HIS SLAVE

|1| MELISSA TROY

"The chaos rose to a clamour as the blaring sound of the siren neared. Soon later a bunch of police vehicles raced past the anarchic crowd.

Giving myself a second to breathe, I stepped out the dark alley I was hiding in. Maybe hiding wasn't a necessity but knowing that there was a clear possibility of getting caught, I couldn't take a chance.

This was already the second time this month that my father was making me do something of this sort. But getting nearly exposed the last time, I have to be extra careful this time. I knew that it would be the end for me if somehow any of those drug dogs out there got even a single sniff of the toxic material that stood inside my bag. Afterall, no normal twenty year old desires of spending the rest of her life dressed up in an orange jumpsuit and having metal cuffs as a complementary ornament.

Whether my father considered me to be one or not, I still was a young teenager with fears of her own.

Securing a tight grip on the bag hanging by my side, I crossed the street and found myself standing in front of what seemed to be a tavern, a rather old one. This is where the delivery was supposed to be made but the client seemed to be nowhere near, despite of the fact that I was a few minutes late.

The clamour by now had risen up to be even more loud and the crowd on the other end had extended to cover up the entire width of the road.
Protest days are really the worst.

'Ms. Taylor? Is that you?'

- a disembodied, gravelly voice suddenly hit my ears making me turn around to face the alley left to the tavern. Slowly appearing from the shadows the overcast sky had formed, a manly figure made itself stand right in front of me. His greasy blonde hair pulled back to tie a knot exposed his semi-inked forehead and the cheap cigarette hanging in between his bruised lips added to the mafia-like looks he already possessed.

I nodded, not very sure about what I was to do next, which I don't know why, made him leave a smirk.

'Gabe is what they call me.'- he spoke as he pulled his cigarette out and flicked it off to the ground.

'The client?'- I questioned.

'Follow me'- he commanded as his sceptical eyes took a look around.

Walking through the gloomy backstreet made it feel like a thousand years, my heart beating as if it were to push itself out of my ribs.

My bag felt heavier with each step. My nerves were undoubtedly getting the best of me as dread twisted in my guts."
.
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"I wonder why mom would always write stories like these!" - mumbled Mason as he tossed off the archaic leatherbound diary to his side and soon got up to sit straight, a look of vexation flashing itself on his face .

"Why? What's the problem with stories like these?" - I asked, pulling up the blanket to my chest, in an effort to bring in warmth.

"Nothing disgruntles me more than stories like these. Isn't it weird to have oneself as the lead in such immoral plots." - replied Mason, leaving out a rather deep sigh.

"Being the lead doesn't sanction morality and that's why not all leads are dreamland princesses."

"Whatever"- he pushed the duvet away as he stepped out of the bed.

Mason has been  a little off lately and he definately isn't the one to be blamed for this sudden change. Ever since Aunt Carolyn started getting diagnosed with that weird disease, our finances have become unstable like never before.

Oh by the way, hi! I am Melissa Troy, shortly called Mel and this is my fifteen year old brother, Mason.

I am seventeen and I don't go to school, or it can be said so that my parents can't afford. Growing up in a household where beer bottles had themselves a better place than my school books, I knew that this was the near future. If truth is told, aunt's illness only fueled up the process.

I am 5'6 and brown. My black straight hair and my pointed nose are just a few of the many things I acquired from my mother, Eliza Taylor, or rather late Eliza Taylor.

My mother died when I was fifteen and my dad married my aunt a year later and by 'aunt' I mean my mother's younger sister, Aunt Carolyn. That was the incident that marked my world crippling down to a tiny shell which constituted of just me and my brother. To be exactly accurate, my father was never a part.

Shortly after, his business was turned upside down due to a sudden economy degradation,which I, never knew details of. I had to drop out of my school and so did my brother.

Mason started helping father in resettling his small business while I stayed at home, helping Aunt Carolyn to manage the household. I tried for tutions but no one wanted to take classes from a sixteen year old. But then, I luckily got my chance in a per time job at a nearby cafe.

A year later, Aunt Carolyn started suffering from a disease the scientific world refers to as senile dementia, forgetting names, places and sometimes even her own identity. Dad was worried and consulted a doctor. From what I remember from over- hearing my dad and uncle Harry speak , Aunt was having a slow tissue damage in her brain and that her treatment required money.
I left my job so that I could stay at home and take care of aunt.

Speaking of today, it's already been three months that Aunt is suffering from that disease. Dad and Mason are working relentlessly to gather up money for her treatment but  taking multiple loans still stand out to be the only saviour.

"Mel!" - my brother called as I shifted my gaze from outside the window towards the entrance of the room.

"Ah...yes?"

"Come downstairs. Dad's calling!!"

"In five minutes."