by A. K. Evans
Desperate
Copyright 2018 by A.K. Evans
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, distributer, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover Artist
cover artwork © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations
www.okaycreations.com
Formatting
Stacey Blake at Champagne Book Design
www.champagnebookdesign.com
Editing & Proofreading
Ellie McLove, My Brother’s Editor
www.grayinkonline.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Preview of Solitude
Acknowledgements
Connect with A.K. Evans
Other Books by A.K. Evans
About A.K. Evans
To anyone who has ever struggled in life. Because it sucks and you’re not alone!
The clock on the microwave indicated it was just after eleven-thirty at night. I had just crept down the hall to the kitchen to find something to eat. There was one can of chicken noodle soup left in my backpack, but I wouldn’t be able to cook it without running the risk of waking my mom. I prayed I’d find something else in the house.
Opening the refrigerator, I saw it had nothing but beer and two-week-old leftover Chinese food inside of it. That food wasn’t mine. It probably belonged to one of her men. I knew better than to take the food that didn’t belong to me. The cabinets were bare, other than a few canned goods. My mother didn’t keep the house stocked with food. Any money she had was spent on keeping her drunk and drugged up, which she apparently preferred over making sure she and her daughter were fed. When a man came over and they got their fix, sometimes he’d bring food. If there was enough, she’d eat.
I couldn’t remember the last time she went to an actual grocery store. She might occasionally take a trip to the corner store to pick up a few things, but even those were rare.
So rare that I was in this predicament again.
Hungry.
No food in the house.
A mother who didn’t care.
Sadly, I had grown used to the growling and the empty feeling I always felt in my belly these days and it looked like tonight would be another one of those nights I’d go to bed with nothing in my stomach. I hadn’t had anything since lunchtime yesterday at school, which was mostly my own fault.
On that thought, I quietly made my way down the dark hallway back to my bedroom. If I hadn’t spent the last two days after school at the library, I would have had enough time to come home and make the soup before my mom got home. I hated being here, so I stayed at the one place I had that gave me just a shred of peace and happiness.
The local library.
I guessed that most parents would have been worried sick if their child hadn’t come home after school, but I learned quickly that the less my mother and I were around each other, the better. Wanting to avoid her after the encounter we had two nights ago, I figured it was best to just wait until I knew it was safe to come home. Thankfully, being able to sit down in a clean, comfortable chair at the library and spend hours reading never felt like a chore.
As soon as I arrived there, I quickly got any homework I had to do completed and then I spent the rest of my time reading. I consume books of nearly every genre, but my favorite is romance. I dream that one day I’ll find a love like I read about in those books. That there will be a good man with whom to spend my days. That he’ll stick around, unlike my own father, who walked out before I was even born. That he won’t leer at young fifteen-year-old girls like the men who come around to see my mother do to me. That he’ll love me, respect me, and protect me. I hope he’ll make me feel like I am special. Most of all, I hope to be able to have a home with him that’ll be unlike what I’ve lived in to this point.
That thought settled in me as I closed my bedroom door. Bedroom doesn’t quite seem like the right word for it, though. There isn’t even a real bed. Instead, I’ve got a small mattress thrown on the floor in the tiny room. There’s a thin sheet covering the old mattress and a tattered, torn blanket for me to cover up with. Aside from that, I’ve got my backpack, a small dresser with some clothes, and a pair of worn-out sneakers.
With no other options and unable to ignore the rumbling in my stomach, I pulled the can of soup out of my backpack. I opened the front pouch that I put a plastic spoon in yesterday at school and lifted the tab on the soup can to remove the lid.
Cold soup.
It was better than nothing.
I sat in the middle of the mattress, struggling to eat slowly. It was difficult to control the urge to satisfy the hunger quickly. I forced myself not to hurry through it, though, realizing that if I could feel full on just half the can, I could save the rest for tomorrow.
As I sat there eating, my thoughts drifted to Ms. Grace. It was on nights like this when I missed her the most. Ms. Grace used to be our neighbor at the apartment building where we lived. She was an elderly, black woman who wore pretty dresses, gave incredible hugs, and treated me better than my own mother did. She didn’t spend her days drunk or high on drugs. She was the kindest, most gentle soul I’d ever known. Sometimes, when my mother had one of her men over, I’d sneak out and knock on Ms. Grace’s door.
“Oh, dear child,” she said when she opened the door and saw me standing there for the first time. “Come inside.”
I suspected she knew what was happening inside my own apartment, but she never made me feel bad about my situation. I was only seven years old the first time I knocked on her door. She allowed me to come inside, where we watched television together. We watched Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune regularly from that point forward. And every night I managed to sneak out, she’d make sure I was fed. The first night, with me being an unexpected visitor, she made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Every night after that, there was always a warm meal waiting to fill me up.
