Page 1 of Brittle Heart

CHAPTERONE

Carolina

Exhausted, I slide down the exterior wall of my local 7-Eleven until I’m seated on the rough concrete. A long sigh escapes my lips as I stretch my legs. My feet hurt like hell.

A gravelly voice breaks the silence. “Long night?” Howie, the neighborhood homeless guy, asks, sitting beside me on the grimy sidewalk.

I lift my head, offering him a tired smile. “Seems like the jerks just keep getting jerkier,” I grumble, my annoyance palpable.

Howie chuckles, a grin spreading across his weather-beaten face. He absently strokes his scruffy beard. “You’re out a bit later than usual,” he notes.

I pull my backpack onto my lap from beside me and dig around to get out the two cheeseburgers I bought, still hot from the convenience store’s warmer. Handing one to Howie, I eagerly tear open the packaging of my own. The smell of the fast food brings a small moment of comfort at the end of a long day.

“Tonight’s shift was a complete nightmare. Cindy, as usual, didn’t lift a finger, leaving me to handle all the orders. Some jerk thought it was funny to trip me with his foot, sending a tray full of tequila shots flying. Not only did I have to deal with the mess, but Donny made me pay for it. I worked so hard tonight and went out with zero tips,” I say before taking a big bite out of my burger.

Howie hesitates before opening his package. “You shouldn’t buy me food when you didn’t make money tonight, Lina,” he remarks, looking down at his burger.

“Dig in already, or it will get cold,” I say around a mouthful, looking down at my phone.

It’s just past three in the morning, and I’ll need to get up again in about three hours. Thankfully, the walk home isn’t too far.

Finally, Howie starts to eat his burger with shaking hands, and we sit in comfortable silence.

I hope this is not the first thing he’s eaten today.

That’s one of the reasons I like him so much. He has never once judged me for seeking comfort here after a rough day of work, using food to eat my feelings. He simply sits with me and lets me wallow in peace without commenting on my eating habits.

At least the burgers are only a dollar each, so I don’t have to feel too guilty about the money I spend every night. I already feel guilty enough for relying on food for solace.

I reach behind me and take out my hair tie to release my thick, straight, collarbone-length hair, loving how my slight headache lessens instantly.

As soon as I finish the burger, my emotions begin to settle. It always feels like a therapy session. I can’t afford to see an actual therapist, but if I could, they would likely agree that I need to see one because I rely on food for emotional support. I don’t have any friends besides Howie to vent to or discuss my feelings with. And I can’t burden my sister with these issues. She’s only sixteen, and I want her to grow up without facing the same struggles I did. I want her to have a carefree childhood without constantly worrying about money or any of our other problems.

The wind picks up, and I shudder. It’s early November, and the nights are getting cold here in New York.

“Did you already contact Gloria for a sleeping space this winter?” I ask Howie.

“Nah, I can manage a while longer. Many other people need it more.” He shrugs.

I don’t know how old Howie is. He always tells me he forgot, but I would guess he’s in his mid-sixties and definitely should not sleep out in the cold.

With a grunt, I push myself upright, dusting off the back of my jeans, and pick up my backpack, slinging it over my shoulder. “You got everything you need for tonight?” I ask, looking at the old man with concern.

“I’m good, kid. But thanks,” he assures me, his voice tinged with gratitude. Then he looks at me sternly. “Don’t like you walking home this late. It ain’t safe.”

“My ass is not so easy to kidnap, you know,” I joke, giving my butt a slap. Howie just huffs, glancing away to hide the hint of a smile on his face. “Have a good night,” I say, turning to leave.

“You too, kid,” he grumbles, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders.

As I walk away, I make a promise to myself to visit the shelter tomorrow. But for now, all I can think about is making it home and getting a few precious hours of sleep.

* * *

My phone alarm goes off, jerking me awake. It doesn’t feel like I’ve slept at all, but there’s no time to dwell on that. I need to get up and prepare breakfast for Chiara. She’s still sleeping peacefully in bed next to me, completely oblivious of the alarm or my return last night.

We live in a tiny, rundown apartment with just two bedrooms. Roberto, our uncle, has the other one. There’s only one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. It’s absurd that I have to share a bed with my sixteen-year-old sister at almost twenty-two, but it’s the reality we’re stuck with.

At least I have a bed.

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