Page 3 of Secured By the Buyer
The familiar sight brings a rush of relief. Thank goodness I won’t have to deal with him tonight. Much as I want to disappear into my room and forget about everything for a while, I don’t have time.
I tiptoe past his prone form, careful not to disturb his alcoholic slumber. It’s a dance I’ve perfected over the years, and I make it to the single bathroom without incident.
The door doesn’t quite latch when I shut it, and I set my backpack next to the sink. Stripping off my convenience store uniform, I step into the shower and let the hot water cascade over me.
It offers a brief respite, washing away the grime and easing the tension from my muscles brought on by the frustration with life. This is not where I’m supposed to be in my early twenties. I should leavethis shit hole behind, but doing so means accepting that my father will end up on the street, or worse, dead.
It’s a messed up kind of desperation to stick around, clinging to the only family I have.
As I scrub my body, the toilet lid bangs open, shattering my solitude, followed by a loud groan and a long stream of piss.
Annoyed, I try to rinse off the soap, but I don’t make it before the flush, and the water raining down on me turns icy.
“Couldn’t you have waited five minutes?” I shout, trying to shield myself.
My father swipes at the moldy shower curtain. “Show some respect, you little shit!”
I shiver as I wait for the warm water to return.
“Where were ya earlier?” Alcohol thickens his voice and slurs his words.
Goose bumps rise on my wet skin. “Work, like always.”
The curtain rattles again, driving me against the wall to avoid the slimy plastic. “Better not be hidin’ anythin’ from me, boy.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Anger and resentment bubble within me, but what can I do? I’m trapped here, tethered to thismiserable existence by chains of obligation and circumstance.
Tense silence fills the bathroom for a long moment before the door bangs shut, and I sigh in relief.
So much for peace and quiet.
I hurry through the rest of my shower and dry off. With the threadbare towel wrapped around my waist, I grab my backpack and head into my cramped bedroom.
Only once the door locks behind me do I risk unzipping my bag and reaching inside.
My fingers grasp at empty air, and panic flares through me.
Where are they? I tip the bag upside down and shake, but no, I didn’t put the stolen snacks in the wrong pocket.
They’re gone.
My hands clench into fists. “Dammit!”
That was supposed to be my dinner after another exhausting day. And now, it’s vanished without a trace.
Heart pounding, I slam out of my bedroom and storm into the living room, where my dad sits on the couch, staring at the loud TV. “Where’s my food?”
“Your food? You meanourfood,” he sneers,dumping the trail mix into his mouth, the empty sleeve from the pepperoni stick lying on the cushion beside him.
“It was inmybag.” My fists clench, nails digging into my palms. “I haven’t eaten all day.”
“Aw, poor baby.” Pieces of nuts spill from his lips. “If you weren’t such a useless Omega, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Rage vibrates through me, but retaliation only ever brings pain.
Instead, I take a deep breath, forcing calm. “I’m already working two jobs to keep us afloat. Just stop taking my food.”