And once I’m through, I don’t look back.
Five years later
ChapterOne
Gabrielle
Istare blankly at the scrappy little piece of paper taped to the flaking wood of my apartment door. The red text stands out like a beacon.
Eviction notice.
Muttering furiously and ripping the paper down, I twirl at the giveaway rustle as my sleazy landlord tries to quietly close his door. I’m across the hall in a split second. “Joe, wait!”
He grunts. “Nothin’ left to say to you. You need to be out by tomorrow.”
“But I’ll get the money, Joe. You know I will.”
I try to keep my voice even, but the squeak at the end of my words fills the dusty hallway with the scent of desperation. He gives me a mildly pitying look before his eyes slide downwards. “Business is business.” He shrugs. “Got another tenant moving in tomorrow, so you need to get out, omega.”
Repulsed, I tug the edge of my top up, and Joe’s eyes flick away.
Asshole.
“Joe,” I try, giving it one last chance. “Please, be reasonable. Where am I going to go?”
“Not my problem.”
His hand slides down the back of his trousers to scratch his ass. I try not to recoil in disgust as his fingers come back up to rub at his chin. “Why don’cha try that place… y’know, thecenter. They’ll help you out. You’re one of ‘em, ain’t you?”
The way his lip curls tells me exactly what he thinks of my designation.
My hand clenches around the eviction notice. “That’s not an option.”
“And that ain’t my problem, omega.”
My head jerks back as the door slams, missing my nose by a bare whistle.
I blink, desperately trying to come up with a plan in my head.
I can’t lose this place. I won’t get another.
This is the shittiest of the shitholes, and if I can’t even stay here…
Panic grips my chest as I shove the paper as far as I can down into my apron pocket, crumpling it up in my hand as I head slowly back across the musty-smelling hall. The bare lightbulb casts more shadows than light, making my fingers fumble as I slide the key into the old lock with shaking fingers.
Keeping my shoes on, I dodge the broken nails splitting out of the bare hall floorboards like a pro as I head into my tiny kitchen. With my luck, they’d give me gangrene, or some other equally disgusting infection.
Peeling black and white linoleum lines the floor, the various rips and dents matched only by the dilapidated cupboards. My shoulder bangs into the door hanging off one particularly battered unit, and I swallow back a yelp.
Rubbing at the bruised skin, I open up the refrigerator and stare bleakly at the scant contents. My stomach rumbles as I gingerly sniff the milk I bought a few days ago.
Yep, that’s definitely gone.
Tossing it into the trash, I push my hunger down and shut the door, falling into a chair at the table and yanking my wages from the diner out of my apron.
The coins and a few paltry notes spill over the chipped wood. My heart sinks. I don’t need to count it to know it’s not very much at all.
Not enough to pay my outstanding rent.
