by Freya Barker
I was determined to get out, we both were. We decided one night, about five months in when we were high from inhaling next door’s fumes,that we wouldn’t put up with her for much longer. We would save enough money to move out and get a place together; a place with at least two bedrooms.
We only had each other. We had to stick together; keep each other sane and on the straight and narrow.
“Skye!” My mother’s incessant banging and leechy voice continued.
I had turned the damn alarm off ages ago. I realised when she banged again and I considered getting out of bed, opening the door and banging my fist on her face to show her how it felt, that she didn’t want me to be late for work. Less money on my paycheck meant fewer Marlboro Lights for her. I would go and earn the money, give her half and not tell her the other half would go into our savings box. Oliver and I would get out soon, I could feel it. Maybe it was the lingering smell of weed from the night before making me delirious, hopeful, when I should have known better than to have hope.
I heaved myself out of bed and looked across the room at my sleeping brother. He had pulled the duvet over his head to block out her voice so he could sleep before work. He had only been home from his other job for a couple of hours.
Marijuana effects or not, I had a feeling we would be okay. I had to keep that energy and channel it into making a better life for us. I could do that. What other choice was there?
But life doesn’t work out the way you plan it, no matter how hard you try.
It’s the unexpected we all fail to prepare for...
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