For Want of Freedom

Your One Part

Anyway, I'm not even being sold to One Direction (not that they're still around, but I loved them so SO much when I was younger and even read fanfictions about this very scenario!)! Or any cute boy band! Or even a cute boy in general! This is just some woman! Some random woman!

"This is Mrs. Musso."

"Hello, nice to meet you." I practically snapped my back as I suddenly straightened up and extended a hand out to the woman. She grasped my hand and we managed a hardy handshake.

Mrs. Musso? So this woman is apparently Mitchel Musso's real life mother!

Suddenly I'm okay with being sold.

Except not really.

Because WHY am I being sold? This was a question that was on my mind for the entire selling process.

Anyway, that happened. After more handshakes and signing papers and such, I was officially sold off and had some ankle bracelet slapped on me. I left the house I grew up in and said goodbye to my mom for the last time. While I wasn't being adopted into the Musso family, I was moved over there. The Musso Mansion would be my new home for the foreseeable future.

To sum it up, that morning was different from all the rest. It was a morning I could never forget, yet also one I couldn't even fully recount because of all the stress it caused. Basically, I woke up to my mom's one plate of food for herself and, next thing I knew, I was sold. Just like that! Sold off.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"And that about sums it up." I sighed, sweeping the floors with a partially broken broom.

"Okay......" SLURP

"What? You're not gonna, like, REACT?" I snapped at the man in front of me. It was the son of the woman who purchased me. Mitchel Musso. He was drinking some blue slushy that he had clearly brought from some 7-Eleven.

I only just met him. Mitchel Musso. Somebody I had loved and admired. This was my new life. Ever since that morning, I've been in this house hoping to at least find some hidden gem in this filthy situation (filthy because I'm basically a maid here, well no, quite frankly, I'm more like a slave). I've been here for one week so far. One full week: seven straight days. Today is the first time I'm really reflecting on the events of that morning. It's something I thought about every now and then, but this was my first time recounting the events like this (to the best of my abilities because, again, stress made it kinda hard for me to recount it...). And all because...

"You asked me why I'm here. That's why I'm here! That's my story! Why aren't you reacting to it??"