CLAIMED // 18+

Chapter Two - Elaine

"Ms. Elaine Wood, we're sorry to inform you that you did not pass the interview."

I can't believe this. Honestly? I can't take this anymore. How many more interviews do I have to attend, only to humiliate myself with my short-comings when it comes to educational qualifications? Am I seriously to be blamed for not ever having parents who are alive and kicking and a financial back-up for college?

Alright, I shouldn't say 'alive and kicking'— which one of them clearly are. Alive and kicking, alright. Just absent from their child's life, that is.

My dad was into illegal gambling. You could say he was addicted, so addicted that he didn't hesitate from taking thousands of loans and then fleeing the country, shoving all the debt in our faces while we had no idea what he was up to. We knew nothing of it, until the cops showed up and seized our home.

Soon after, my mom got sick. Really sick. Brain tumor, last stage. She worked herself to the bone to repay all the debts. She'd do at least four jobs a day, and even some at night. She barely got any sleep, ate or did anything other than work. One night, she finally passed out during one of her jobs and a call came on the telephone, saying how my mom was rushed to the ER. I, on the other hand, was only 10.

"You have to fend for yourself and learn to survive on your own, my little baby. My Elaine."

Mom told me, her skin all dried up and her body way too thin. I sat by her bed, and watched her eventually leave the earth with one final breath, as her hand loosen around mine as she was holding it so tightly beforehand.

A massive lump had barricaded my throat, and my chest heaved with pain. But no tears came out of my eyes that day. I never thought that soon after my dad's departure, my life would crumble even more. I was too young. Too naive to understand how the world worked yet. But my mom's last words stuck with me. And even to this day, it still very well does.

A couple months ago, I found out that my dad was still alive. And well, kicking. He lives in Hawaii, now. Remarried. Good riddance.

I've been going to interviews for full-time jobs since the last year or so but thus far, I've only failed at getting through the first round. At the age of 24, recruiters expect you to pass college with a well enough degree at a suitable grade to get a full-time job that pays good. I've got nothing on my hands but experience of juggling three to four part-time jobs a day. I've been a barista, bartender, waitress, and even a singer. I'm told I have a good voice, so I do some singing gigs in bars from time to time. But all of this just isn't enough for these companies.

The subway's never empty. The seats are always taken, and I have to keep an eye out the whole time for any pervert getting their nasty hands out of their pockets. So far today, thankfully none. They get to survive the day.

Wedged between sweaty people and constantly being pushed around, I finally get to take a seat after a couple stops. That's when my eyes dart to the baby in the arms of the woman sitting next to me. The baby is probably a couple months old only, and is wrapped in a light pink blanket, sleeping peacefully. My heart suddenly becomes warm.

I love babies. I always did. When I was 18 and freshly dropped out of school, my first job was being a babysitter for a friend's cousin's three-year-old girl. Her parents had to go out of town for three days due to an emergency, and it was rather a last-minute decision. I wasn't supposed to get the job, but since I was the only one free and willing at that moment, my friend recommended me to her and she said okay. Before that job, I didn't have much knowledge of taking care of kids, but babysitting Millie for three days had changed my world. Three days after, when her parents came home, something in me snapped. Watching them be so happy to see and feel their child in their arms was a life-changing moment for me. It's rather common, and nothing extraordinary. However, this warmth is something I never quite felt in my life.

My parents were always arguing my whole childhood, and then when my dad ran away with all our money, that ruined the last straw of hope I had in my heart for a beautiful childhood memory with my parents. There are none. A beautiful memory was never made.

I want to feel as happy and glad as Millie's parents felt when they got to see her again after only three days of being apart. A feeling I cannot relate to, but want to. Very badly.

Therefore, ever since then, I've been dreaming of becoming a mother. At 18, I decided to start saving up money especially for fulfilling my dream of having my own baby. My own little family. I was too young to be thinking of something like it, but I couldn't help it. I want to give birth to my own baby, or two. And be the kind of parent I couldn't have and lost.

"Your baby is beautiful." I tell the woman.

She gives me a sweet smile "she's everything to me."

"I can tell." it's as if a lump formed in my throat. My heart flutters and I place my hand on my belly, imagining what it would be like to finally become pregnant and have my own baby.

But having a baby doesn't happen on its own. I can't do it alone. I'm still a virgin, and I'm still waiting for the right man to share a family with, so my baby can also have a present and caring father. Again-- one I never had. This is the only reason why I haven't done it yet. I've saved up enough money for it since then.

I'm starting to think that maybe, I should try looking into different measures.

I soon get off the subway at my stop, bidding goodbye to the woman and her lovely child. My apartment is only a few miles away from the station, so I don't bother with spending a few bucks on a cab as I walk home. As soon as I reach the fifth floor, I pause to see two men standing by the door to my place. Both wearing suits. One's wearing a black one, while the other-- much taller and broader-- got a dark maroon velvet suit on.

His hair a shade of medium brown, brushed back and firm with pomade, shaved on the sides. When the two of them notice me within seconds, I can see their faces. One of them is familiar, but the other-- not so much. He has his hands in his pockets, and his face is sharp and structured, with a bit of beard plastered across his jaw and a medium mustache under his long roman hook nose. Although they're narrow, you can easily tell the color of his eyes because they're so fascinatingly green.

I gulp my throat and look elsewhere when I realize quickly that I've been gaping at a stranger. I finally register the situation in my head, since the other guy's someone I've seen before.

Fucking loan collectors.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." I mumble under my breath, brushing past them to the door. I fumble through my satchel for the keys, but my hands are trembling. I've always got the wrongest timings. When I do find my keys, they slip out of my hands and fall on the floor. I crouch to pick it up, but my body stops when my eyes meet with the green and glistening ones of the stranger, as he bends over and reaches his hand for the keys before me.

God forbid, this man is like hypnosis and I haven't ever even seen him before. His eyes are the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. And gosh, in all his tanned skin glory, he's the most gorgeous man I've ever seen. Broad, brooding and seriously tall. Although he's wearing a velvet suit, the thick fabric is hugging every inch of his muscles perfectly. I can tell instantly how well-built his body must be.

Again, I seriously can't believe I'm gaping at a stranger. And I can't believe that my heart is skipping a beat for a stranger.

And, furthermore, I can't fucking believe that my panties are getting wet for a stranger.

[To be continued...]