Father

by Clarissa Wild

  “Even when he’s dying …” I mutter.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I add, smiling it away.

  I don’t want to make her feel bad. I just want to know Dad’s okay. Even if he isn’t. Knowing he’s still fighting the cancer at least gives me hope.

  “So how is everything going with you? Still working hard?”

  The question makes me choke up a little, but I slowly manage to form a reply. “Uh … yeah, it’s fine.” I don’t want to tell her the truth. It would break her already fragile heart.

  I pull away and look at the other people in the coffee shop, contemplating what I’m going to do. I can’t not do it. I just can’t. So I reach into my pocket and pull out an envelope. I slide it to her across the table. “This is for you.”

  With furrowed brows, she grabs the envelope and sneaks a peek inside then immediately flattens it on the table. “Oh, Naomi …”

  “Take it,” I say.

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. It’s yours.”

  “You don’t have to …”

  “I want to,” I say, looking her directly in the eye, so she knows I’m serious.

  “But you need it.”

  “Not as much as you,” I say, and that’s the truth.

  I may be a cold-hearted bitch on the work floor, but I love my fucking parents to death, and I would kill a son of a bitch for them if I had to. Just so I can see them be happy because, god … they deserve it after raising a girl like me.

  “You’re my daughter …” Tears well up in her eyes. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”

  “And you’re my parents. I have to look after you too. Just let me do this. I can do without it. You need it more than I do.”

  She leans forward across the table and pulls me in for a hug. “Oh, Naomi … What did we do to deserve a daughter like you?”

  I smile while petting her back, wondering the exact same thing.

  And to think I wasn’t even sure whether I should do this, considering the fact that it’s the last bit of money I have.

  I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. Family is my number one priority. Anyone else can go fuck themselves. But I’d kill for family.

  And after seeing how grateful she is, I know I did the right thing. Dad needs more medicine to cope with his illness. It was the only choice I could make.

  “Thank you,” she whispers.

  “Don’t,” I whisper back. “Just take care of Dad, okay?”

  Her warm hand touching my back gives me hope, even if only for a little while, as she says, “I will.”

  Minutes later

  I make my way home in my shoddy old car, trying to keep it from falling apart by braking and accelerating with ease, so it doesn’t jam. I wish it would’ve lasted longer, but I guess that happens when you buy a third-hand car. It’s not like I had any other choice, though.

  And now, I probably won’t even be able to fill her up with gas either.

  Sighing, I park my car and get out, slamming the door as I walk to the apartment block. It smells of gasoline and burned food, which makes me pull my nose up as I enter the building. I pass a few doors while breathing through my mouth because the stench from their drugs permeates out their door and through the hallway. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the girl upstairs almost always has her door open, ready for men to drop by whenever, and I have no choice but to walk past her home because the elevator is broken. I just look the other way as she’s hung up on a guy, her whole room smelling like booze and sex.

  I try not to think about it as I go up to my apartment, but when I close my own door, I sink to my knees.

  God, how am I supposed to last here one more day?

  In this filthy building?

  In this dirty neighborhood?

  I’m nowhere.

  Fucking nowhere.

  My purse drops to the floor, pens and lip-gloss rolling out onto the floor. In a fit of rage, I pick it up and throw it at the wall as hard as I can. I scream and slam my hand on the floor.

  “Fuck!”

  I could scream all day, but that would only make my neighbors suspicious, and that’s the last thing I want right now.

  I just want my fucking job.

  No, screw that; I want a better one.

  I am worth more than that. More than that fucking asshole sitting in that chair handing me those papers.

  I will not let anyone treat me like that ever again.

  I get up and grab a broom from the kitchen to sweep up all the glass shards from the lip-gloss. Without complaining and without making any noise, I clean it up, grabbing a cloth to rid the carpet of the pink stains. I rub in the water and wipe it off until it’s squeaky clean again. Until you can’t even see one speck … not one tiny crack.

  The light bulb flickers, but I pay no attention to it. It’s been going on like this since forever, and I doubt it’ll get any better. If anything, my electricity will probably be shut off soon.

  A drop of water falls from the ceiling onto my face. I gently wipe it off and gaze up at the chipped, moldy wood above me. Water is leaking from the pipes above. Again.

  I sigh. I wish I could ignore it, but after so many failures, how is that even possible anymore?

  My life is crumbling. My home is falling apart. And now, my job is gone too.

  I get up and throw the cloth in the sink. Then I open the drawer next to my door and pull out the papers to check them. Because of the recent troubles with Mom and Dad, I’d completely forgotten about this … until now.

  One week … That’s how much time I have to pay the rent I owe before I am evicted. I already have so much trouble paying them on time. I guess they finally had enough.

  How am I supposed to pay the rent?

  I’m way behind already. There’s no way I can make up for the loss of money without a job.

  What now?

  I can’t go to my parents. They have even less than I do. Besides, they need every penny for Dad’s lung cancer medicine. I can’t ask that of them. And I just gave them everything I had. There’s no way I’m ever going to ask for that back.

