The Rich And Bold

Sweet Annie

 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

LEIGH-ANNE

I stared helplessly at the crushed brown paper bag on the sidewalk, the double beef burger inside already flattened like my will to keep going. It was late afternoon, and that had been the only thing I'd eaten, or tried to eat, all day. That and a bottle of water I was planning to use to wash it down.

I hated how busy New York was. People bump into you like you're invisible, and that's exactly what happened. Some asshole rammed into me without so much as an "excuse me." No glance back. No apology. Just kept walking like he hadn't just ruined my one decent meal of the day.

I'd been walking on the edge of the sidewalk, trying to stay out of everyone's way. When he hit me, I flailed to keep from landing on the street. In that split second, the burger slipped from my hands, just in time to get run over by a car pulling off. The tyres crushed the bag, my lunch, and whatever was left of my patience.

I actually considered picking it up. I mean, it was still in the paper bag. But I didn't feel like being labeled the unhinged girl eating food off the street. So I just sighed and looked at the water bottle. That was it for the day. Water is life, I told myself.

I ignored the gnawing hunger and the obnoxious growl my stomach made, and downed the water like it was wine. I remembered when I could afford two meals a day. Back when I worked at Bespoke. It wasn't much, but it got me by. I could pay bills, eat, buy small essentials, but savings? Barely. So I picked up a few shifts at Lupi's Diner in the evenings to try and stash something away. It wasn't a lot, but it helped.

The orphanage had given me a little money when I turned eighteen and they sent me out into the world. I wanted to save and use it for college. A real one. Not some cheap excuse for a school that promised a future it couldn't deliver. But that dream started unraveling six months in, thanks to the sleazy store manager at Bespoke who fired me because I wouldn't sleep with him. He was good-looking, and apparently every girl's dream, but I wasn't about to lose my virginity to a two-timing predator with a smirk.

He fired me. Paid me off. And just like that, the steady money stopped. The diner shifts weren't enough for rent, bills, and survival, so I started dipping into my savings. It had taken me forever to even land that diner job, and I knew it'd take forever and a day to find another one. Apparently, I didn't fit the polished, perfect aesthetic most employers wanted. Not even cafés. Everyone in New York was chasing the same scraps, and only the shiny ones got picked.

Bertha, the cook back at the orphanage, helped me get the job at Bespoke. I didn't have a trust fund or family business to back me. I only got into the orphanage because Bertha begged the Yangs to take me in. She was loyal to them, and I guess they trusted her enough to allow it. We weren't exactly close, but she and I had a quiet understanding. A kind of soft spot. She was the closest thing I had to a mother. I always told myself that someday, when things got better, I'd do something for her.

The orphanage also sorted me out with an apartment for six months. A decent one, back then. But once the six months ended, I couldn't keep up with the payments. So I gave it up. I was an adult, apparently. On my own. Couldn't go running back to Bertha for help. She'd already done more than enough. Unless a miracle dropped from the sky, my dream of becoming a lawyer was dead. And maybe soon, so would my ability to put a roof over my head. 

My mind wouldn't shut up. It was racing ten kilometers a second and I felt like I'd explode. I wanted to cry, but I didn't. I'd promised myself I wouldn't. Crying was for the weak, and I didn't have the luxury of weakness. I handled my shit in silence. I didn't talk to people about my problems, mostly because I didn't trust people. I barely had anyone to talk to, anyway.