But she died six months ago.
And now I was eating cold soup, alone and in the dark.
I think she knew it was coming because two months before she passed away, she started giving me extra food to take with me.
“A snack for later,” she’d insist, watching me intently until I put the food in my backpack.
Given that I was older, I didn’t need to sneak out like I did when I was little. As the years went on, my mother became more and more dependent on her alcohol and drugs. She spent more time passed out than awake, so it was easy for me to
make daily visits to Ms. Grace. I knew that she was the kind of person I aspired to be. She taught me what a real mother does, and it saddened me that she never had the opportunity to have children of her own.
“Wallace and I tried to have children, but it just wasn’t in the cards for us,” she admitted to me two years ago. “But we had each other and that was enough for us.”
“Was he nice?” I asked.
She smiled, and it lit up her whole face. “He was the best man I’d ever known. In the fifty-five years we were married, there was never a single negative exchange. At least, not on his part. I had moments where I was moody as does happen to us women sometimes, and he always saw me through those times with love and tenderness. We had the occasional debate about things, but even in those discussions, he never denied me the right to my feelings. And he always made me laugh. That was the most important thing for me because what’s life about if you can’t laugh and be happy?”
I sighed, “I hope I can meet a man like Mr. Wallace one day.”
“You will, my child. You just keep yourself focused on finishing up school and taking care of yourself. Don’t get distracted by the things surrounding you. If you do what you’ve got to do to become the woman you want to be, he’ll find you.”
From that day forward, I knew I’d never forget the many lessons she imparted on me or the way she made me feel.
Now, as I sat here alone with the last can of soup I had from her, I fought the urge to break down. I missed her.
I missed her hugs.
Her kindness.
Her words.
Her company.
As much as I wanted to give in to that sadness, I didn’t. I needed to stay strong and focused on what I had to do because I made a vow to myself and to her. The day I turned eighteen, I would walk away and never look back.
I wouldn’t become my mother. I wouldn’t choose drugs and alcohol and men over my child.
I was only a month away from turning sixteen. Then, I’d be able to get a job at the library and start saving. I’d only use what I had to just to feed myself and the rest of it would be saved. I had my plan. I only needed to wait a month to put it into action.
On that thought, halfway through my can of soup, I put the resealable top back on and laid down to sleep.
Three days later, my plan was blown to smithereens.
The police barged in and arrested my mother along with her guy of the week.
I was put into foster care.
Almost Thirteen Years Later
“Go home early, Ekko,” my boss, and the owner of the diner I worked at, ordered.
“It’s okay, Jerry,” I replied as I refilled the iced tea for one of my regulars, George. “I just need a second.”
I topped off the glass, took in a deep breath willing the pain away, and walked back out to deliver the drink.
“Are you alright, dear?” George asked when I approached the booth.
I winced in pain, but tried to reassure him, “Yeah, I’m just not feeling the best today.”
“You don’t look well. Maybe you should head home early,” he suggested.
“I’ll be alright,” I insisted.
After setting George’s iced tea down, I went back into the kitchen. Placing my palms on the countertop, I looked down, closed my eyes, and took a few steadying breaths.
“You’ve been working double shifts for two weeks straight now,” Jerry noted. “Take the rest of the night off.”
I craned my neck and looked at him. “I need the money, Jerry.”
And I did. I still had two and a half hours left before my shift ended and I was so close to having enough money saved up.
“You can barely serve one table before you’re back here doubled over in pain. You’re dead on your feet. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I do know that you at least need to get some rest. Go home now. I don’t want to see you back here until just before the dinner rush tomorrow.”
I was supposed to work breakfast, lunch, and dinner tomorrow.
“But—” I managed to get out before I was cut off.
“It’s not up for discussion, Ekko. I’ll see to it that you’re paid for working the full shift tonight. Cash out with Christie and come back to my office before you go. I’ll have your paycheck ready.”
I was so close to having enough. I couldn’t leave now. “Jerry…please. I’m supposed to work all day tomorrow. I’ll go tonight, but don’t take more than half the day tomorrow away from me.”
“Sorry, kiddo. You need a break. Cash out and come see me for your paycheck,” he insisted before turning and walking away toward his office.
“Damn it,” I hissed under my breath.
I did as Jerry instructed and ten minutes later, I was in my car on my way home. It’s not exactly my home. It’s actually my ex-boyfriend’s apartment. Things have gone from bad to worse for me over the last couple of months and I ended up losing my apartment. Having no other options, I accepted Ryan’s offer to move in with him.