  Biting my lip, I realize I have only three options.

  Getting a loan is a small possibility, since I already have bad credit due to unpaid bills.

  A new job within a week is also highly unlikely, but it’s an option.

  Or I could just sell some cocaine like my neighbor does. Or sell my body to any random stranger. I bet that would make some decent cash too.

  Balling my fist, I chuck the paper away and let it fall to the floor, rubbing my forehead. God, if only it wasn’t so fucking difficult.

  Money.

  That thing that makes the world go round.

  I need it. I want it.

  But every time I come close to earning my fair share, somebody takes it away.

  It’s not fucking fair.

  I walk to my bedroom and close the curtains, undressing in front of the mirror. I hate what I see. Not because I’m not beautiful—because I am—but because of how little I’ve accomplished. With my twenty-eight years, I should already be somewhere. Be someone. I should be an assistant to the CEO of some technology company or a manager at a bank. Instead, I’m wasting my time doing the shitty work for someone who doesn’t even want to keep me around.

  Annoyed, I turn around and throw myself on the bed, swearing into the blankets.

  But as I crawl up, I realize I can only do one thing.

  Push forward. Never give up.

  So I lie down on my pillow and close my eyes, promising myself that tomorrow’s going to be a good day.

  Max

  Accompanying Song: “Eyes On Fire” by Blue Foundation

  The next day

  I take a sip of my espresso and watch the customers fly through the bank. Only when a long-legged girl steps into the lobby do I take notice. Still holding my cup, I watch her stride across the tiles on her blue heels, her hips rocking and her long black hair swaying from s
ide to side.

  I lick my lips at the sight of her, wondering who she’s here to meet. It can’t be me; I don’t have an appointment scheduled right now, and I’m on a much-needed break. Still, I can’t stop looking at her.

  She’s wearing a tight, red skirt, and an ironed black top. Golden bracelets dangle from her wrist, which makes me think she’s dressing to be seen. I wonder if she’s going to meet someone high up. It isn’t me, that’s for sure. I should know, because I own this freaking bank.

  I should find out more, but my body refuses to stand as my gaze fixates on her ass. Something about her captures my attention. Maybe it’s her straightforward pace or the cold look in her eyes as she passed through the doors.

  From a distance, I watch her stand in line, her hands briefly skittering through her hair, and for a moment, I wish it were my hand she felt. I take another sip of my coffee and wait until it’s her turn. The color on her tanned face seems to disappear slowly as she talks with the woman behind the glass, her brows drawing together. She pats her hand on the woman’s desk and leans forward. They engage in a heated discussion, which only stops when she turns around and parades off toward the door again.

  The closer she comes, the more I can see the determination in her eyes—even though she was just scolded and told off. I watch her walk toward me, my eyes unable to look away. The power she radiates draws me like nothing else. She’s magnificent.

  Exactly what I’m looking for.

  I’ve been waiting so long for this moment.

  This excitement. This feeling of electricity running through my veins.

  She’s the one.

  Naomi

  When I come home, I throw my purse on the table and rub my forehead, sighing out loud. I don’t know what to do at this point because even my own bank won’t give me a loan. Of course not since I’m indebted to them too. But I thought if I told them my situation, they might help me out. Guess not.

  I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and twist the cap off, chugging it down like there’s no tomorrow. After a show like that, I need to cool myself down. My body always heats up when I’m in an argument. It’s like it instantly goes into fight or flight mode. And I don’t ever flee from a fight if I can prevent it.

  God, the humiliation. It was just too much.

  The way that woman across the counter looked at me as if I was beneath her … I just wanted to pull her underneath the glass and shove my nails into her eye.

  How dare she question my ability to pay back this money? Did she think she was better than I was? No one has the right to make me feel like a lesser human. I’m too fucking proud for that shit.

  I put my half-empty bottle down on the table and pull the stack of mail from my purse.

  I quickly sift through the envelopes to see if it’s anything important, other than the looming bills I still need to pay. Usually, I chuck them all into the drawer and forget about them, but the moment my eyes see a peculiar red envelope, my fingers stop moving.

  I throw all mail aside except for this one envelope. Strangely, it’s addressed with only my first name, and it does not have a return address. I tear it open and pull out the paper inside. At the bottom of the note, it has a signature and the name “Max” engraved. Below that is his address. I wonder who this guy is and how he knows where I live … but I figure maybe his letter will give me a clue, so I start to read.

  Naomi,

  I know you are going through some money troubles.

  How do I know, you may ask?

  Well, I might answer that question … after you’ve come to see me.

  Now, I know this might seem odd. To you, I’m a stranger inviting you to come see me out of the blue, but trust me, it is not.

  I have what you need.

  Money. Lots and lots of it. And I am willing to give it all to you.

  You must have many questions—if I am joking, if this is real, and if so, how much, and what the price is. I could answer all of them, but that would make this very boring, and I don’t like to play boring games.

