Dire (18+)

I. Sos

♪ How much can a heart take - Lucky Daye and Yebba ♪

One, two, three. Three thousand dollars. That's all I have to my name. Pathetic, I know, but I'm trying; I've been trying for a couple of years now, on my own. But what do you expect when you leave a 16-year-old girl to fend for herself.

Fuck them, fuck my parents; this is all their fault. They just decided to abandon me because they couldn't handle me. Yeah, I know I'm irresponsible and a handful, but they were supposed to help me through that, not kick me out. Well, it was more so us fighting and then me leaving, but they didn't stop me and never spoke to me after that like they didn't care. And it hurts even more because my Father and I were so close before we drifted apart. I can't pretend I don't miss them now and then. But it's been three years now, and I'm over it-ish. I'm a grown-ass woman now, I'm 19, and it'll be a cold day in hell before I call them to ask for help even though I desperately need it. Living on my own and desperately trying to make ends might was a drastic change from when I was living under my parents, we were pretty well off, seeing as both my parents were successful lawyers. I aspired to be like them and I could always reach out when I needed help, but that has changed now. They probably wouldn't answer anyway; they have a knack for ignoring their problems.

I got up from the spot on my bedroom floor where I took out all the money left in my little box—many questions running through my head.

What do I do now?

Who do I call?

Where do I go?

Am I ever going to get out of this?

Can I still get my degree?

"Ah, Mi Vida apesta," I sigh. (my life sucks.)

Because it's only a matter of days before I lose my apartment, Harold has been friendly enough to let me pay a couple of hundred dollars below my fixed rent for helping him with some tasks, but that's only helped a little. He doesn't own the building, only manages it, and the owners are fed up with my broke ass. And it doesn't help that the rent was recently increased; I was barely keeping up before, there's no hope now.

I grab my phone, deciding to drown my indignation with some music; I connect it to my Bluetooth speaker. Lucky Daye's sultry voice took the shape of a warm, comfortable blanket enveloping my being. How might I say it? Music causes me to forget my circumstances. It transports me into a state which isn't my own. It makes me feel what I usually don't in real life. It always seems to create a place of solace when my life is being uprooted, grabbed by the balls, chucked about, and dragged through the muds of sorrow and fucking despair. But I'm good, or I will be.

"Shit," I said, looking at my bedside clock, soon I might not even have a bedside.

Jesus, snap out of it, V, the way I'm heading, I might end up being this cloud of darkness hovering over everyone I meet. I have got to stop pitying myself. I quickly head towards my bathroom with my speaker in hand to take a quick shower because I'm on a fast track to being late for work.

I take off my tank top, throwing it behind me blindly while fondling with my Jean button. Once I'm entirely naked, I put my curly brown hair in a high bun, more like I tried and failed multiple times because, as my natural hair constantly reminded me, it's going to do whatever the fuck it wants to do, and I can't tame it. So I decided to shower with my hair out. I also made a mental note to straighten my hair when I have the time, not because I hate my natural hair; quite the contrary, I just want to change it up a bit. I step into the shower, steam surrounding me, hoping and praying my distress washes off my body along with the beads of warm water hitting me. I noticed the light stubble of hair on my leg and sighed loudly. I need to shave; better yet, I need to wax. I also made a mental note to do that after work tomorrow.