AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I look down at the last drop of my demise, but I don’t pick up the letter. “Our rent.”
I push around them, dashing for the front door. Suffocating.
“Jesus Christ, how can we afford that?” Annie’s voice catches me.
I stumble, trying to put on my boots.
“What happened?” Ron asks.
“They raised our rent.” Annie’s voice breaks.
I put on my coat and rush outside. I need to leave. I need to clear my head. Bursting through the stairwell doors and taking two steps at the same time, I more trip and lurch than run downstairs.
The frigid February air hurts my lungs, and I welcome the momentary relief from the other more permanent ache claiming my limbs and soul.
Trying to summon positive thoughts or find solutions, I march down the street. I’m good at silver linings, at happy thoughts. Am I not? But clearly I’m failing again. I can’t conjure one positive thought, or find a feasible solution.
I speed-walk through the streets of my neighborhood, assessing the situation from all different angles and coming up empty-handed. Annie’s medicine allowed her to return to work as a cashier at a supermarket for a few shifts. Too little.
She wants to go to school—something she dropped when she met her ex—to get a better paid office job she can manage with her illness. Too late.
If she goes to school, we will need a babysitter. Too much.
I can, and will take more jobs. Too volatile. Impossible really, because as it is I’m stretched too thin. I can’t take new clients because there are only twenty-four hours in a day.
I don’t know how long I’ve been walking. My feet are sore. My nose and cheeks are throbbing from the cold. My chest aches from everything. The worst part is, my mind keeps arriving at the same solution.
I should have accepted Gio’s proposal. He offered me a career, a life of luxury, and a permanent solution for my family. I decided to protect my pride, and my heart.
I traded my family’s wellbeing to uphold my own righteousness. And what was it good for? Because at the end of the day, I miss Gio so much it’s hard to breathe. His absence scrapes me raw every night when I’m crying myself to sleep.
Every day without him stretches the hole in my heart. Every minute thinking about him pulls me into a darkness so profound I can’t find my way out of it.
I ignore the feelings in the name of pride. With the notion of protecting myself. Avoiding all his attempts to explain, to talk, because I am not strong enough to survive hearing his voice—regardless of what he would say. Strong enough to survive the dark brown abyss of his gaze.
And now I can’t have that conversation anymore, because my family’s financial ruin would forever taint any chance of things between us being honest and real. About us. Him and me. A normal couple.
I trudge, one foot in front of the other, my chin buried in my coat’s collar. My building is just half a block away. Somehow, I made my way back. Without a solution. Without a cleared head. A bigger mess than when I left.
A familiar car is parked in front of the building. I stop, and my heart flutters while my lungs strain to find oxygen.
The door opens and Gio steps out, his eyes pinning me with a plea, remorse, and something darker. Rage? Anger? Or frustration.
While my body and heart keep falling apart inwardly, I’m pulled to him without a conscious decision. How could I have ever thought we could be equal? How could I have ever hoped we could be normal?
This man owned me before he first spoke to me. I might have fought it hard, but my dislike was just another pathetic attempt to keep my independence. There is no such thing. I’m completely, utterly, irrevocably dependent on this man. Financially. Physically. Mentally. And, God help me, with all my heart.
I raise my chin, because if I’m going to lose the only thing that’s still mine—my dignity—I’ll do it with pride. I open my mouth—
“You will hear me out.” His nostrils flare.
I chuckle at the absurdity of his idea that I was going to argue and tell him I don’t want to hear it. That kind of perseverance died a few days ago, and dissolved completely with the rent hike letter.
My humorless chuckle seems to anger him more. He narrows his eyes, probably wondering if I’ve gone mad since Saturday.
“Get in the car, Mila.” The command rolls down my body into my soul, spreading sweet heat and bitter regret in equal measures.
I inhale my last breath of freedom and get inside, still hoping there is a chance. A chance for us. That he will see past my practical needs and understand I want him for more than his money. It might take time, but he’ll see it, eventually. I can make him see it. Can’t I?
