My mouth was dry when I opened my eyes.
The ceiling was one I had grown used to seeing every morning.
I opened my mouth to try to wet my lips. They smacked together as a dry mouth would, and a deep masculine voice spoke, "I found you collapsed in the shop."
"Is it true?" I asked dully, looking to the bleak gray ceiling.
"What's true? Your vices in alcohol? Yes, very true," Mr. Russo said, stepping over the bundles of blankets on the ground to hand me a glass of water.
I pushed myself up, taking the glass gratefully.
"My parents..." I murmured, looking him in the eyes.
He was a born liar, there wasn't a moment he wouldn't lie unless it was to hurt me.
"What about your parents?" He asked gently.
"You know... they're dead." I spat, throwing the glass. It shattered against the wall.
"I see no point in keeping up with this farce!" I shouted, shoving myself up. I gripped Mr. Russo by his blazer, spitting in his face, "The world is nothing but a cruel place where we must simply live to die, to watch and hear how those we love die. I see no reason in keeping my heavenly soul, so just take it! Take it now and leave me to my own damnation!"
Mr. Russo looked down on me with wide, horrified eyes.
"You received no news of your parents' demise," he said quietly, taking my hands from his clothes.
He shook his head as he lowered my hands to my sides. He whispered, "I had come to inform you that your sisters and brother wish you to join them for Christmas."
I shivered, not believing a word he said but wanting to believe my family was alive and well.
"Ms. Grace," he said, looking me deeply in the eyes, "I found you collapsed on the ground. You must have drunk yourself into a stupor as you were incoherent to me."
I licked my dry lips, tasting whiskey on them.
I backed away from him slowly, tears dripping down my face.
"You're breaking me," I cried, my back against the wall.
Mr. Russo squared his shoulders, and said with confidence, "You brought this on yourself, Ms. Grace, by attempting to negotiate with me. I want my money before the new year. Remember the consequences."
YOU ARE READING
Persephone
General FictionThe morning sun was shining through the windows, bright and warm. The birds sang their tunes, and if I listen a little closer, I could hear the baby birds tweet to their parents from the nest in the tree outside. The gramophone played a quiet tune...
