carted away, three large middle-aged women sat down at my table, one on either side of me, caging me in. Their leader, who went by the name Foxy, sat directly across from me.

Even Lucy’s friends Sam, Lindy, and Rizzo steered clear once they saw the new interest in me.

“How you doing, baby girl?” Foxy asked, her eyes running over me.

I had never experienced as much anxiety as I had then. For weeks, not a single person had talked to me besides Lucy and her group, and I’d liked it that way.

I think I nodded or made some sort of movement. Honestly, I couldn’t remember. Seconds later, my arms were grabbed by the other two women. I was held in place as Foxy leaned across the table. From close up, I could see the age on the woman. Deep wrinkle lines crossed her forehead, and crow’s feet disappeared into her mud-colored hair. She was shorter than I was, she but had more than a hundred pounds on me.

“Yeah, without your bitch Lucy protecting you, you’re in the shit now,” Foxy spewed, her voice almost a hiss. “I’m your protection now. And it’s about time you paid up.” She tilted her head. “Whatcha got?”

I had shaken my head, not understanding. Protection? From? They were the only ones I felt threatened by.

“Carla.” Foxy motioned to the larger woman on the right of me. The woman immediately stuck something sharp in my side. I hissed and jerked, but since they were holding me firm, I had no way of escaping.

“Since you’re new, I’ll ask again. Make no mistake, baby girl, I won’t do it again. Whatcha got?” Foxy hissed.

I pulled out the only thing I had of value. The only thing that was keeping me sane. I laid the book on the table, and Foxy glared at me.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“The only thing I have in this world,” I admitted.

The three of them laughed. The echoes of their cackles would haunt me for months.

Then Foxy nodded and the sharp object dug further into my side.

“This is how it’s going to go down. You work for us now. Whatever you get, it’s mine.” Foxy slid the book towards her. “You have nothing.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You are nothing.”

What Foxy and the other women didn’t know was that this wasn’t anything new to me. I had never been anything.

I snapped back to reality when I realized that it had grown quiet outside of the pantry. I’d finished my dinner and figured that the rest of the family was done arguing and eating.

I poked my head into the dining room and noticed that some of the family was still inside, drinking wine and talking quietly.

I started cleaning up and doing the dishes. I was putting one of the large pans back in the pantry when I felt someone behind me. I jumped slightly, caught off guard. I turned to see Derrick leaning against the closed pantry door.

“Well, I have to say, you are an improvement around here. Glad we hired you to take care of the old man. Gives us something nice to look at, you know.” He smiled at me, and I felt my skin crawl.

Even though I’d technically been married, that hadn’t stopped a lot of other men from looking at me the same way Derrick currently was.

“Did you need something?” I asked, trying to remain still. I knew that words could push men away. Especially since several of Derrick’s family members were just in the other room.

Derrick’s eyes slowly went up and down me and suddenly I felt dirty. Like the simple outfit I was wearing wasn’t enough coverage.

All my life I’d been forced to wear huge dresses that covered everything, with their long sleeves, high necklines, and pastel colors. Now, the short-sleeved blouse and shorter skirt made me feel as if what I was wearing was the problem. Like somehow, I’d brought this upon myself.

He moved forward until my back was up against the shelving on the farthest wall. Then his hands moved up and rested on the shelves on either side of my head.

“There’s a lot that I need,” he said in a low tone.