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Parents get killed.
Your brother almost dies.
You’re left alone.
But you figure that shit out, you don’t fall and give up. You get your tattered, starving ass back up and you keep fighting.
Every. Single. Fucking. Day.
* * *
I didn’t sleep much,having spent all night in my cold bed trying to think of a way to solve my problems. I came up with one. I didn’t like it, but it’s the only way.
Stealing.
Again.
I did it a few times over the years because I had no choice. I hated it, and every time I stole, it made me feel sick, but there are no handouts for me. The rich have enough to share, but they don’t. So instead, I take it, and now I have to again. Of course it’s my last resort, I’m going to try for more jobs first, but…but if I don’t get them…I will steal to survive.
I quickly get dressed in a pair of ratty jeans and a tank top, grabbing Mitch’s old leather jacket and lacing up my boots. I shove my black, curly hair over my shoulder and head to the front door, sighing at the mail waiting there.
I pick it up and hurriedly flip through, groaning at the red marked one for Mitch’s medical facility. I owe them last month’s expenses. It’s a lot, a hell of a lot actually, and the reason I’m so broke all the time. It’s expensive, a privately run facility, but he hated the public ones. At the old place, he got worse and worse, wasting away before my very eyes. Here at the new place, at least he’s happy. Runwood Recovery is situated just beyond the city and surrounded by acres of lush land, flowers to smell, and scenic paths to walk on. It’s a million miles away from how I live. Sometimes I’m jealous, because he’s not alone, he isn’t hungry, and he isn’t scared, cold, or worried.
Because he has me, and I promised him I would take care of him.
I throw the bills down onto the stack of other bills on the table, ignoring them. They seem to burn a hole there, a constant reminder I’m so close to being homeless. I would do it to keep him at Runwood, to keep him safe and happy. I would do anything, which I realized pretty quickly.
When you have nothing, you learn just what depths you are willing to sink to in order to survive. Just how much you don’t mind marring your soul.
I don’t bother having breakfast, I don’t have anything to eat anyway. Instead, I head out because I need some new clothes—I can’t steal full time. I’m still on the fence about stealing at all. Hopefully, I can get a job and not have to worry about it. But that means actually getting a job, a real, full-time paying job with benefits and shit. Not the stupid part-time ones I keep finding and losing when they get tired of me. I can’t go to an interview in these clothes, so I walk downtown to a familiar, secondhand clothing shop to pick up some items.
Outside is a young man. He’s sitting on the ground on top of a sleeping mat, a cup in front of him. His hair is ratty and long, and he has a beanie on his head. His thick blue winter jacket has holes in it, and his face is dirty and drawn, but it’s his eyes that command my attention.
They are hopeless.
I hastily pull my wallet from my bag and grab some of the bills inside, including last month’s paycheck from the Chinese restaurant I worked at, and hand them over without a word. His head snaps up as he meets my eyes. That icy hopelessness melts for a fraction, and a burst of possibilities penetrates his gaze. I wish I could tell him it gets better, but that’s not true. So instead I nod and smile, releasing the money into his care before walking into the shop.
It wasn’t much, but hopefully, it means he doesn’t starve today. It also means I can’t afford breakfast or dinner, especially not with buying some clothes, even if they are second hand.
“Hey, Rory!” the familiar, chubby old lady calls with a friendly smile. Emma is working behind the register, but I wave and smile back before ducking behind a rack of clothes and flipping through them. She truly is a nice person. I donated a lot of Mitch’s clothes when he got sick and some of mine when I outgrew them, but only if they weren’t too ruined. She always slipped me extra, even though I tried to give her the money back. I guess she saw the desperation in my eyes.
Sometimes, even now, she keeps some clothes back for me. There’s always an excuse. She can’t sell them, they are too old, too new… It keeps going. I think it’s just a way of giving them to me without me losing my pride.
I pick up a few tops and move over to the mirror to check if they will fit. Sometimes it’s hard to find anything, other times I can find such jewels in here. I press the tops to my body, frowning as I discard all of them.
Shit.
Just then, Emma bustles over with something colorful in hand. I turn, my eyes caught on the beautiful, silky red fabric held in her grasp.
“Here, I found this in a donation box, I thought it would look beautiful on you.” She shoves the dress at me, but I try to push it back.
“Emma, I can’t—I have nowhere to—” She huffs, takes the dress, and reaches around me. I flinch, but she doesn’t notice, the hanger going near my neck as she presses the dress to my front. The mirror across from us reflects me and the dress. It’s beautiful, it really is, and she’s right—it looks amazing. With my golden skin and long, black hair, the red material pops. I look classy. Sexy even. I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt sexy even once in my life.
“Just try it on, indulge an old woman.”
I swallow, but when she just stares at me in the mirror, I take it and head to the dressing rooms at the back. Pulling the faded floral curtain across the small cubicle, I quickly shed my clothes before fingering the soft material of the dress.
It’s silkier than anything I have ever owned, cleaner too, and it almost looks brand new. I don’t think I’ve ever actually owned a dress. It’s pretty, really pretty, and I can’t resist pulling it over my head. I have to tug it over my ample curves, something that never disappears no matter how much I don’t eat, but once it’s over my wide hips and faded beige bra, it seems to fit perfectly.
