Chapter 1
I hurl my cell phone, and it crashes to the ground with a loud thunderous crack as rage consumes me. I'm going to vomit. My insides are heaving. My brain is on fire, and I hurt everywhere.
My mom is dead.
It feels as if my soul is ripping itself from my body.
I collapse to my knees and let out a scream. Crawling to the bathroom takes everything I have, and I don’t have much. I’ve barely made it to the toilet before heaving up my guts.
The hot vomit spews from my mouth.
We all knew it wouldn’t be much longer. The chemo stopped working. It doesn’t make it hurt any less. And it sure as hell doesn’t make it any better knowing the end was near.
Seeing my regurgitated ramen swimming in the toilet causes me another round of an unrelenting expulsion of my innards.
Once I've emptied my stomach, I stand unsteadily on my feet.
My pathetically small bathroom leaves no room for the imagination, nor any room, period. However, the sink is close enough to the toilet that I could wash my hands while sitting on my porcelain throne if I wanted to. This toilet is the only throne that befits a poor little princess like me. I can’t believe people see my face and automatically think I’m some pretentious princess. They’d all laugh if they knew the truth. I shake my head, hating the way I feel.
I don’t want to feel anything anymore.
I splash frigid water onto my face and in my mouth. Then, remembering my phone, I rush to my bedroom. It's not a far distance to travel. My apartment is incredibly tiny, barely more significant than a dollhouse.
I grab the heap of what's left of my phone off the floor. Luckily my case saved most of my phone. I can't believe how stupid I am.
I still have tears streaming down my face, and my heart aches like never before. I fumble to put my phone back together and press the power button. I hold my breath trembling as I wait for the screen to power on for me. Then, thanks to the powers that be, it comes to life. I can't afford another phone.
I can't afford anything.
$56.24 is currently what my bank account holds. I won’t get my paycheck for this week until I pick it up from work this evening. And even that won’t be much to get by with the ever-increasing inflation.
After leaving my phone with its lonely zero notifications on my bed, my body stumbles towards my white kitchenette. The kitchen is void of anything personal and precisely to my liking of all things in general. I open my beaten-up decades-old white refrigerator, hoping to find refuge, and instead find desperate disappointment.
I swig a few sips directly from the orange juice carton. My eyes close, savoring the refreshing chill that nips as it travels down my lava-filled throat. The citrus flavor erases all traces of my vomit. The inside of the refrigerator is as deep and empty as I am.
My refrigerator consists of yogurt cups, a carton of oat milk, a jam, and a chocolate squares bag. The white cupboards hold even less. My cabinets have only six cups of ramen, oatmeal, a half-gone loaf of bread, a peanut butter container, marinara sauce, and spaghetti noodles. Everything is a generic brand.
I’m so tired of noodles.
Luckily my stomach is too upset to eat.
I pace my apartment, growing restless. It takes approximately fifty steps from my front door to pass my kitchen, living room, and bed. A wall of white curtains is what divides my bed from the rest of the apartment.
I retrace the steps over and over while my head spins.
My mom is dead.
My mom is dead.
My mom is dead.
This thought is all my mind keeps repeating.My mom is gone.
My brain fogs and my vision spins as I tumble back and forth through my memories and reality. In an instant, I’m back to that night it all began. No stars or moon to shine any hope down on me the first time I heard the door click open when I should have been home alone. I was used to being alone and hungry, but I wasn’t used to what happened next. Jerry, the boyfriend of the summer, pacing back and forth outside my door, finally stopped. I remember it with striking clarity. The blue clock with the chipped corner reading 2:15 a.m., the door closing, the lock clicking in place and clipping away my innocence forever. The bed shifted, his colossal body sliding into place against mine on my meager twin mattress.His body odor colors my vision. A urine-soaked couch holding bits of beef jerky is all I see.
Alcohol on his hot breath, his voice a whisper, "Don't say a word.Your mom is gone. She isn't home to save you. Do you feel my knife?" as he presses the cold tip of his switchblade beneath my night shirt and against my bare skin under my rib cage.
"You tell your mom, and I'll cut you both. Tonight is our little secret. Nod if you understand," Jerry slurred.