Eternal Flight

She thinks I need her help

Chapter Eight.

Carmen.

I've worked at this bar for almost two years now. My mother's friend, Fernando, though a sick freak, works here and helped me get a job. Luckily, I don't have anything to do with him because he's amost always in his office and dealing with business stuff.

Otherwise, I'd have no money, I wouldn't manage. I've always told my mother half of the amount I get paid, and I insisted that she wouldn't take that from me. Unlike with anything else, she had agreed.

My mother isn't a good person, not even near that. Not a good mother, not a good person. I doubt she acknowledges or admits that

Here in this underground disgusting smelly bar, I bartend and wait tables. Old nasty males and disturbing comments and looks I've become accustomed to, but I got to manage. Working at nights, I'm too tired to deal with them.

I honestly don't know why I do this to myself. I could work at a grocery store, but the money here is too good. I'm getting that bag.

And working nights means working until late night, often until midnight and after that, I have no idea why I don't have some limitations or laws being a minor, but okay.

Often, I work only at weekends when the school gets too much to work during schooldays. Last night after work, I arrived home to a quiet house. Now, on Saturday morning, I wake to an empty kitchen.

I arrived home late last night, also getting to bed late, I still woke early.

My body just loves to torture me. It feels the tension and pain of this house, my nervous system not letting me sleep in this unsafe building. Not safe for me, my soul and certainly not the nervous system.

I hear their snores in her bedroom.

I make myself breakfast, cutting fruit, some toast, and juice. I clean up a little for my mom and her guests, enough so I don't trip over their dirt and trash.

Leaving the kitchen, I go to the living room. The couch is facing away from the doorway, and I clung to the hope of no one sleeping on it.

It, the hope, wasn't worth it because as I turn around and I see him lying there, chest going up and down as he sleeps.

Thomas, my mother's buddy, one of three people who almost live here in addition to me and my mother, with the way they spend so much time here.

They all drink together and do their shit like consuming substances, getting high and being disturbing assholes. Thomas is a disgusting human being, my mom lets him do things to me, encouraging it. Things that have ruined me utterly. Mum started to lend some money from him when I was thirteen. Got me ruined for some dirty money.

I can be strong and stoic, I am careless, and I can give zero fuck. I can stare at you blankly, seemingly emotionless.

But in this house, with these people I am helpless, I break, and I am a prisoner. The only place that sees me in pain, sees me weak and crying.

I can't fight back because I am paralyzed.

Quietly taking what I need from the livingroom shelf, I turn around, wishing I hadn't.

Thomas' eyes are lazily open, and he watches me, one arm resting over his forehead, the other on his stomach. He's a menace and uncaring.

It's not fatherly or sexy, or however you could take it, the way he looks and is positioned, not affectionate or loving, we have a horrendous age-gap. He's eating me up with his eyes, the pedophile-likeness he doesn't admit to. I physically feel disgusted and sick.