Chapter 3
THREE
After getting my paycheck, saying goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Miller took longer than expected. Now, I’m rushing to make it to the homeless shelter before I need to be at the bar for my shift.
Today, it feels like I’m just running from place to place. Not that it’s any different on any other day, but at least the pace is usually slower.
The heavy shelter door creaks as I push it open, revealing the bustle of people in the big but rather dark entrance hall. I greet a few familiar faces as I make my way in, my eyes scanning the room for one person in particular.
She exits her office, eyes buried in a stack of papers. “Gloria!” I call out.
She pauses, her gaze shifting from the documents in her hand to me. Her face lights up with a warm smile. “Carolina, what a pleasant surprise!”
We meet halfway, her hand grasping mine in a reassuring squeeze. “It’s been too long, dear. How’ve you been?” she asks, a genuine look in her eyes.
I nod, feeling a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry, I’ve been swamped lately.”
A look of understanding crosses her face as she gives me a sad smile. “Aren’t we all? So, what brings you here?”
“Howie. He’s too proud to ask for help himself, but winter is coming, and he isn’t getting any younger,” I say. “Do you have a bed available for him again?”
Gloria’s brow furrows, her fingers absentmindedly stroking her lower lip. “Let’s go see.”
She leads me into her office and sits down behind a well-worn desk.
She is a stunning woman, probably in her late fifties, yet she has a youthful glow.
The only wrinkles adorning her face are laugh lines around her vibrant green eyes.
Her blonde hair is coiled up in a bun, a few strands hanging over her face.
After shuffling through some paperwork, she finally looks up and says, “It seems like we could make room for him, but it wouldn’t be until next week. Would that be okay?”
“That would be fantastic, Gloria. Thank you so much! And he could stay all winter?” I ask.
She grins. “You know I have a soft spot for that cantankerous old man. If it were up to me, he’d be welcome to stay here long-term. But you know Howie, as soon as the weather warms up, he’ll be back on the streets, claiming he doesn’t want to take a spot from someone who needs it more.”
I nod, a slight smile on my face. That’s just Howie.
“Well, at least he’ll be safe and warm for a couple months. It’ll give me some peace of mind,” I add gratefully.
Gloria rises from her seat and walks around the desk, resting her hand gently on my shoulder. “And how about you, dear? How are you holding up?” she asks.
I manage to return a small smile. “Still standing,” I reply, echoing the motto of the shelter.
She pulls me in for a brief hug before releasing me, then opens the door for me. “Sometimes, that’s all we can do,” she remarks, a tinge of sadness in her smile.
Despite rushing to get to the bar, I manage to send Chiara a text, asking about her day and checking if she’s doing her homework. Usually, I would call her, but today, I just don’t have the time.
After school, she stays with her best friend Monica and has dinner before returning home. I never want her alone with Roberto for too long, but he’s usually out in the evenings.
Thankfully, Monica’s mother is a kind woman in her mid-forties, and—while she always looks at me with pity—she’s more than willing to care for Chiara when I can’t. I give her money to cover Chiara’s food whenever I can.
I have to take what I can get.
I duck in through the employee’s entrance, hang my things in my locker, and tie on my black apron. Then I head to the bar by way of the kitchen. On the way, I nod to our chef, Lennard, and the dishwasher, Matteo, and quickly tie my hair into a ponytail to keep it out of my face while I work.
When I enter the bar area, using my shoulder to open the door, Cindy is sitting on the counter, and Donny is standing between her legs, kissing her neck. I sigh and roll my eyes in annoyance.
Cindy is a tall, beautiful, blonde woman with a body she could model with. I don’t understand why she works here instead of being an influencer or something. But to be honest, what she does can’t be called work. She mainly flirts with our boss, Donny, and talks my ear off while I do both our jobs.
“Hey,” I say, getting a cloth to wipe down all the tables and seats before we open.
“Stop it, Donny, not here.” Cindy giggles.
He grunts. “Donny is gonna take you home tonight, and then he’s gonna show you just how good his anaconda is.”
I nearly gag. I have no sexual experience whatsoever, but if this is what awaits me, I’m more than happy not to get any anytime soon.
Finishing up with the tables, I return to the bar just as Donny walks into the kitchen.
“He’s so adorable, don’t you think?” Cindy asks with heart-filled eyes.
I have to take a deep breath to suppress the urge to roll my eyes again. “Dreamy,” I say simply, grabbing a beer glass and carefully polishing away the water stains left from the dishwasher.
“When are you going to get a boyfriend, Carolina?” she asks me, her elbows on the counter.
Sure, why would you lift a finger and help me here anyway? It’s not like you get paid for it.
Trying to divert the conversation, I say, “Oh, it’s ‘boyfriend’ now? Are you guys official?”
She snickers. “No, dummy. You know Donny doesn’t like labels.”
I nod, well aware he isn’t going to end his other two flings, but it’s not my place to reveal them.
“You have such a pretty face, you know that?” she says, gripping my face between her thumb and fingers to make me look up at her, squishing my cheeks. “Those golden eyes and full lips. You’re gorgeous.”
I furrow my brow. “Thank you?”
Cindy has never been kind to me.
“All the guys would want you if you lost that extra weight, you know? You could be even prettier than me if you just went on a diet for a while,” she says, and I nod to myself.
That makes more sense. Ironically, she genuinely believes she’s complimenting me right now.
“It’s such a shame you can’t use that pretty face to your advantage with a body like that. ”
I quickly pull away from her and focus on polishing the glasses again. “I can’t do that, can I? How would you manage if all the attention wasn’t solely on you for once?” I respond, sounding bored, but Cindy doesn’t even grasp that it’s meant as a dig at her.
She simply giggles and casually agrees, “That’s true.”
