Precarious

Chapter 1

Sierra's POV:

I woke up to hearing my obnoxious alarm clock blaring. The time read 5:45 AM, which meant that it's time to get up. I sighed, wishing that I could get at least another 5 minutes of sleep. But that wouldn't work since my brain would likely lose control and I would receive more rest than I wanted to. Besides, according to my mother, 'If I had to pick between over-working and over-sleeping, I'd pick over-working because it pays the bills'. She was... interesting to put it in a nice way. Because of her parenting methods, I grew up being an extremely obedient child who was numb to everything else whether it be insults, slaps, or people telling me that 'my life is worthless'. 

From my time in elementary school to now, if I got below a 95 on any test, even the most trivial ones, she would hit me, slap me, or if I did really bad, she would call whoever she was dating at the time to assist her in her wrongdoings. Even if I didn't do anything wrong, if she was bored, she would hit me to entertain herself. I grew scared of her, so I pushed myself to achieve extremely high marks on every exam and tried to stay out of her way. But even as bad as it may sound, this only happened when she was home, which wasn't that often; she would be gone for an unknown reason. The slaps and hits decreased as I got older, but the hurtful remarks and pressure didn't. She never went further than hitting me.

She was also extremely strict on me learning my native language, which was Russian. She told me, "If you cannot learn your native tongue, then you cannot learn anything". With that mindset, I learned Russian in my early years while Mother also wanted me to learn Italian at school, when we had to pick a foreign language to learn in 4th grade. To this day, I still didn't understand why she wanted me to learn Italian. I wouldn't consider myself the best at it, but I received high scores when we took the quizzes and tests. I'm in 11th grade even though I'm a year younger than everyone else because my mother forced me to go to school a year early. She claimed that 'preschool wasn't worth the extra cash'.

After I took a shower, I got changed into a tank-top, black leggings, and a jacket. Mother always told me to dress 'appropriately'. Though I must say, she holds me to a double-standard. Whenever I see her, she always wears tight clothes that show excessive skin, fancy shoes, and has a face caked with makeup. I've always wanted to wear something that looked pretty or would turn a couple of heads, but to save money, Mother wouldn't let me. I asked her if I could wear some of her outfits, but she responded by saying that I would destroy them. In addition, she had no interest in helping me pay for College or anything, of that matter. 

Because of that, I worked part-time as a cashier in a Supermarket. Then I proceeded to hide the money so that my mom couldn't spend it. I've been doing good with saving money, but concealer, feminine products, and school supplies all must be bought by myself. If that wasn't enough, she forced me to act like her personal maid, but I'm not going to complain about that. There are people dying and facing much worse treatment than I am in this world, and it just seems ludicrous to vent about a few issues that I face which seem like rainbows and unicorns compared to people who are living in extreme poverty, being enslaved, and suffering at the hands of others.

Making breakfast, I saw her coming down the stairs. By the looks of it, she seems hungover. I'm not surprised, she drinks alcohol and consumes drugs like her life depends on it. I don't know what her job is, but I do know that the pay is good. But even with the money Mother makes, we don't live in a sophisticated neighborhood nor a safe one. But no one would suspect that since I go to school with a fake smile plastered on my narrow face and I can easily cover bruises with cheap concealer. In addition, she spends most of her paycheck re-stocking her existing supply of drugs and any remaining cash is used to pay for taxes and clothes. At this rate, it would be cheaper to go to rehab. Because of a lack of food, I look malnourished and the feminine products I bought have no use; they're just there when I do have to use them.