Page 13 of The Pucking Wrong Man

CHAPTER 3

ANASTASIA

Iwoke up, the sterile smell of disinfectant assaulting my senses as I blinked away the remnants of sleep. Staring up at the white ceiling, I listened to the sounds of people getting up for the morning.

Their waking sounds were much better than the sounds they made when they were sleeping.

A lot of them cried out in their sleep. Their tragic days creeping into their nights like sinister centipedes walking through their brains.

Crying was a demonic lullaby at this point. Pain and despair my constant bed companions.

I hated that their nightmares had become my own.

I had enough of my own to deal with, thank you very much.

Yawning, I stretched my arms above my head, trying to get the kink out of my neck and wake up. I glanced at the people milling around the room, most of them looking as out of it as I probably did in the mornings.

There was a strict curfew to get in the shelter, and a specific time that you had to be up for the day and out of here.

I was used to it.

But someday, when I figured out my life, I was going to sleep in. Maybe all day.

Just because I could.

I rolled over on the thin mattress, the springs creaking beneath me.

Someday I was also going to have a bed that I actually wanted to spend all day in.

With a heavy sigh, I swung my legs over the side of the cot, wincing as the familiar ache shot through my leg. It was always worse in the morning, the stiffness and pain a cruel reminder of the past that I could never escape...because it was always with me.

Turned out when your father broke your fibula and your femur in multiple places, and you didn’t get to the hospital for nearly twenty-four hours—and you almost died...your injury didn’t heal right.

And you got to be in pain...forever.

With a deep breath, I pushed myself up onto my feet, bracing myself against the edge of the cot as I stretched. Each movement was slow and deliberate and agonizing.

My leg protested with every stretch, a sharp pang of pain shooting up from my ankle to my thigh. I cursed under my breath—I hadn’t had a chance to ice last night after dance like I needed to. Somedays if class ran long and I didn’t finish mopping in time, it was hard to get back in time for curfew, so I had to skip.

That seemed to be the theme of my life, never enough time, never enough energy at the end of the day to take care of myself.

As I finished stretching, I gritted my teeth and forced myself to stand upright, ignoring the throbbing ache. There was work to be done, rehearsals to attend, money to save up...I couldn’t afford for a little pain to hold me back.

I bent over to touch my toes...

Okay, it was actually a lot of pain.

I grabbed my bag from underneath my bed, checking to make sure that none of my belongings had disappeared during the night.

If you got caught stealing, you were immediately banned from coming back. But that didn’t mean it didn’t happen.

We were all desperate here.

Desperate to survive. Desperate to exist.

Desperate.

Someday I was going to have a place to keep all my stuff too. Here, everything I owned had to be packed up every day and taken with me, nothing left behind.

---