𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 || 𝐉.𝐉𝐊 ✓

⊘ • ❶ • ⊘

"Honey, trust me. With the money I'll make tomorrow at the store, we'll have the power back on in no time. I did pay for the water bill. We can live without electricity for a while." He steps toward me, grabs my shoulder, and places a kiss on the top of my head. "Did you finish the dishes?" I notice the topic change, but I don't mention it.

I know what he's telling me. He's telling me not to worry because life shouldn't be worrisome—a statement he takes to heart. I know it's total bullshit. No one ever got by in life without worries. How can he be optimistic about his store when knowing it's still not doing as well as the previous years?

"I washed the dishes and all that's left is for me to take out the trash," I ignore my fleeting thoughts and watch him step toward the bathroom.

"That's my girl, and when you're done, make sure to lock the doors and check the locks on the windows downstairs." I hold in my groan of annoyance when he shuts the bathroom door.

If only that man understood how much I do around here.

Heading to my bedroom, I open my closet and grab a thin, black jacket. I slip it on. A thin jacket is the only jacket I can afford to own at the moment.

I rush downstairs into the kitchen to take the trash out. I tie the garbage bags and have three loads while moving through the living room.

Despite the trouble, I still manage to open the door. Proceeding outside onto the quiet, too quiet, street of our bare neighborhood, I stroll around the side of our house, flip the dark, green lid on the trash bin up, and toss the black bags into the trash without a second thought.

When I shut the lid, I jump when a loud screech comes from across the road.

I calm down when I realize its car tires a street away, but it did make my heart beat faster.

I hate living here, but I deal with it for Dad. He wanted to become a shop owner. It's only a small, food mart, but he loves it dearly. If he ever makes a lot of money with the store, I'll be sure to get us out of this place.

Where we live is on the outskirts of the City. Dad calls it the heart of his dream, and I call it the ghetto. A place I want to get away from—from the drugs, prostitution, theft, and murders.

It's a place I dreamt of leaving as soon as I turned eighteen last year, but now, at the age of nineteen, I know I'll never leave this place. My dream is gone. However, as long as I can make my father's dream come true, I'm satisfied.

In our neighborhood, we have two neighbors and the rest of the buildings are stores. I try not to think about how robbery could happen when we're gone in the day, or worse, when we sleep at night.

We've been robbed before. We used to move a lot before Dad got the money to rent his store.

I rub my hands together from the chilly air, seeing my breath in front of me. I stop thinking about the worse possible situations. I hurry inside, lock the front door, and pull the chair up underneath the doorknob for extra security.

Going around the house, I make sure all the windows are locked and the blinds are pulled.

When I'm finished, I go to my bedroom. I shut the door with a gentle kick with my foot and collapse on the mattress. It's too dark, but I have no way of changing that tonight.

Letting myself drift to sleep, I relax into the bed and close my eyes for the night.

𓆩・༺ ꔫ ༻・𓆪

"Vee, get up," I open my eyes. I see Dad standing over me with a cup of coffee and a wide grin on his face. "Time for work,"

I hate that line so much. I sit up, take the coffee cup from his hand, and sip the warm liquid to help wake me up.