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I walk into my bedroom and look around me. I haven’t got much anyway. The life of a nineteen-year-old care leaver lodging in a spare room doesn’t exactly mean lots of possessions. Moving from one foster carer to another as a kid means you get used to leaving things behind.
The one item I pack is my sketchbook. That I’ve kept with me no matter where I’ve ended up. I also have the ring on my finger. Mom’s ring. The only thing left in the world that proves she ever existed.
I run my finger along the silver edge, sliding over the tiny opal stone. There is a mixture of sadness and rage in me. I will never understand how it could have happened to her. How could a man be so cruel to his wife?
I guess the world is filled with asshole men. The books and the movies might suggest there are good men out there, but I’ve yet to meet any. From my birth dad who threw me into the care system when mom killed herself through to Frank, it’s been one long line of assholes.
Best of all, I get to see asshole number one grinning out from billboards around the city. Tony Piper. Upstanding Mayor. Vote for me. I’m tough on crime. Give me another term. I’ll sort out the organized rackets in the city. I’m good with kittens and babies.
Don’t mention the illegitimate daughter I had with a hooker who then threw herself under a train because she couldn’t take any more of my shit. The one I put into the care system and forgot about.
Every time I see his beatific smile on a billboard, I think of my mother. He burned everything she owned right after she died, threw me out on the day of the funeral.
The coffin was barely in the ground before he shoved a case in my hand and told me they were coming to take me away. “I can’t have you around. You remind me of her.”
Nice guy, yeah?
Anyway, heavy, heavy. No need to think about that shit right now. I’ve got stuff to do. I need to pack.
I rummage out warm things. Who knows where I’ll be sleeping tonight? A part of me wants to stay here, make them throw me out. I’m not even sure this eviction notice is legal. I signed nothing when I moved in. Maybe I could barricade myself in my room.
What would be the point? Marie will come home with Gary. They’ll call Larry. He’ll bring the cops around. They’ll throw me out and I’ll be in the same boat as if I just left by myself, but with a criminal record to add to the pile of crap that is my life.
I shove a toothbrush in my case, adding the few items of makeup I own. A towel. Obviously. Like Arthur Dent found out, you always need a towel. Maybe that’s what I need. Same thing as him. A spaceship to come down and whisk me away from all this. That could work.
I take every cent I can find, cramming it all into my purse. I look around my room. The books can stay behind. I never got around to reading them, anyway. I spent most evenings sketching.
I take some cartoons I had pinned to my noticeboard, shoving them into the sketchbook.Character design for Cally for her companions.
Like I’ll ever get the comic strip I want.
I include the remote control to the TV. Yes, I do it out of spite. So sue me. Marie and Gary can have the place, but they’ll have to get up off their asses to change the channel.
That’ll show them I’m not to be messed with. Then I put the remote control back. I can’t do it. Even after everything, I can’t be that much of a bitch.
Once my case is crammed full, I sit on it to get the clasps to shut. I take a last look around my room. “So long,” I say to it.
I’ve been here since I left care. Day one of my adulthood, I was given a job at Frank’s grocery store. Marie found me before my first shift was over, offered me her spare room. Split the bills fifty-fifty. I thought I had it made.
I leave the apartment and head down to the street. I’m lucky that my case has wheels. Makes it easier to trundle it down the street to the first bar I see. I’ve got fifty-seven dollars and eighteen cents left in the world. I can afford one drink, right?
Three
Anna
* * *
An hour later, I have thirteen dollars and no cents. I’m also wasted. So much for making my money last.
I only planned for one drink but the more I get down me, the closer I get to forgetting just how shitty my day is going. I sit at the bar and sketch on the napkin in front of me. It’s a drawing of me, skipping through a sunlit pasture, straight for a cliff edge, jagged rocks and alligators far below.
“Nice drawing,” a deep voice says behind me.
I turn and I’m looking up at a figure so tall; it hurts my neck leaning back to meet his eye. I can’t reply. It’s the guy I saw at the store. Once again, I’m breathless, my fingers shaking violently.
He’s still dressed in that expensive-looking charcoal gray suit, clearly tailored to fit perfectly. This close up, I can see each bit of black hair on his powerful jaw.
His eyes are darker than ever and I swear they’re on fire as he examines me. He’s looking at me so intensely I shrink back in my seat. Is that the only way he looks at the world?
