Deserved

4.

ANDREA'S STORY......

The feeling of doubt gripped my stomach with such ferocity that I held onto the desk and reminded myself just why I was doing this. Something I had to repeat to myself every day, often more than once. This was my only chance to put food on the table and keep us alive, and being alive was something I'd never take for granted.

Never again.

I glanced down at the locket hanging around my neck, and could almost feel the arms of my little boy, wrapped around me, as he presented me with my favorite possession. Inside, was a picture of myself, a photo he'd taken at the traveling carnival, a rare treat we'd enjoyed just a year ago. The other, was a picture of my boy, Cyrus, grinning into the camera. Also a photo he'd taken. The angle of the shot made him look a little comical, but I loved how happy and fulfilled he looked here.

Almost like a normal kid.

Running my hand over the beveled pendant, I heard her footsteps and closed my eyes in anticipation. It had been a long time since I'd prayed to the God I used to trust in, but I wished for a good day. Average would work for me.

But the bile burning the back of my throat told the same story it did, every week day.

I asked myself everyday, how much longer I'd put up with working here, and the answer was always the same. Until something else came up. The recession meant that jobs around here were few and far between, and moving Cyrus again was not an option. This was his home, he had friends, a school he adored, and the beach nearby made for inexpensive days out, building sand castles and laying under the sun telling stories. He had a beautiful imagination, filled with tales of dragons, knights and princesses.

He was always my safe place. His richly spun stories lulled me as a lullaby might soothe a baby, and I often wished I could climb inside his mind and shelter there. In spite of all he'd been through, he remained this sunny, disaffected kid, always smiling and instantly lifting my spirits.

Sometimes I wondered whether it was for my benefit. I'd heard that kids are receptive, that they understand far more than we ever tell them. For his sake, I hope they are wrong.

He was, and is the air in my lungs.

And the reason why I put myself through all of this.

Vivienne Charlston slammed her Birkin handbag down onto my desk, so hard that the legs wobbled, and mine did too. She regarded me with coal black eyes, accentuated by thick, perfectly placed false eyelashes. At forty five years of age, she could quite easily pass as a thirty year old, or younger. Judging by the company she kept, even in this small town, guys my age lusted after her endless legs and perky surgically enhanced bosom. She ran her tongue over her top lip, always stained in a matte Scarlett lipstick and raised her eyebrows at me.

'I don't know why I bother. Humor me, Andrea. Tell me why I bother.'

As always, I had no idea what she was getting at, but I knew it was something I'd done, or said. It always was. There was that butter feeling in my throat again.

She rolled her eyes, impatience in her stance, her louboutin clad heel tapping the floor with agitation. Her assistant, Lisa Taylor entered the office at that moment.

Perfect timing.

As always.

'Viv told you three times yesterday that your attire needs.....addressing.'

Red faced, I looked down at my dark brown cardigan, cream shirt, and chocolate brown pencil skirt. They weren't designer brands. That much was obvious. But I'd purchased this outfit the day before, with money I barely had to spend, money I could have put towards heating our apartment for the winter. Or new shoes and school clothing for Cyrus. With blazing cheeks, I wondered whether this would get any easier. The feeling that you're not good enough, second rate, below everyone else.