Page 6 of Virginity Sold

When I’m in the safety of my room, behind the closed door, I let the tears fall. I lean back on the wall before sliding down to the floor, the towel being the only barrier between me and the old, stained carpet.

I can’t hold it back anymore, finally allowing myself to break down. Drinking makes her such a cruel person, and every bit of hatred she has for me bleeds from her pores. Sadly, she’s drunk more than sober these days, so this heartless person has become her norm.

I’m giving myself five minutes to cry it out, allowing her words to affect me, then I’m standing and wiping them away.

Five minutes turn to ten, but then I do exactly what I said I was going to do. I make my way over to my dresser and once again pull out a nightgown and some underwear. My mother’s antics caused me to leave the ones I already had in the bathroom, and I’m not willing to risk running into her again. I will get them tomorrow.

All I want to do is crawl into bed and go to sleep, ready for the day to be over.

My alarm blares, pulling me out of a deep sleep.

Why didn’t I turn it off? That’s right, Mama had me flustered last night, and I forgot. Throwing the blanket off, I sit up and run my toes through the carpet. I’ve done it since I was a kid, but now it’s not as plush as it once was. The long-ago sensation of digging my toes in a fluffy cloud is now gone. It’s more like concrete, with my toes getting stuck with each stroke they make.

Standing, I quickly dress, wanting to make it to the laundromat before it gets too crowded. There’s nothing worse than having to fight for a machine or being stuck there all day. Last time that happened, I was sandwiched between a chatty woman with six kids running around like wild banshees and a grungy looking older man, who kept sneaking glances at my underwear. Honestly, I was afraid he was going to try and steal some of them when my back was turned.

I make sure I’ve collected all the dirty clothes from my room, putting them in the basket before stopping by the bathroom and getting my discarded uniform from last night.

Mama’s snores drift down the hallway, letting me know she’s both alive and still here. Making a U-turn, I head back to her bedroom, checking if she has anything that needs to be washed.

I cringe when I find nothing. Where are her clothes? Have I been so oblivious to notice she hasn’t changed her clothing all week?

Her room reeks and I set my basket down on her bed long enough to open the windows so it can air out. Somehow, I think it’s going to take more than that to get the stench out.

I do a quick run through of the house. Mama doesn’t even stir.

For a moment, I look down on her sleeping form, watching the small rise and fall of her chest and shoulders as she breathes, and I wonder what life would’ve been like for her if Dad never left. Even more so, what would it have been like if I were never born? Would they still be together? Would he have been such a bad man? Most of all, would Mama have turned into the person she’s become?

I stop myself and shake off the what-ifs. Life is about the present and what’s to come, not what may have been. I can’t live like that, and neither can Mama. She just hasn’t realized it.

I get the laundry detergent and fabric softener from the closet, putting both in my basket. I need to hurry. A storm is supposed to be rolling through and I don’t want to be caught walking in it. I set the basket down and rush back to grab the umbrella from where it hangs on the hook in the pantry, then head back to the living room.

Stepping out the door, I sigh. Please let today be a good one. Let Mama see the light and want to change. For her words to be kind and not hateful.

It never hurts to send up a silent prayer. Does it?

Chapter 4

Elena

I should have stayed at the laundromat. Then I would never have walked into the catastrophe awaiting me at home. And I’m not talking about walking in and Mama suffocating on her own vomit.

Nope, it was worse.

Mama decided today was the day she was going to raid my room and steal my money stash. Why didn’t I put it in the bank? I should’ve had better common sense than to think money kept in a home with a drunk would be safe when she decided to go on a bender.

She tore my room apart, nothing surviving her savage wrath. I’d beg her to return the money, but she isn’t here and I don’t have a clue where she's at. I find myself on the floor amid the chaos, overwhelmed and a sobbing wreck, as realization smacks me in the face: I won’t be able to earn enough money in time to keep a roof over our heads and the power on.

There’s no one to blame but myself. I fucked up, trusting she wouldn’t touch it. She hasn’t up to this point.

I need to snap out of it and call the landlord and see if I can get another extension on top of the one he already gave me. Lord willing, he’ll be understanding. Then I’ll call the electric company. Once all of that is done, I can clean up the mess and pray that Mama has some of the money left when she decides to come crawling home.

Standing up, I take a deep breath, pulling my phone from my pocket as I sit on the edge of my bed. My heart starts racing a mile a minute as sweat beads on my forehead.

I take a deep breath as I dial the landlord.

One ring.

Two rings.

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