That’s the harsh truth I had to learn from a very young age.”
Diana
Diana
Trailing my fingers over the book spines, I snag the thickest one and open it, inhaling the dusty old smell into my lungs as a smile curves my mouth.
“Do you want me to leave the room?” A teasing sound comes from behind me, and half turning, I grin at my best friend, who enters the library carrying a heavy box in her hands. “You should be careful, or people might think you’re in love.”
I press the book to my chest and shrug, “They’d be right. I love books and the endless stories they hold that allow me totravel all over the world and live so many different lives.” A sigh slips past my lips, and I put the book back on the shelf. “Besides, no one comes here much anyway.”
My heart pangs painfully at the thought, and my mood sours because it’s a reminder that my lifelong dream is about to come to an end before it even had the chance to bloom.
Once upon a time, I found this abandoned library in a small corner right in the center of the city and have never wanted to leave since. Despite the dust and spiderwebs filling the space, along with cracked furniture, leaking old pipes causing water damage to the floors, and everything else in between.
And while reality showed me one thing, my imagination painted quite another, already transforming the exhausted, old building into its glory, creating a haven for those of us who crave getting lost between the pages of a book without a care in the world.
With a vivid vision in my mind, I poured all my savings into the renovations once the owner sold it to me, my heart full of hope.
Hopes and dreams that have been crushed by the sad thing that’s reality. Because even hosting book clubs and operating as a bookstore to earn some money to sustain the library… it wasn’t enough to keep this place afloat when new things kept coming up, and my haven became a pit that ate up all my money.
Thank God I still kept my job as an English literature teacher in the local school three times a week, or I would have been penniless with a library-slash-bookstore no one wanted to visit.
My Greek mythology degree with a minor in English literature finally came in handy.
The light rain taps on the roof, the weather matching my internal turmoil, while Psyche puts the box on my desk, huffing. “Perfect timing. Can’t imagine these soaking up.” She takes outseveral books and wipes them with a tissue before placing them on the desk, one on top of the other. “I found these in the attic.” She taps on them. “The editions are dated back to the fifties, so maybe you can sell them and make a quick buck.” Just as she says this, something falls from the shelf, setting off a ripple effect as several more items drop to the ground with a loud thud. She winces. “Seriously.”
My brow furrows at this, and dusting my hands, I dart toward her. “What were you doing there?” She’s afraid of heights. She fell from the roof as a teenager and broke her leg in several places, resulting in her limping because her family refuses to pay for her surgery.
She rolls her eyes. “The stepmother ordered me to clean it up.”
“What?” The woman would not be winning any awards soon. She treats Psyche as her favorite servant while pouring all the family’s money, love, and affection into her two daughters. Psyche’s father does nothing to help his oldest child either. That man never had a spine, and I don’t expect him to grow one anytime soon. “Why?”
“We have a guest coming over tonight.” I blink at this. What kind of guest requires the attic to be cleaned? “Dad does some business with him. He’s, like, super rich, so he invited him over for dinner. Alicia is thrilled and excited.”
I reach the desk and look through the books, gasping when I see various old myths and fairy tales with their soft spines. These editions are indeed rare and hard to find, and while selling them would’ve helped me…I’d never do it.
Old and rare editions are like art, so they should be admired by many instead of staying hidden in someone’s library to feed their own ego. “Don’t you always have guests? What’s so special about this one?”
Her family constantly holds balls and gatherings—all the while, Psyche has to stay in her room, hidden away. Her limp doesn’t fit their criteria of the perfect family.
Bunch of assholes, that’s who they are, and no one can change my mind.
She wrinkles her nose, drops onto the nearby chair, and exhales in relief. She extends her feet, wiggling her toes in her sandals, causing her flowery red dress to flow in different directions. “He’s thirty-six and super rich, which means he’s perfect for one of the twins.”
My jaw about hits the floor at this. “Aren’t they, like, eighteen?”
“Yeah, and according to Alicia, it might already be too late.” She rolls her eyes and waves her hand. “Whatever. At least I’ll get to eat something good. Just two more years and this madness would end.”
Right. Once she turns twenty-five, she can access her trust fund and finish her business degree since she has no money. Her father forbids her from working because it will damage their family’s reputation.
“I can’t accept those,” I say, tearing a tissue and wiping some dust lingering on the old spines. “You could use this money.”
“Oh, please. You barely have enough to pay rent or get food.” My cheeks heat at the reminder as shame washes over me because in my dream-filled, naive mind, I never expected to be broke.
Live and learn, though this particular lesson could leave me homeless. “I could talk to my landlord.” The last time I raised this question, he gave me a stern look that spoke volumes. He’s had enough, and I can’t blame him. “My life is a mess,” I finally say, dropping onto the chair opposite her while the familiar sense of disappointment fills me. “And I’m twenty-three. I should know better.” Something crashes in the distanceagain, and my stomach flips while I put the book away. “This is madness.”
“You could always call your dad,” she suggests, and coldness sweeps over me while my nails dig into my palm as instant revulsion rushes through my system. The familiar, harsh, and annoyed voice rings in my ears, speeding up my heartbeat and reminding me that my existence alone causes someone’s anger so strong you can almost touch it.
