Indebted To A Billionaire

My mother loved a fairy tale life.

She has cancer. So what?

I cried—no, sobbed the night before, as she took my savings once again to head to the pub. Jonas, my six-year-old brother, wailed heartbreakingly, watching me beg and plead.

That was our week's ration amount.

As she left, leaving another gushing scar on my chest with her words, I looked around our beaten-up, rotting studio apartment. It used to be a small luxurious home once. If by definition, luxury meant food and water.

"YOU ARE THE MOST USELESS PIECE OF SHIT THAT CAME OUT OF MY WOMB!" She spat on me.

The same evening, someone knocked on my door. Jonas was on my lap. He woke up as I jolted at the sudden sound. When was the last time we had any visitors? It wasn't until our dad passed away in a car crash. Our mother, who was supposed to take care of us, came home one day bruised and covered in someone else's blood. It was our father's.

"Stay here, Jonas," I said, heading for the baseball bat. Jonas knew the drill, to hide himself under the rotting dinner table. Our mother? Nowhere to be found since last night.

I was scared, to say the least. Junkies came knocking on our door all the time. Even beat it down once or twice. Who wouldn't? Especially after knowing two young-looking women with fresh holes were waiting for action?

That was exactly what was on their mind.

With a sonorous gulp of fear in my throat resounding in my heart, I opened the door with a powerful swing.

Scared at my posture and what I was holding, my classroom teacher and the security guard stood behind the school counsellor.

"Oh," I put the bat down, making them sigh in relief.

"You should install a peephole." The useless security guard said, tucking his gun back.

"You think?" I retorted.

"Rachel Blackwell...this is the third visit from our side this month. You do have to pay for your tuition fees at the campus, honey. We're working on getting you funds but—"

"I don't need the funds." I cut off the school counsellor. Her face shrunk.

"Why, dear? May I ask?"

"I'm not coming to school anymore. I don't belong there." I said, tears brimming in my eyes.

Just two days back, I was quietly walking in the hallway. I imagined myself as a scared dog with her tail between her legs. Just then, someone shot an egg straight into my head.

The yolk mixed with drops of my blood as it cascaded down my brown, frizzy hair.

I cried.

Silently.

That wasn't the first time. But I could make it my last. And hence, stopped myself from getting educated.

"Please get out. Withdraw my application and burn my previous certificates if need be." I said with anger, "No one wants me."

And I shut the door on their faces. It felt nice.

"It's okay, Jonas." I said to my little angel.