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Sighing, I sit on one of the chairs in the reception area instead of going to his office, this way I can make a quick exit. I cross my legs and sit ramrod straight. I know his eyes see right through me. They see each and every hole in my clothes, my slightly greasy hair, and ruined shoes.
He pities me, and I hate that.
“Rory, I know you struggle financially, but unfortunately this isn’t a charity. I have been very lenient…but you are late for last month’s bill.” He sighs, as if this pains him, and I really think it does. He genuinely cares for people. He likes the money, of course, but he changed his family home to a recovery center after his brother overdosed. He wanted to help addicts and their families before something like that happened to others. I know that, and I hate that he’s worried about talking to me, but I hate even more that I can’t afford to pay him.
“If it’s not paid soon, I will have no choice but to release Mitchel to the state, and we both know that wouldn’t be good. He’s better here, but I can’t afford to keep him here for free. I’m sorry.” He reaches over and cups my hand, peering at me sadly. “Is there no family you could call for help?”
“No,” I offer sharply, then sigh. “Sorry, Mr. Runwood. I will get the money to you. Please, just give me a week.” I look upstairs, toward my brother’s room. “He can’t leave here. He’s safe here, he’s happy… One week, please, that’s all I ask.”
He watches me for a moment before squeezing my hand and sitting back. “A week, Rory. Now, is your neck okay?”
“Fine, thank you,” I answer quickly as I stand. “I’m sorry, I have to go, can’t miss the bus.” I turn and rush from the house, panic, fear, and guilt filling me as I dart outside the gate and suck in deep lungfuls of fresh air.
Fuck me sideways…
How the hell am I going to get that much money?