Ryan is the only person with whom I have a long-standing connection. I have my co-workers, but the extent of my relationship with them doesn’t go much past work. Ryan and I were in an on-again, off-again relationship for three and a half years. Recently, things between us have gotten to the point where I feel like he could live with or without me. For much longer than these last couple months, I’ve had that nagging feeling deep down that he’s not ‘the one’ for me. So, while we weren’t together anymore, I was staying with him. The longer I stay at his place without us being together, the more strained things become. I’ve come back from work and heard him with other women in his bedroom. Even though we aren’t together and I don’t want to be with him anymore, it would be tough for anyone to hear that.
Ultimately, Ryan was being decent to me and was willing to give me some time to sort things out, but I had until the end of this month to find new living arrangements. I only have four days left and have been working hard to get as much cash together as I can for a new place. I had already spoken with the landlord at a spot not far from where I worked. I needed eighteen hundred dollars to cover first and last month’s rent along with one month’s rent for a security deposit. I only had fifteen hundred. If I could have finished out my night tonight and worked my full day tomorrow, I am certain I would have made the extra money I needed. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
I couldn’t blame Jerry. His heart was in the right place. Unfortunately, him being a genuinely good person didn’t help my financial situation. He knew I had lost my apartment, but he didn’t know my current predicament. And sadly, unbearable stomach cramps, an indication that my period would be arriving sometime within the next week, had made things even more rotten.
My life hadn’t been anything special to this point, and to be honest, I didn’t think things could get any worse. Sure, I’d gotten used to it, but I wasn’t sure how much bad stuff one person was supposed to shoulder.
After pulling into the parking spot at the apartment complex, I turned off my car, grabbed my bag, and walked to the door. I was going to take Jerry’s advice and get some rest. Hopefully, I’d feel better in the morning.
But when I walked in, I realized I had been wrong. Things could get worse. I stood frozen for a minute as three sets of eyes stared back at me. One set belonged to Ryan, the other two were men that I didn’t know. And it seemed my ex was in the middle of a drug deal.
“Ekko?” Ryan called, his surprise evident.
“You’re doing drugs?” I snapped.
“Why are you back early?” he retorted.
I shook my head and walked to the spare bedroom. No way. I was not staying here. Aside from my bed and a small dresser, I didn’t have much here, but what I did have was all that I had. So, I quickly grabbed my things that I could move and started packing them up. It couldn’t have been more than three or four minutes when the door opened and Ryan walked in. I didn’t make eye contact; I just kept packing.
“What are you doing?�
� he asked.
“Leaving,” I returned.
“Where are you going to go?”
Without acknowledging him, I moved through the room and put the last of my things into my bag.
Gathering my bag up off the bed, I began walking toward the front door.
“Ekko?” Ryan attempted getting my attention again.
When I made it to the front door, he grabbed my wrist. I turned around, yanking my arm away, and seethed, “Don’t ever touch me again!”
“Stop and talk to me first,” he begged.
I shook my head. “Not a chance.”
“I’m not doing drugs, Ekko. I only sell. You can’t go to the cops.”
I opened the door, stepped outside, and turned back to look at him one last time. “Newsflash, Ryan! Selling drugs doesn’t make you any better than the people that use them. And you know how I feel about drugs, which is precisely why I’m not staying here. I don’t have a say over what you do, but I refuse to be anywhere where something like that is going on. This is it for me, Ryan. I am officially done with you. I’ll be back in a few days to get my bed and the rest of my stuff.”
At that, I took what I had in my hand and walked to my car. After tossing my bag in the back seat, I got in and drove off.
Forty minutes later, I was beyond exhausted, in heaps of pain, and had nowhere to go. I eventually settled on spending the night in my car. So, I drove to a place I hadn’t been to in weeks. I was spending the night in the parking lot of the Windsor Public Library. While I could have gotten a hotel for the night, that would have required spending money that I really didn’t want to part with. If I couldn’t get all the money I needed together within the next day or two, I’d have to consider spending the money for a night at a hotel just so I could grab a shower.
On that thought, I lowered the back of my seat down and reached in the backseat for my fleece-lined sweatshirt. After wrapping it around myself, I did my best to ignore the pain in my belly and lingering nausea.
On the bright side, the pain in my stomach just barely overshadowed the loneliness in my heart. I couldn’t believe the one person I’d grown attached to, the one person who knew what I grew up with, was hiding a secret so devastating from me. Maybe he didn’t owe me any explanations since we weren’t together anymore, but that didn’t change the fact that it still hurt. I couldn’t even begin to process how it all made me feel, so I gave in to the pain and exhaustion and closed my eyes.
