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Stella
Apoundinginmyhead wakes me way too fucking early.
No. That pounding isn’t in my head, it’s coming from the front door. Throwing my covers off my body, I roll out of bed and pad through the trailer until I reach the front door. I’m too tired to think clearly, so I just pull the door open without taking a second to glance out the window to see who is bothering me at such an early hour.
I wish I had thought this through.
Standing on my porch is Lucas, sweat already beading on his greasy forehead. An angry scowl greets me, and I let out a heavy breath at the sight of his frumpy frame.
“What do you want, Lucas?” I ask, holding up my hand to block the blinding sunlight from my eyes.
Damn, it’s already hot out and I can already tell that the humidity is going to be brutal today. Lucas sneers as he wipes a trail of sweat from his face.
“Fuck, Stella. I want my damn money,” he spits out.
The money.
Fuck. My. Life.
I had been so angry when I got home last night, that I had downed a bottle of tequila that I found in the kitchen cabinets, leftover from one of my mom’s parties. She may not leave me groceries or money to pay bills, but I can always count on her to leave booze.
“Lucas...” I begin stumbling over my own words, knowing that I’m pissing him off even more.
Stomping his foot, I feel the vibration of the movement under my feet. Lucas yells at me, spittle flying out of his mouth. “You fucking bitch,” he roars out. “I told you that I wasn’t going to wait any longer. Give me my money or I will make you pay me in other ways,” he says, reaching out and running his finger along my bare arm.
I am instantly aware that I am standing before him in only a pair of short sleeping shorts and a tank top. My skin crawls under his touch and I want to vomit from the images his words evoke in me.
“I have it,” I lie.
My mind is racing as I struggle to find something more to say. Lucas calms down a little, but his eyes raise as he glances at me with a suspicious stare. He isn’t as dumb as I wish he were, and that terrifies me more than anything else.
“Then where is it?” he asks, his eyes raking over my body.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I do my best to shield his eyes from my body, but it’s no use. Why is this my life? Why can’t I be one of those people who has parents they can rely on and who doesn’t have to worry about pervy landlords.
“It’s in my kitchen. Hold on and I will go get the money,” I say, trying to stall him.
I have to put a barrier between me and Lucas for now-- at least until I can figure something out. Before Lucas can react, I reach out and slam the door in his face, locking the deadbolt. Lucas begins pounding on the door and wiggling the handle. This place is barely holding on and for a second, I fear he may break the door down. Thankfully, luck holds out on me as the door holds up. I know it won’t last long, so I rush to my room and put on a pair of Nike shoes that I bought from Goodwill, and then run out the back door. As I run toward my bike, I can hear Lucas cursing at me as he continues to pound against the front door.
My bike is sitting under the tarp I use to shield it from the weather and neighbors with sticky fingers. Throwing off the tarp, I jump on the bike and put it in neutral so that I can get a good start before I have to turn the ignition. I manage to get a few trailers away before I am able to start my bike and drive off.
For a brief moment, I feel a sense of relief as I drive away. Though, just like everything else in my life, I know this reprieve is only temporary as life will eventually come crashing back down on me again.
***
Hours later, I make my way back to my trailer.
After I had escaped Lucas, I drove through Savannah and then hung out down by the river walk for a while. I needed to clear my head and find a peaceful place to allow my racing nerves to calm down. Now, as I make my way back home, that terrible feeling of unease creeps back over me. For most people, home is a sanctuary-- a place where you go for love, comfort, and safety. Unfortunately for me, home doesn’t hold those same feelings for me. No. For me, home is unsteady, unwelcoming, and unsafe. One day, I will escape the hell hole that I am forced to live in right now. But that day sure as hell can’t some soon enough.
Pulling into the small gravel parking space next to my trailer, I notice that the front door is wide open and broken shards of wood lay scattered all over the rotting porch. Sighing, I know that I will also need to find some money to pay to have that repaired. Lucas sure as hell won’t be fixing it.
Parking my bike, I throw the tarp back over it and then head over to the front door to closely inspect the damage. I will more than likely need to call Ally and see if I can sleep at her place tonight. It won’t be safe for me to stay here tonight with a broken front door. There are too many bad men around here who would love nothing more than to find me vulnerable and unable to hide from them.
The wooden steps creak under my feet as I move to the door. The door handle is lying on the floor inside the trailer and the front door is bended in, from where Lucas obviously kicked it in.
“Damn,” I mutter to myself.
As I stand there, frozen and unable to think clearly, I hear a car pull up in front of my trailer. Great, is it Lucas to finally make me pay, or is it one of the drug dealers or pimps who constantly hound me to work for them. Either way, I’m fucked.
As I spin around, ready to yell and scream at whoever dared to stop, my body goes rigid as I spot the last person I ever expected to see again.
Micah
Wearing a pair of dark denim jeans that hang dangerously low on his hips, Micah runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair. He opens the rusted mailbox with my trailer number written in Sharpie, and stares back at me.
Micah.
What the hell is he doing here? How the hell does he know where I live? And, more importantly, why is he placing a large envelope in my mailbox?
