Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“I’m not giving you five hundred more a month for this shithole,” I bark, pissed at the games she plays. Every time she and Phil fight, Mom comes home starting shit.
“You have any other options?” she asks, leaning against the wall since she’s probably too fucked up to stand on her own. “Didn’t think so.”
She turns around and disappears, while Ellie sits there quietly, frowning down at her soup. I make the mistake of assuming she’s out of earshot when I say to Ellie, “It’s okay… One day soon, we’re getting out of here.”
“Oh really?” Mom snarks. “And where the fuck do you think you’re going?” She storms back into the room and knocks my bowl of soup onto the floor. “You think you’re so much better than me since you got that fancy fucking job at that fancy fucking strip club? If you don’t like it here, move the fuck out!” She gets in my face, her rancid breath forcing me to hold mine. “Better yet… How about I kick you out?”
And here we go again… When my dad left, she would say she couldn’t look at me because I looked too much like him. I have his blue eyes and brown hair and pale complexion. I reminded her too much of him and all that she lost. But the more depressed she became, the more she used alcohol and narcotics to escape, and that led to her blaming me. I didn’t behave myself enough. I required too much attention. I was a mistake, and he wasn’t ready to be a dad. He didn’t leave her—he left me. Somehow she’s convinced herself that I’m the reason for her life falling apart, and because of that, she despises me.
“Mom, no! Please,” Ellie cries.
“Yes.” Mom cackles. “We’ll see how fancy you are living on the streets.”
The truth is, with the amount I pay toward the bills and rent here, I could find a small place for me and Ellie and we’d be okay. Especially since our mom doesn’t help with anything. With a year still left of college, it’d be rough like it is now, but we’d be safe and away from her.
But I can’t do that because—
“And before you get any ideas,” Mom says. “Eliza isn’t going anywhere with you.”
—the only reason I stay is because my sister is a minor, so our mom is her legal guardian. And since I’m a full-time college student and work as a stripper to pay my way through school, as well as the bills, no judge would ever grant me guardianship.
If I try to prove she’s unfit, I run the risk of the state taking Ellie away from me, and I just can’t take that chance. Instead, I stay here and put up with my mom’s shit, so I can take care of my sister.
Next year, though, when I graduate, that’s all going to change. I’m going to get myself a socially acceptable job and move us into a decent apartment. Since Ellie will be sixteen when I graduate, I can petition the court for guardianship, and they’ll let her decide where she wants to live. Then our piece-of-shit mom can rot here all by herself.
Thankfully, Mom stumbles back to her room and slams the door behind her, ending her threats. She does this often, and tomorrow when she wakes up, she won’t even remember this conversation. But that doesn’t stop Ellie from looking at me with a pained expression etched into her features.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I assure her. If it came down to it, I’d take her with me. Even if that means going on the run. I’d never leave her in this hellhole, ever.
I glance at the time and see it’s getting late. “We need to leave soon.”
“I’m going to need to borrow your sister,” Lincoln says when we walk into the backdoor of Wanderlust.
“For what?” I ask skeptically, at the same time Ellie says, “Sure!”
Lincoln chuckles. “The chef I’m looking to hire is upstairs making an array of dishes for me to sample. I’d love a second opinion.”
“I’m starved,” Ellie lies, and I internally groan but don’t say anything, not wanting to embarrass her.
“Okay, but I need her real quick. Can she meet you in a few minutes?”
“Sure,” Lincoln says. “See you in a few,” he says to Ellie.
“Oh, wait!” Ellie says, remembering the container in her hands. “This is for you. A thank you for helping me with my essay. It’s homemade soup.”
He takes it from her and lifts the lid, taking a whiff. “Smells good. You make this yourself?”
“Yep,” she tells him with pride in her tone. “All you have to do is heat it up. It’s delicious.”
“Thanks,” he says. “Meet me in my office when you’re ready to go upstairs.”
When we get in the dressing room, I pull Ellie to the side, making sure no one can hear what I have to say. “He’s too old for you. You know that, right?” I’ve told her this before, but I feel like she’s not listening.