Page 15 of Bound to the Daddy

With a heavy sigh, she tosses them on the desk and steeples her fingers. “Did you try to pawn stuff the other day?”

My shoulders straighten as a slight defensive streak wakes up in me. “I mean, that’s not really any of your business.”

“No,” she agrees, “but getting fired is. When were you going to tell me?”

“I didn’t think that was your business either,” I manage to squeak.

“Your ability to pay me rent depends on you having an income. Do you have another job lined up?”

My heart sinks as I slump forward. “No. I’ve been looking. I-”

“What’s really going on here? Hmmm? Fired? Pawning items. Reports of odd smells coming from your garbage. What are you into?”

I simply stare at her, my mouth dropping in shock. “What are you implying?”

With a shake of her head, she rises from the desk and sits on the edge. “Look, I’ve seen the bruises. I’ve noticed the weird hours you keep coming in and out.” As I open my mouth to speak, she raises her hand. “I haven’t been stalking you, if that’s what you’re about to ask. But it’s not hard to notice when you put all the things together.”

“I have a boyfriend!” I screech, my voice rising. Each syllable is laced with a tinge of hysteria, no doubt confirming whatever it is in her mind she thinks is there. “I visit him, then come home.”

There’s a smug look of sympathy in her eyes that I just want to smack off of her face. “And you don’t spend the night?You just come home at twelve, one, or two in the morning? Stumbling in the building like you can’t even walk on your own? Where exactly did your money go, Stephanie?” She pinches the bridge of her nose and waves her hand at me. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to be party to whatever illegal activities you might be doing. I just thought you were different than that.”

I sit there, dumbfounded as I stare at her, trying to process what she’s saying. “Are you implying I’m on drugs?”

“Hey now,” she holds up her hands in defense. “Whatever you choose to do is fine, but when it comes to you not being able to make rent, that’s when it involves me. Besides,” she glances back at those damned papers. “Don’t you have somewhere else you can go? Isn’t there somewhere else you should be? You don’t have to struggle when there’s people who love and care for you.”

Hot bitter tears roll down my face as I rise. “So what I’m understanding is, if I can’t make the rent, you’re putting me out.”

“I can’t enable you any longer. My conscience just won’t allow it.”

“But I’m not-”

“Are you seriously telling me you don’t self-medicate in any way? At all? Come now, I find that a little hard to believe. Everything adds up to a serious problem. That, and,” her glance goes back to the stacks of paper, as if one in particular stays at the forefront of this sham of an argument. “There’s at least someone out there who cares about you as much as I do and just wants you to be happy and taken care of.”

My mind and body go numb as I stand there, processing what she’s saying. I can’t come up with the money by tomorrow. Not unless I just sell my soul. It’s either that or sell my body.

“And if I can’t pay rent by tomorrow?”

“Then you have two weeks to remove your belongings. Anything past that, and it becomes my property.”

I nod, hating myself for the tears slipping down my cheeks. With a swipe of my hand, I wipe them away as best as I can, but they still come.

“Oh, sweetie. It will be okay. I just know it. The best thing about hitting rock bottom is there’s nowhere to go but up.”

She reaches out to hug me, but I push her away. I just can’t handle it right now. “If you really cared about me, you’d fix the damn door so it can open easily. You think I’m stumbling in here because I’m high or drunk? No. It’s because the door sticks, mostly at night when the temperature changes. And there’s a stupid lip that juts out underneath.”

“I’m sure there is, honey. I’ll make sure maintenance looks at it today.” The condescension in her tone rubs me the wrong way.

If I stay here any longer, I’ll possibly confirm whatever wrong assumptions she has of me. Besides, she’s made up her mind. That much is clear. Nothing I say will change things.

Mumbling my goodbyes, I walk back out into the hallway and stumble toward the stairs. Everything in me wants to just break down right now, or worse, give in to the razors in my apartment. But I can’t. I can’t give her the satisfaction of having ‘proof’ she can use against me.

It’s already hard enough for me to find a job with everyone knowing I’ve been fired. If they think I’m an addict, that will make things even harder. My feet shuffle forward, but my mind isn’t focused on where I’m going. I end up going all the way up until I’m at the roof.

Hot wind whips my face as I stare out at the other buildings surrounding me. Crossing my arms, I lean against the short wall holding the rooftop in. Down below, others go about their day, running to and fro, getting into cars, getting out of cars, basically living their lives.

Here I am no longer living. There’s not much I can do. Even if I somehow get the money, my name is already tainted.

With a heavy sigh, I flop down against the wall and peer at the life below. I know what I have to do. I just don’t want to do it. I detest that I have no choices.

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