Chapter 1
Tessa
Everything was grimy at the restaurant I worked for. The floors, the kitchen, the bathroom, and especially the clientele. The stench of stale beer and burnt grease was especially pungent tonight, and that combined with Larry Johnston had me desperate for fresh air. So, I had escaped out the back door for a “break” even though I had already taken my two for the day.
Not that outside was any better. The dumpster was where all the grime ended up and the faint whispers of vermin skittered just beyond the shadows. The smell twisted in my stomach, curling around my insides like a vine working up a trellis.
It was still better than dealing with Larry Johnston.
I took out my cash tips and starting counting them. The sticky stained bills were damp and flecked with something unidentifiable, but those crumpled bills were the only thing keeping my father and I fed and off the streets. As I flickedthe last creased dollar down, I wondered if that would even be enough.
Rather than the cool night air being refreshing, the smell of the dumpster seeped in and made it like a noose around my throat, tightening with each breath. Stucco crumbled off as I leaned against the building as if it were crumbling under the weight of my desperation. I could hear the distant clatter of plates inside, the laughter of patrons blending with the sharp orders from the kitchen.
I couldn’t put it off any longer. Taking a deep breath, I threw open the back door and walked back into the restaurant. I had to put a smile on my face, deal with the stench, vermin, and Larry Johnston, all so I could get more grimy dollar bills.
The last plate clinked onto the counter, and I finally wiped my hands on my apron. The restaurant was winding down; the chatter of patrons thinned to a few lingering conversations, and the hum of the kitchen vents was the only sound left. I grabbed my bag from under the counter, shoulders aching, and let out a long, shaky breath.
Larry Johnston drunkenly muttered something about work before disappearing through the front door, and I didn’t bother to reply. He always took up so much of my time but stiffed me when I gave him the bill.
I pushed open the back door, holding my breath as I passed the dumpster. The trolley home awaited, but even the thought of sitting didn’t make my legs feel lighter. After twelve hours of serving, the five flights of stairs to the apartment my father and I shared loomed ahead like another obstacle. The elevator was always broken, and each step thudded through my aching ankles, making the climb feel endless.
Finally, I made it to the front door. I wished I could say I was going to be greeted by peace and relaxation, but that was never the case. I took a deep breath, wondering what version of myfather I would find. Exhaling, I gently opened the door, slightly cringing as I looked inside the living room.
He was drunk, as per usual. Unfortunately for me he wasn’t passed out yet. He was slumped on the couch, a rumpled pile of disheveled clothes and empty bottles leaning against him like loyal soldiers. An abandoned takeout container sat on the coffee table, its greasy lid half-open and the smell of cold noodles seeping into the room.
I sighed. I knew I’d be cleaning all that up tomorrow.
“Tessa,” he slurred, and I could smell the alcohol on his breath from across the room.
“Yes, Dad?” I responded, gingerly shutting the door behind me.
“I lost it all, Tess. Every damn penny…” His voice cracked, and for a moment he just shook with frustration.
I felt a familiar pang of dread in my chest. This wasn’t the first time he had lost everything, but I had just gotten paid two days ago. How were we supposed to eat? How was I supposed to pay the bills?
“What do you mean you lost it?” I asked, but part of me already knew. The routine of disappointment wrapped itself around my heart, squeezing tighter with each breath.
His eyes flickered up to meet mine, a wild mix of shame and sadness swirling behind the glassy surface. “I took it out. Thought I could win it back.” The words spilled from his lips, slurred and jagged, each one a shard cutting into the fragile illusion of stability I desperately clung to.
It was a familiar routine. My father lost our money gambling, I somehow had to figure out how to make it back.
Any sane person would have left by now. I had definitely thought about it, multiple times. But it was just a fantasy, a fabrication I had made up in my mind. I would never leave my father. He was the only family I had. Mom was dead, and I didn’thave any siblings. My extended family was missing, dead, or wanted nothing to do with us, understandably.
So, once again, I said the words I always did. “I’ll figure it out.”
But this time, my routine response upset my father. His face twisted in a way that made my stomach churn. “What is it? You think I’m not going to win next time and fix this?”
“No, I—”
“I’ll show you, you ungrateful bitch. I’m going to win big, clear the debt, and leave you behind,” he hissed, his glassy eyes darting like a cornered animal.
This was his worst drunken state. The mean drunk. He was cruel, volatile, and terrifyingly unpredictable. I needed to escape, immediately.
“I need to go to bed,” I blurted out, making a beeline for my door.
“Not until we’re finished!”
Dad tried to stand up, but in his drunken stupor, he stumbled sideways, crashing into the coffee table with a sickening thud. He knocked over the takeout and bottles of alcohol, cursing under his breath, a string of incoherent words spat into the air like venom.
