𝐉𝐮𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐭 | 𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 1

TW: DRUG ABUSE

Alora Sanchez was a girl unbeknownst to most, seeing as she didn't go to school or anywhere else really. The only people Alora had ever known was her mother and her younger sister Amaya, whom she hadn't seen in years since she was taken away. Alora's mom wasn't an ideal mother figure but she was all Alora had and she had learned to make due with what she gave her. That being a mattress in the stuffy attic that got freezing in the winter and boiling in the summer.

Alora was in her "room" reading the newest book her mom brought home for her when she heard her name being called.
"Alora!" her mom yelled again. She dropped her book and ran downstairs as fast as she could. She turned the corner, almost falling, righting herself before she calmly walked into the living room. She cautiously stood in front of her mother, eyes fixed on the tiny pieces of carpet beneath her feet.

"I need you to do a favor for me," her mom sniffled. Alora took her gaze off of the floor for a moment and tried to look her mother in the eye but couldn't and settled on her nose.

"Yes ma'am?" Alora stuttered slightly, already scouring her mind for excuses. Any favor she asked of her would certainly be unpleasant and would most likely put her in an unfortunate predicament.

"Just go get Mama's stuff and I'll give you a blanket. I know it can get very cold in the attic," Fiona said slowly, her voice taking on a warm lilt. She was smiling at her now but Alora knew it wouldn't last for long; it never did.

"Moth-" she had barely started her sentence when Fiona cut her off.

"Alora!" Fiona picked up the switchblade sitting on the table beside her. Her voice was now a low tone that sparked nervousness into Alora's stomach. Fiona twisted the blade between her fingers as if it were simply a harmless pencil. "I won't ask again."

"Of course, mother," Alora answered meekly. Any type of fight she had felt before left her, leaving behind a sickly feeling. She slowly made her way to the front of the small trailer they lived in.

"Alora, I love you," Fiona called out, her tone soft again.

"I love you too Mother," Alora replied hesitantly. She grabbed her thin ripped jacket and put it on since it was slightly chilly outside. She put on her shoes and started down the street. The place she was going was called 'The Cemetery'; fitting isn't it. It was a dirty slum in Reseda filled with addicts, dealers, and pervs. She hated going anywhere near that place.

The cold air was biting at her skin as she crossed the parking lot of the strip mall. She walked a little farther and she jumped over a jagged fence, making sure not to hurt herself. She crossed over a gravel path and ducked under the chain with a 'Do Not Enter' sign. It was supposedly a brothel that had been abandoned since the '90s, that they now use to trick poor people out of their money. Alora found the door and knocked on it three times, two times, and four times. After a moment, she heard an unlocking noise and the door was opened.

It was the same guy at the door as usual. Tall, muscular build with a bushy beard and shiny bald head. Tan skin with dark eyes and a slimy snarl that made Alora's hairs stand on end. The other guys called him Rocks but she assumed that wasn't his real name.

"Fiona's kid is here to pick up her bag," he called out to a guy standing on a balcony.

"She went through all of it already?" the other man questioned.

Alora just shrugged as Rocks led her through the dingy warehouse to one of the back halls. There were half-naked girls on almost every man's lap. The girls looked like they wanted to be anywhere but there. Rocks showed her into an office looking room where the man from the balcony was going through the cabinet drawers. He was mumbling to himself, stopping when he found what he was looking for.