  Instead, I’d like to invite you to meet me, and I will tell you all that you need to know.

  The real question you should be asking yourself is this, though … How far are you willing to go to get what you want?

  If you know the answer to that question, come and see me.

  2

  Naomi

  Accompanying Song: “The Demon Dance” by Cliff Martinez

  A few days later

  With the envelope firmly tucked into my pocket, I exit my building and walk down the sidewalk, the message inside still echoing through my mind. Who is this man? How does he know me? But more importantly, why is he offering me money and what does he want from me in return?

  All these questions and no answers make me shiver. Yet … I’m intrigued. I need to know more, even if it goes against every fiber of my being. This has to be a cruel joke played by someone I know. But then why can’t I shake the glimmer of hope from my head?

  It’s all because of that one word.

  Money.

  Just that one word inside the note got my full attention.

  I didn’t even need the rest. Just the thought of getting my hands on it makes me greedy. Willing … to do anything.

  Maybe I’m insane. Or maybe I just love my family to death, and I want to help them out as much as I can. Or maybe I’m just addicted to the smell of stacked bills.

  Whatever the case, I’m about to find out just how far I’m willing to go down the rabbit hole to chase the money.

  As I walk down the street, I pass a man in a dark suit who’s talking on his phone, but the moment he sees me, he stops for a second. I turn my head and see him blink. Then he turns and walks again.

  Frowning, I try to ignore it, wondering what the hell just happened. I don’t know the guy, but it looked like he recognized me.

  I cross the street and see a black Chevrolet Equinox parked on the corner, two men sitting inside drinking a cup of coffee and eating donuts. They look up, but all I see are sunglasses instead of eyes. One of them stops drinking and the other picks up something that looks like a notepad and a pen and starts to write something down.

  I make a face and pass them, trying to ignore it, but I can’t shake the feeling of being creeped out by it.

  Suddenly, someone walks into me, and I almost fall to the ground. “Jesus, watch where you’re going,” I growl. When I look up, I notice something in his ear.

  “Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. “Are you okay?”

  “Uh … yeah,” I say, and I quickly walk past him, hoping he doesn’t follow me.

  But no matter how far I walk, I keep looking over my shoulder, wondering if there’s a man. A man in a suit. A man in a van. A man with a wire.

  My skin crawls as I notice the camera hanging from the top of the Starbucks building, and for a second, I wonder if it’s filming me on purpose. But I push the thought away because it’s ludicrous; every passerby is filmed for his or her own safety. It’s normal.

  At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  Maybe I’m just having an off day.

  A day when everyone and everything seems suspicious.

  A day when I feel like everyone’s out to get me … or to get that money that I so desperately want.

  Greed … it makes you leery.

  I hate it.

  I breathe out a quick breath and straighten my jacket then decide to call a cab. Better than walking around feeling followed.

  The cab takes me to a sky-high building in the center of the city, not too far away from here. I pay the driver and exit the vehicle, passing through the revolving doors of the skyscraper. The marble floors shimmer so brightly I can see my own reflection in them as I look up and down the immense hallway.

  A man to my left steps forward. “Excuse me, miss. Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m looking for …” Well, shit. I only have a first name.

  Biting my lip, I contemplate it for a se
cond. “I’m supposed to meet someone here on the fifteenth floor. A man named Max.”

  “Fifteenth floor?” He cocks his head and narrows his eyes. “Really now?”

  “Yes.” I clear my throat and pull out the note from the envelope. I didn’t want to do this, but he leaves me no choice. I won’t be talked down to. Even though I know this place is for the richest among the people, I won’t let anyone tell me I can’t be here.

  The man skims the words and then smiles. “Oh … right.” He looks up at me. “Come right this way, miss.”

  He holds out his hand and lets me walk in front of him as we follow the red carpet through the hallway. He stops in front of a gold elevator and presses a button. When the doors open, he says, “After you.”

  I walk past him and enter the elevator, swallowing as I meet my own reflection. I tilt my head up and peek at my hooded eyelids, swabbing away a tiny speck of misplaced mascara with my pinky. I turn around as the man walks inside and presses two buttons, prompting the doors to close.

  The wait feels like an eternity, the shifting velocity and pressure inside the elevator making me slightly queasy. When the bell finally rings and the doors open, I inhale a deep breath.

  The man steps out and so do I, only for him to point toward one door. “That way, ma’am.”

  I look at him, and then at the door, and I take a step. He stays near the elevator, frozen in place as I make my way down the long hallway to the single intimidating door at the end.

  Because that’s what this is.

  A scare tactic.

  Making your visitors submit to you before even meeting them with a bucket load of wealth and just a hint of authority. Power. The kind that I crave.

  Not one second do I hesitate before knocking on the door.

  It’s not my style, and I don’t surrender to anyone or anything. Not even fear itself.

  My hand still hovers over the door, almost ready to knock again, when I hear a voice resonate through the walls, sounding like an echo in the dark.