Can this day be over already?
Finally, my shift is over. Everything hurts. With all the bruises on my belly from this morning, I can barely stand straight anymore. Exhaustion tugs at me while I take off my apron, stashing it in my locker and grabbing my stuff.
Tonight was a good night with generous tips, and because of that, I’ve managed to save up enough just in time for the tattoo appointment I’ve been longing for on my birthday.
But how can I spend money on something so selfish when I just lost one of my jobs?
By the time I reach the 7-Eleven, it’s close to two in the morning. I’m super tired, but I need to get groceries. The pantry at home is nearly empty, and I don’t want to imagine Roberto’s reaction if he wakes up to no food.
Spotting Howie at our usual spot, I pull out the burger and Coke I bought for him. “Hey, Howie,” I say, placing the items in his lap.
He greets me back with a smile. “Hey, kid. Better night tonight?”
“Definitely in terms of tips. That’s why you’re getting a special treat tonight,” I say with a wink.
Howie’s fondness for Coke isn’t a secret.
He blushes a little. “You didn’t have to, Lina.”
“I know, but that’s exactly why I love doing it. Plus, I spoke to Gloria about a bed for you.”
“Kid—” He tries to interject.
I cut him off with a firm shake of my head. “No arguments. You have ’til next week to come to terms with it. That’s when she has an available spot for you. But this is non-negotiable.” I fix him with a serious look.
Howie murmurs a quiet “Thank you,” avoiding eye contact and staring at his lap.
Knowing he feels uncomfortable and needs some time alone, I take my leave. “I’m sorry I can’t stay tonight. I need to get these groceries home. But see you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” he agrees, still not looking up.
The breeze lifts strands of hair that escaped from my ponytail, and I release a long sigh. I’m not looking forward to walking the short distance home, but thankfully, it won’t take me long. I am dead on my feet.
I don’t have to enter the apartment quietly because I hear the television blaring loudly as soon as I step inside.
I hope Chiara can sleep through the noise.
I’m putting away the groceries when Roberto stumbles in. Clearly drunk, he sways unsteadily, and I mentally prepare myself to run to our room.
“You got my money, pig?” he slurs.
I take the money I had set aside for him from my pocket. “Here it is. There’s an extra twenty dollars because there was none yesterday.”
He takes the money and nods. “See? We can get along just fine when you do as you’re told.”
I can’t hold back my exasperation and respond with a frustrated huff.
He sneers. “Last time I checked, you’re an adult, and if staying here isn’t good enough for you, then you’re more than welcome to leave.”
His words hit a nerve, and my agitation and recklessness grow. “You know perfectly well why I’m still here, and it has nothing to do with you! If I could gain guardianship of her, we would have left a long time ago, and you could figure out how to survive on your own,” I snap.
He laughs at me. “Oh… because that worked out so well for you last time, didn’t it?”
I take a deep breath, desperately trying to control my anger and not punch him.
Nearly a year ago, I went to court, pouring all my efforts into gaining custody of my sister.
I worked tirelessly beforehand, even taking up a third job on weekends to afford a lawyer.
I applied to become Chiara’s legal guardian as soon as I turned twenty-one.
I didn’t do it earlier because the court advisor told me when I was eighteen that my chances of success before I turned twenty-one were zero if there was another suitable guardian.
So I waited. But my cheap lawyer was terrible, and the judge ruled in Roberto’s favor, claiming he was the better guardian, and I was just a young woman trying to juggle college and three jobs, barely making ends meet.
“You know what? You can go by yourself and leave her here.” He sneers. “I bet she’ll be much better at bringing in money and cooking and all that stuff. And she’s a pretty thing and nice to look at. I have a few ideas of what I’d do once you’re finally out of my hair.”
My stomach churns at his words. That’s precisely why I can’t leave Chiara here alone. Not that I would have ever considered it, but I know he’s dangerous when he drinks, and he is always drunk.
“She’s only sixteen, and your niece, you piece of shit.” I snarl.
He grabs me by the throat, pushing me against the fridge. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that! You do exactly as I say, nothing more, nothing less, or I’ll show you just how little I fucking care about her being my sixteen-year-old niece,” he threatens.
I nod, unable to speak, as he releases his grip on me. Then I collapse to my knees, gasping for air, my hand clutching my throbbing throat. I don’t rise until he walks away.
My hands are trembling as I finish putting away the groceries. The cold milk carton, the softness of the fresh tomatoes, and the crinkling sound of the crisps bag give me something to focus on, something outside the turmoil within me.
When I’m done, I stand there for a second, eyeing the crisps bag. I glance over at the living room, where the television blares, and Roberto laughs at something the moderator says.
Clutching the bag to my chest, I swiftly make my way to the bathroom, locking the door behind me and sinking to the floor against it. The cold ceramic tiles feel strangely soothing against the back of my thighs.
I take a deep breath and rip the bag open—the familiar salty scent hits my senses. The first one is always the best, and the flavor comforts me instantly. But I don’t want to savor them. I need to drown in them. Handful after handful, I try to smother the feeling of emptiness and despair.
The more I eat, the more numb I feel, and the weight of the world temporarily lifts from my shoulders.
But when the last of the salty goodness is gone, reality seeps back in. The empty bag crinkles mockingly in my grip.
My stomach feels heavy, laden with the weight of greasy potatoes and regret. I stand, catching my reflection in the bathroom mirror, and all I can focus on are my chubby cheeks, double chin, and too-big upper arms.
A wave of self-loathing and guilt over what I just did washes over me.
Why can’t I control myself?
It’s not like I feel better after eating my feelings. It’s the fucking opposite. And instead of the good taste I savored moments ago, the only thing left in my mouth is an aftertaste of shame and regret.