"I hate those moments right before you go to sleep, when you are forced to think about all the things you tried so hard to forget"
-Drake
I checked the date and gulped.
It’s the thirteen of April.
I clutched the fruit shoot in my hand. My heart was pumping wildly; only seven days left. Biting the inside of my cheek, I stared at the calendar before me. It was a week till my birthday.
My cursed, stupid birthday.
I flinched when I remembered that night.
I sighed, getting a sharpie and marking this day off my calendar. Clenching my fists, I felt disgusted with myself for letting it happen to me.
It was my fault entirely. I went out alone, knowing anything could happen to me.
Turning around, I took a swig of my fruit shoot. I sighed, closing my eyes, feeling the coldness run down the back of my throat. I made my way down the hall, my eyes still closed.
Suddenly, I bumped into a large body and my entire body vibrated with pain. I fell on my bottom to the floor, the fruit shoot rolling down the hall. “Ouch!” I exclaimed, looking up.
Xavier stood there grinning sheepishly.
I narrowed my eyes, glaring up at him.
“Sorry?” he tried.
I growled, pain stinging up my bottom. “Stupid,” I simply said.
He shook his head, holding out his hand to me. I growled again, and ignoring him, stood up on my own.
He sighed sadly. “It’s not wrong to use any help,” he said.
Oh, how wrong that statement sounded to me.
Asking or taking someone’s help makes you dependent. Being dependent is relying on someone who could leave you at any minute, which is something I refuse to do.
I rolled my eyes and moved to make my way down the stairs. “Just stay out of my way,” I said, stepping past him to make my way downstairs.
Suddenly, my entire body just froze and a sharp pain shot through me, all the way from my head and down to my toes. I gasped, my sight blurring.
I lost all control.
The one thing I hate losing- and I lost it.
My body let me go and I fell into the strong arms of Xavier. I gasped as my vision disappeared. I closed my eyes and let myself go.
“You’re a cute looking little thang’ aint yah’?” his voice rasped.
I sucked my lollypop. “Thank you sir,” I said grinning.
He smirked, cocking his head to the side. “How old are you sweet thang’?” he asked.
I grinned proudly, holding up six fingers. “I'm eight,” I said happily, while pushing my pig tails away from my line of vision.
“Where are your mama and papa honey?” he asked curiously.
I sighed sadly. “I don’t know…money took them away from me. I don’t like money, it’s bad,” I replied.
YOU ARE READING
Sold to the trade* (Watty awards 2012)
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