Cross My Heart (18+)

Angel

           I arrived home at exactly three in the morning. My eyes were burning from the lack of sleep, and my eyelids felt heavy. I opened my apartment door, shoving all of my self-defense items into my sock drawer. My mind was racing a mile per minute, I couldn't get what had just taken place out of my head. I stripped off my clothes, changing into a large Nirvana t-shirt and underwear before sprawling myself on to my bed. As my eyes were shutting, my phone dinged loudly. I groaned, the bright light hurting my eyes.

"$500 has been deposited in to your current checking account. Tap for more information." The notification read. My eyes widened and I gasped a audibly. That was the most money I had seen in years. I swiped to see that, in fact, there was $500 more dollars than before. I felt in disbelief, worried that there must've been a mistake. I turned off my phone, resting it on my bedside table before pulling up my covers.

My heart was still beating inexplicably fast, so I continued to take deep breaths — in through the nose for two seconds, hold for four seconds, exhale for four seconds — just as my mother had taught me as a child.

"Keep breathing just like that, Lucinda." My mother murmured, holding me close to her chest. My small body shook with sobs as we watching my father take his last breaths. His hand was in mine as I watched the monitors closely. My mother ran her fingers through my hair, her chin placed on top of my mangled, curly black hair — the same hair I had inherited from my father.

"Keep holding his hand, but don't watch." My mother pulled me so that my face was buried in her chest, but my hand was still in my fathers. I heard the whispering of some doctors, too quiet to even know what they were saying. I knew my father was gone when I felt my mothers warm tear drops fall onto my forehead.

"Keep breathing with me, just as I taught you."

I felt tears well in my eyes as the flashback played like a stop-motion film in my mind. I quickly brought my hand to my face, wiping away the single tear. I soon realized that I simply needed to cry. I needed to mourn the losses I had endured, I needed to let myself be sad, and I definitely needed to let myself process what had just occurred. I pulled my blankets up to my chin, pulling my knees to my chest as I cried in fetal position. Before I knew it, sleep consumed me.

          There are varying types of depression. For example, there's situational depression. This type of depressed isn't chronic, but rather a short-term (even long-term) at times type of sadness. Then, there's clinical depression — the depression where is debilitates you to the point of near-paralyzation. When I was young, my parents got me started on anti-depressants. As much as I tried to go against the grain and tell them that I was just stressed due to our financial issues, they didn't believe it. My mother would tell me that as a child, I always saw the darkness in things versus the light.

I'm discussing this now because grief on top of having a mental illness is one of the worst mixtures. When my mother died, I expected to go with her. Then, all of the pain would be done. No more over-thinking, no more stress, no more feeling hopeless.

Needless to say, being blackmailed into working with serial-killers wasn't something I prepared myself for. My severe & already predisposed anxiety surely didn't like it.

I woke up that morning with my head pounding and my eyes burning from the bright sunlight pouring into my room. Getting out of bed was nearly impossible, but the rattle that loudly persisted in my digestive tract could not be silenced. I pulled myself out of bed, staring blankly at the street below me. The civilians of Perish Heights were already outside, selling their produce. The other half of the people outside were the homeless. It made my heart twinge to see so many people who didn't have the same position as I had, despite the unconventionality of my job.

After showering, I pulled on jeans and an oversized sweater, throwing a beanie on to cover my head. I grabbed my bag and started making my way downstairs, in hopes to find some sort of banking machine that would let me take cash out of my card. After walking down the street for a while (mind you, ignoring cat-calls as well), I spotted one. I inserted my card, taking $100 out.

I began to shop at these tiny markets, buying the necessities: fruit, vegetables, beans, rice, pasta. The owners graciously thanked me as I tipped them a few extra dollars. I then bought a fresh baguette, almost groaning in happiness as the smell wafted to my nose. As I was walking back to my apartment, a child approached me.

He looked at me with his wide brown eyes, his clothes tattered and dirty. Right about then, my soft heart could've very well bursted. His eyes glanced from me to the baguette, then to me again. I stared at him with confusion, before it dawned on me.

"You're hungry?" I crouched down to his level. He nodded quickly, making my eyes prickle with tears. "Here," I said, taking the baguette out of it's bag. His eyes widened as I handed it to him, and he took a bite. "Slow down, no ones gonna take your food." I chuckled. As he ate, I pulled the remaining cash out of my pocket — $50. I placed it in his tiny hands before using my hands to close his fist. "Bring this to your mommy, tell her it's for food." I said softly. I hadn't realized a tear of empathy had slid down my face until he brought his finger to my cheek, wiping it.

"Why you cry, ma'am? Are you sad?" He said, his voice hushed and precious. I shook my head no. "I'm okay, munchkin. Have a good rest of your day." As I turned around to walk up the stairs to my apartment room, I heard him call out something that still resonates with me.

"Mommy has spoken of angels, I can't believe I've just met one."

—
Sorry for the short chapter, but this is a filler. it gives you some insight on Lux's character as well as the overwhelming state of poverty that has swept Perish Heights.

Thank you guys so much for almost 300 reads, I love you all and I'm so grateful. :))
-Corinne