Chapter 1 #5
“What are you up to...” He coughs. “...today, kiddo?
Don't you have class today?” It's Thursday.
I worked until two last night, and I'll work again tonight.
It's ten o'clock, and my stomach is already growling from the small amount of food I managed to buy for myself.
Mara woke me up early today, her little bell dragging me out of my dreams. She left me a list of things to do on the kitchen counter.
I guess that'll keep me busy for the rest of my free time.
Little stars dance in my vision, begging me to sleep, but I ignore them.
I'll try to find ten minutes for a power nap this afternoon.
I'd sleep on the bus if I could, but I'm always afraid someone might steal my bag or rip my necklace from my neck.
One day I'll rest.
One day.
“Not today, no. The teacher was...ill. I have classes this afternoon,” I sign.
“Ah, right, right. Well, that happens.”
“Do you want something from the kitchen?”
“I'm alright, honey. A bit...tired. I'll just watch...” He motions with his chin toward the screen. “Is Mara, um...around?” he murmurs like her name shouldn’t be said out loud.
“I'll get her,” I sign.
“Thanks, sweetie. And...you're alright with her, right? The four of you? Everyone's getting along?”
“Yes. We are like...family.”
“Great, great,” he says in a whisper. “Family is everything, Ella. Everything.”
Oh, I know, Dad. I know. That's why I'm still here.
In the name of family. To love you is to stay within striking distance of the snakes living in this house with us, Dad.
There's no way out for me. I bleed either way.
Staying means suffering. Leaving means losing him.
There's no relief in sight. No light at the end of the tunnel. Either way...I bleed.
After checking on my dad, I make my way to the kitchen, hoping to grab a quick snack before getting started on Mara's list. Her back is to me when I arrive.
A perfect blonde updo is folded against her head like the petals of a rose.
Did I mention how much she hates it when I enter a room she's in?
It isn't written anywhere, but the first floor generally isn't for me to wander through, unless I'm cleaning it.
Her narrow waist is enhanced by the cream two-piece suit she's wearing.
Musk and patchouli, with a hint of coffee.
She's pressing the button on the espresso machine.
Even waiting for a cup of coffee somehow looks expensive on her.
I open the fridge beside her, and she startles at the sight of me.
“Christ.” Long, thin fingers spread on her chest; she exhales.
“You should wear a bell. I never hear you walking around the house.” I give her a tight nod, failing to smile, mouthing a sorry.
Mara is smart, the head of her design company with more than a hundred employees, scattered across the country.
She's the face of Ethereal Design, designing high-end projects for people with millions to spare.
Her late husband built the brand, and she carried it on after he died.
“Your under-eye bags aren't improving,” she comments as I turn on the kettle.
I let the remark slide, reminding myself of my promise.
Endure and keep going, and one day, one day, maybe I'll be fine.
I'll have enough to pay for my dad's electric stairlift, for my studies, Mara and the twins will feel like family, and I'll be okay.
Maybe not happy, but things will be better.
I just need to hold on, work hard, and make my dreams a reality.
Everything is my fault, and everything is up to me.
No one is responsible for my happiness but me.
Not even Mara. I'm not a victim. I'll find a way to make the most of what I've been given.
“You know,” she begins, turning and resting her hip against the counter, espresso in hand, pinky raised, “out all night,” she trails off.
“God knows where with... God knows who,” she adds, her voice low and cutting, while I keep pouring hot water into my cup of green tea.
I was working, I sign. Mara and the twins know how to read sign language.
They even know the most basic signs to communicate with me.
Only they never do. Leaving me alone in my mental cage, keeping the locks firmly in place.
After thirteen years with Mara, I don't even bother pretending to be offended.
“Working,” she repeats. “Where?”
“In the city.”
“Mmh. And what kind of work would a young lady like you find during the late hours of the night...?” I blush, her words carving pieces out of me with their sharpness.
I'm about to confess what I do when she continues, “Never mind.
I don't care, as long as you're not in my house.” I take the teabag and absentmindedly swirl it around the water.
Her house. Not home. I'll let it slide, like everything else she does.
I'm grateful she hasn't asked for half my paycheck, like she did two months ago when she accused me of keeping the light on one morning. She didn’t try again, though.
Perhaps she knows that would push me too far and I'd tell my dad.
It's a tightrope she's walking, keeping me on a leash, giving me just enough freedom to make me believe I still have options.
“Here.” She grabs a note and slaps it onto the marble countertop. “Don't forget the cutlery this time. It'd be too bad if you had to use your next paycheck to pay for your carelessness.” I don’t ever bother responding.
“Dad asked for you.” She sighs, glances at her gold watch, then disappears without another word into my father's bedroom.
What do they talk about? Was there ever love between them?
Dad is fond of her for reasons I don't grasp.
But Mara...Mara always looks at him like a wounded dog she wishes she could put down.
A small part of me wonders if she married him for his money and to pay off the debts I once overheard her discussing on the phone with one of her associates.
But would someone stay thirteen years with a dying man just for his wallet?
I can't think like this. Mara's mean to me, but she's not evil.
She wouldn't do such a thing. That's what villains in movies do.
And I'm sure that, in time, I'll find a way to see what Dad once saw in her.
I finish my quick lunch, needing to tackle her list as soon as I can if I want to be on time for my shift tonight.
Laundry. Empty the dishwasher. Vacuum the entire house and wash the floors.
Clean the windows, and by that, I mean all twenty windows in the house.
By the time I'm done, my arms ache. I yawn silently, watching a little squirrel dart across the lawn before leaping into a tree.
The swimming pool is covered. Summer hasn't started yet.
It's only January. Not that I could use it, since I don't know how to swim, but… it must be nice.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I notice a new message from the cleaning company I work for. Opening the little envelope icon, I read the message from my boss.
Tom: New assignment tonight. You'll be paired with Anja at the Ashford Building, floors 31 and 32. The security guard will let you in.
I answer right away.
Me: Will be there. Thank you.
I've never been there before, but if I remember correctly, it's the building next to the one I was assigned to last time.
At least it'll be a change of scenery. I hope they're happy with my work and let me continue there.
Around eight p.m., I go back to my room for a quick change and check the envelope hidden beneath a loose floorboard under my bed.
Only one plank can be lifted, and that's where I hide the money I earn.
It's the only place the twins would never think to look.
There's two thousand dollars. It's not enough.
Not even close. I still need so much more to go back to university next year.
The lights are already off throughout the house as I slip out through the kitchen door.
I haven't even seen the twins today. Lucky me.
After a fifteen-minute walk, I make it to the bus stop and sit there for thirty minutes, the only moment of mental rest I get all day, listening to music through my earphones and watching the city unfold before me.
One of the earphone only work when angled in a particular way. Another thing I wish I could fix.
Our house is on the outskirts of town, where wealth doesn't whisper or hide, but proudly displays itself through sprawling mansions, over-the-top estates with wrought-iron gates bearing family initials, endless lawns, and tennis courts. My parents used to live in a much smaller house in the countryside when I was younger. Dad's company grew and he sold it when Mom died. I guess it didn’t feel right to keep going with what they had built together. He was planning to build a new one, but he got sick, and that’s when Mara insisted we move here.
Into this soulless giant mansion. Anyone who knew I lived here would think I thrived, eating from a golden spoon every morning.
The irony slaps me in the face whenever I think of my little room upstairs, with barely enough space for my bed.