𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋

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CHAPTER 1
in which everything goes wrong

"𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 and I hope you're dead," my sweet mother yells at me from her spot on the kitchen table where lines of white powder were arranged and smoke filled the air.

It might be hard to kill this stoned bird.

I ignored her comment as one should do, and went straight to my room. I had a plan in mind, a plan I should execute to the last second if I wanted to have the slightest bit of chance to get the hell out of this shithole. 

After years of constant abuse, her words hurt less and less every day until they became just nagging in the back of my mind. However, my father's kicks and hits still ache every morning as if it were the first time he raised his hands on me.

And every single day, I feel more and more like an outsider, like I don't belong.

I knew I wasn't a Rousseau the day I hid under the marital bed when I was seven years old. I barely knew how to read, but I understood every single word written on the pile of documents that were hidden there.

I wasn't their biological daughter, of either of them. And those were the papers that they used to change my name and make me appear as their daughter in the eyes of the law.

It doesn't matter anymore. I just turned seventeen, I have a fake ID and a hefty sum of money from working as a waitress. I will survive this.

I ran up the stairs towards my room and locked the door behind me with a chair. In this household, you don't get to have the most basic human decency like being able to change without fearing someone might barge in.

I took my stash of cash - which amounted to 2000 $- that I hid in the underside of the drawer of the dresser I found on the side of the road a few years back. Up until that point, my clothes have always been stacked on the floor.

I threw the cash in a tote bag and took the best of my clothes which hadn't amounted to much.

Putting a hoodie on top of my Hooters uniform - skimpy shorts and a tight t-shirt- I gave one last look at the room that was my sanctuary for the previous 18 years and bolted the fuck out of there.
I opened the wooden door and stepped out, a step closer to freedom.

Look, I know I am not the sharpest knife in the drawer, yet, I thought I had enough common sense to not get into trouble.

Fucking wrong.

I should've heeded the warnings; the rundown green car in front of the house, the smell of his Marlboro cigarettes that could never be confused with the herbal shit my mother inhaled.

I should've seen the red flag that my father was from miles away. However, I only realized his presence when I almost stepped over him as he sat on the steps leading to the front porch.

And like every single time I see him, I can't help the paralyzing sensation that travels through my body, freezing me in place.

If I were anywhere close to street smart, I would've hidden in my room until his unexpected presence vanished to whatever whore house he visits in the night to fill someone with his jizz and gamble the bit of money he owns away.