city lights

♚ cairo

CHAPTER THREE

            ✈ ✈ ✈ CAIRO

            When I finally venture out of my room, I realise that time has already eaten the afternoon and most of the evening away. The night lamps outside are lit, the light seeps through the papery thin curtains, bathing the living room in the soft, warm glow of dusk.

I'm fast regretting refusing my mother's offer to make me food. So when my stomach rumbles again, I find my feet heading towards the kitchen of their own accord, like a magnetic force field pulling me, the metal, towards it.

The pale grey surface of the refrigerator is cool to the touch, but I'm still completely unprepared when the frigid blast of air hits me the second I open the door. The top compartment of the freezer is emptied out, save for a pint of strawberry ice-cream. Hardly dinner-worthy.

My gaze wanders to the lower shelves of the refrigerator. Milk. Salad. Peanut butter. Celery sticks – thanks to my mother, who's permanently on a strict diet, dabs the layer of oil off fries with a napkin and frowns every time she sees me gobbling down a tube of Oreos.

There's nothing else but cereal, bread and biscuits in the cupboard. Clearly, what with the court case and all, my mother hasn't had the time to go grocery shopping. She never needed to. We used to have a housekeeper who cleaned the place twice a week, and bought the groceries we needed. But Marnie no longer works here, and this is all the food that's left from two weeks ago.

The sight of the food (or lack thereof) depresses me. Without further thought, I grab my cell phone, wallet and house keys from the counter, before stuffing them into the pockets of my sweater.

The clock on the wall reads eight-ten, and judging from the silence, the reporters are long gone by now. Most of them, at least. But I would hardly dare to venture out the front door without my mother with me. She is my armour, all five feet six inches of her, and without her, I'm helpless.

Instead, I leave through the back door. The trees and bushes in the backyard create insidious shadows that would've frightened me had I been younger. But I'm seventeen, going on eighteen, and I know that some hearts will be more insidious than shadows or monsters ever will be.

The side gate makes barely a rattle when I unlock it and slip out. But it does, however, make a sharp squeak when I push it close behind me, and I hold my breath, freezing in place for a brief moment. Silence reigns, thankfully, and I lock the gate, before making my way down the side alley that leads to the main street.

I soon get there, only to find myself stuck at junction, a crossroad, if you would call it that. If I turn left, I know that walking about five blocks down would lead me to the mall, where I'll be able to get all the groceries I need – soda, potatoes, pizza, tacos, strawberries, you name it, they've got it.

But it is paranoia that makes me turn right instead of left. The reporters aren't anywhere nearby, but news gets around. The people in the neighbourhood probably know who I am. I bet they've heard all about the scandal surrounding my family.

A couple brushes past me on the sidewalk, and the girl tosses a "sorry" over her shoulder, giving me a small smile and a quick nod. I freeze in place, wondering if she's recognised me. Maybe not, because she's soon turning back around, but it still doesn't stop my heart from racing or my palms from sweating.

My paranoia unsettles me. If a random gaze from a random stranger can throw me off so easily, I don't know what will happen when I have to go back to school. Multiply the gazes by tens, hundreds, thousands, this time coming from people who have known me all their lives. I'm terrified by the very prospect of it.