Page 24 of All for her Forgiveness

"No. I want to make a living with my art. Now I have to go, or I'll be late for cleaning. Thanks for helping me with Mr. Greytak. The man seems to have taken a liking to me."

I raise my free hand, the one not carrying the cleaning bucket, and wave goodbye.

As I enter the room, I sigh, disheartened by the number of ashtrays full of cigarette butts and cigar remnants scattered on the meeting table.

I hope these men have good cardiologists to take care of their hearts because soon enough, smoking like this, they're going to need them.

Kennedy

CHAPTER TEN

Past

"You can't doanything right! I raised you, gave my blood for you, and all you do is screw up one thing after another! Not even a dog would eat this crap!"

I look at the plate of food thrown on the floor and feel my blood boil.

Then, I stare at the woman who has never been anything in my life but a tormentor and decide that enough is enough.

No matter how much of what she says is true and that she took me in when my parents died, Aunt Riny never wanted me or liked me.

In fact, it was damn bad luck for me that my mother decided to entrust her with that responsibility.

And now, after almost five years of practically fighting alone to keep all the household expenses paid, I can't take it anymore. I'd rather stay away, sending her money until she gets better and returns to her normal life, than continue enduring this psychological torture.

How can two people who detest each other live together? Because if I stay in New Orleans, it would be purely and exclusively out of gratitude, not love. The feeling’s never existed between us, and I doubt it ever will. I'm not the type who thinks everyone has a good side. I've lived with Aunt Riny for more than two-thirds of my life, and hers, so far, hasn't surfaced.

She's a bitter and cruel woman, and I've reached my limit.

Despite everything, I feel sorry for her because I doubt such a wicked person can be happy...but who feels sorry for me?

If there's one thing I've learned about wickedness, it's that it harms the people it's directed at but also poisons the perpetrator. Someone who spends their existence trying to make others' lives hell can't be happy, simply because they don't have time for themselves.

Contradictorily, it's selfish but doesn't look inward. That's what I've been doing most in recent years: trying to fit in, to know who I am, to find my place in the world.

I haven’t figured any of that out yet, but I'm sure I don't belong in the same physical space as Aunt Riny. She's getting sick, and she's making me sick too.

I work fourteen hours a day at two jobs. I finished High School remotely, which will hardly give me the opportunity to attend university one day, and I come home exhausted, dying of pain in my feet and back.

I only have time to draw on weekends.

Today, Aunt Riny called me during my shift at the casino and said she was dying to have soup. I went to the supermarket and bought all the ingredients. I'm not a great cook, but I'm not the worst either. I did what I could.

I got home, and before even taking a shower, I prepared the damn meal.

Two hours. That's how long it took me, almost dozing off while waiting for the soup to be ready. I put it on a tray and took it to her because Aunt Riny told me she had felt unwell all day and didn't feel strong enough to get up.

I waited in anticipation while she tasted it, and now I'm angry with myself for that.

Am I never going to grow up? Will I always need validation to silence my insecurities? I don't like wishing to be loved or waiting for just a crumb of love from her, although it has never happened. Incredibly, the person who likes me the most is Mr. Ernest.

He asks if I've eaten. He doesn't like it when I leave the casino late at night and come home alone. And beyond that, he's the only one who encourages me to keep drawing. Not that I'm surrounded by friends. Aunt Riny made sure the neighborhood always thought the worst of me, and with that story about stealing the crayons, I was forever tainted.

"What are you waiting for? I'm not eating this garbage, so grab a mop and clean the floor now."

I still don't move. As I stare at her, a movie plays through my head.

I see the teacher at school coming to get me in the middle of class to tell me my parents had been in an accident—only when I got to the hospital was I told the truth, that they were dead.

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