As soon as I walk into work, Jin's eyes zero in on the dark purple bruise on my cheek.
"Don't," I say as I approach him, holding up my hand to emphasize that I don't want to hear him comment on it.
"Jungkook dropped this off for you about ten minutes ago," Jin says quietly, pushing a paper bag across the counter to me. "He said he couldn't stay because he has an early morning class but that he wouldn't ever forgive himself if he forgot to bring this to you."
I find myself smiling, albeit quite painfully, as I open the bag and pull out half of a peanut butter sandwich.
Jin looks at me like I've lost my mind. "Why are you grinning at half a sandwich?"
"It's a tradition," I explain. "Jungkook and I would always have a peanut butter sandwich on Wednesdays and we'd split it in half; we've done this for years. He's never missed a sandwich day even after going off to college."
I feel a small amount of my stress melt away as I eat the familiar treat. It reminds me of happy times - times when things were okay. Even if the world was crumbling around me, I could always have something to look forward to. It is something Jungkook and I have treasured over the years - something so simple, yet it's so meaningful.
"You two are strange," Jin says, looking away quickly when I realize he's staring at my bruise.
"It's fine. I just fell," I shrug, speaking with a mouthful of peanut butter and bread.
"Sure you did," Jin sighs in defeat. "You're on the register today, by the way."
I groan in annoyance. Cash register duty equals zero tips for today, which means I'll have to work all through the weekend to afford my father's medications and my step mother's reckless spending.
"You're more than welcome to wash the dishes in my place today," Jin offers, smiling widely.
"Get to work, you ass," I say, shoving Jin playfully away from the register. After he retreats into the kitchen, I put on my fake customer service smile and hope that nobody takes too much notice to the bruise on my face.
~
After a grueling 12 hour shift of handling people complaining about prices and saying "thank you, have a nice day" about fifty thousand times, I am finally clocked out.
After rejecting a ride home from Jin as usual, I make my way home, desperately trying not to cry in public at the amount of pain I'm in; the bruise on my cheek has caused a tremendous headache to develop, and my back feels like it may snap in two from standing in one place for so long. I know I should buy more sensible shoes, but I just can't afford to spare that kind of money to buy anything for myself.
After medications, groceries, hygiene items, and an obscene amount being forcibly taken from me by my step mother, I essentially only have pocket change left over.
I try my best to hide a small amount of money from each day's tips in an old shoe box that I keep in my closet, but I know that it's only a matter of time before my step mother finds it and beats the shit out of me for hiding money from her.
If I ever have a day off, I plan on opening a bank account to stash that money away safely; I know once my father eventually passes away, I will have no reason to stay where I am now. I need to have a good amount saved up to be able to survive on my own immediately after his funeral; that is, if I don't have to pay for his entire funeral out of my own pocket.
As I walk into my home, I see my father napping in his chair and my step mother is, thankfully, nowhere to be seen.
I sneak upstairs as quietly as I can, careful not to wake my father up and also being careful not to alert my step mother that I am home.
After changing into some comfortable clothes, I make my way back downstairs to the bathroom to freshen up before starting dinner; today I've decided to make a stew. It's nearing winter and having to walk in the bitter cold really has been taking a toll on me.
I'm reminded of it as I cough a few times, feeling slightly dizzy for a moment afterwards.
I groan to myself. The last thing I need right now is a cold.
After finishing the stew, I remember to hide a portion of it away before spooning some into a bowl for my father, who is now awake and watching television as usual.
"Hey dad," I say as cheerfully as I can manage. I get him to drink some of his water that's situated next to him before I start to feed him his stew.
My step mother makes her way through the house and I hear her scoff.
"This looks like shit," she complains loudly, but I watch as she walks back upstairs with a bowl full of the stew.
I roll my eyes as I continue to feed my father.
"How are you feeling?" I ask him between bites.
He shrugs and opens his mouth for another bite. He never wants to have a conversation with me. I think I remind him too much of the woman who abandoned us.
I can't blame him for that; as much as I want to, I just can't. He's my dad, after all.
"All done," I say, getting up from the uncomfortable crouching position I was in.
After washing out the dirty dishes, I grab my bowl from its hidden place and quickly eat it at the kitchen counter.
I always feel wary about eating the food I've hidden from my step mother; part of me is convinced that she knows exactly where I hide it and she probably spits in it or something.
I groan to myself. This is my life, I suppose. Getting the shit beat out of me for breathing too loudly and being constantly paranoid that my food is being spit in.
Part of me feels guilty for how much I hate my life, but I really do.
I hate my life.
