ᴀᴘʜʀᴏᴅɪᴛᴇ // $ᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴇʙᴏʏ$

Chapter Nineteen

APHRODITE

The sound of an opening door had sixteen-year-old me frantically wiping up the bathroom tile, trying to sop up the red blotches here and there with toilet paper, and then tossing the pile into the toilet to be flushed and forgotten. I cradled my left arm against my chest, trying to keep the other wad of toilet paper against the newest damage to my skin as I cleaned up the evidence.

No one was supposed to be home. My brother wouldn't be out of school for another hour, my dad was at work on site, and my mom had been gone for three days now. And with the stress of knowing there was nothing in our small house to feed my siblings, knowing I had to come up with some kind of money to get my brother a new pair of shoes, and my ten hour work day tomorrow at the store because it was Black Friday, I needed something to take the edge off.

Only one thing helped me nowadays.

And because I had an hour to kill before school was out, I had sadly brought my trusty steak knife to the bathroom with me and set it against my flesh.

It was supposed to have been my last time. But wasn't every time my last time? I couldn't remember anymore as I stared at the shiny silver of the knife, almost hearing a voice telling me that it would make everything go away for me, and believing that voice in the end every single time.

My newest cut had bled a lot more than what I preferred. Not so much to the point that I felt weak and sloppy because of the loss, but also more than just the average and familiar trickle that would run down my arm. This newest mark on my skin had been decided to go closer to my elbow, right next to the lovely blue vein that travelled down my forearm. And once it had been done, I sighed deeply and smiled lazily, and forgot about food. Forgot that I hadn't eaten something in two days because there were other mouths to feed before my own, there was a cut and a mess on the floor to worry about now.

But now someone was home. And I knew exactly who it was.

I hurriedly cleaned my arm and wrapped it, then rushed to put my navy sweater on to hide the bandages. Our home only had one bathroom, and I knew my mom would want in right away so she could check her hair.

Taking a deep breath before I entered the battle field, I opened the door and stepped out. "Mom?"

I was greeted with the usual glare. My mom stood by the front door, wearing a dress that hugged her attractive body close, heels high to lengthen her already long legs, and short bob of blonde hair styled perfectly. "What the hell are you doing home? Shouldn't you be at school?"

"School ended an hour ago for me." I muttered, not caring that I had to tell her the family schedule every time she came home, and instead eyeing the stranger that stood behind her, in my home without permission.

He was an older man, I could tell, or at least older for my mom. He was a little on the shorter side, hair white and face beginning to wither. He was impeccably dressed in a dark brown suit, one that screamed of money and power. And I knew exactly who he was. His face was plastered on the evening news every day when they would speak of the gangs, and the problems the city was facing when it came to the crimes they were committing.

It wasn't rare for my mom to show up with men who weren't her husband while he wasn't home. It was everyday life, and I was always told to be quiet about it. But the man standing inside my home now was something new. Why my mom would bring home who all of New Orleans knew as Christopher Baros was a mystery, and at the same time it wasn't. I knew of his reputation. I knew he was a man who didn't joke around. I knew he was a very, very bad man who dealt with drugs and weaponry.