In a Split Second || BTS

Chapter 7

"I never told you to love her," George said with a far more kind tone, seeing how Auntie looked like she was on the verge of crying. "You simply need to take care of her until my family can take her in."

"How long will that be?" A self-satisfied smirk rose to her face, erasing all sadness. "You are poor as dirt, mon cher."

George's hand tightened on my shoulder. The pressure was uncomfortable, but I did not have the heart to shrug his hand off. "We will find a way to make ends meet. Until then, she is all yours." He ignored the rude manner in which Auntie rolled her eyes and knelt in front of me, taking my small, ten-year-old hands in his large ones.

"I will be back for you in a month when I can take care of you," he told me. "Do you think you can wait that long?"

I nodded. I was not sure if I could survive in such an unfamiliar place with a woman I have only seen a few times in my life, but I knew he was doing the best he can.

"She does not even speak French," Auntie spat. "She will be a disgrace to the family."

George fixed Auntie with a threatening glare. "Then you will teach her French and ensure that she has everything she needs to live a comfortable life. Are we understood?"

Auntie scoffed. "If you are trying to intimidate me, it is not working. I will take the brat, but I would like to make it clear I am not getting paid enough for this." Her hand lashed out and grabbed my wrist suddenly, yanking me into the villa. I almost tripped on the doorstep but caught myself.

"Bye, kid. Remember I'll be back in–" George was cut off as the door slammed shut in front of him.

"Hello, Auntie," I said shyly.

"Do not 'hello'," she ordered in broken English. "Sylvie will show room."

"Thank you, Auntie."

She huffed and stormed back into the kitchen where I saw her dicing peppers through the window earlier. The meal she was cooking looked quite delicious.

"Room," Sylvie told me, pointing to a drab room in the basement no larger than a small office. "Bed. Closet. Desk."

"Thank you, Sylvie." She left, and I examined my surroundings closer. So, this was to be my home until George came to get me. I thought I could make it work. A hopeful smile lightened my small, innocent features. Yes, I would make it work.

To make a long story short, George never came back for me. He wrote letters every few months or so explaining his difficult financial situation, and how they could never quite make ends meet. Eventually, the expense of sending letters became too much for his family to afford, so I never heard from him again.

Living with Auntie was a nightmare come to life. It would have been a blessing to be kicked out if the circumstances hadn't been so difficult.

Two years after I moved in with my aunt, I ended up wandering through the streets of Lyon, tucking my worn, grey jacket around my petite frame. The snow beat down on my head like sheets of ice, but the children of the town were laughing merrily, building snowmen and having snowball fights. The three boys silenced themselves as I walked past them on the sidewalk. I offered a shy smile, and their eyes widened in fear before they ran back into the house. Their mother emerged, the dangerous glint of anger and hatred in her eyes.

"You stay away from my house and my children, or I will call the police, Cherisse Williamson!" she screeched.

"Yes, madame, I apologize." I quickly hurried through the frostbitten streets to the narrow alleyway – the only place that provided shelter for me. I sunk against the dirty cobblestone wall and buried my head in my hands. If I wasn't alive, would the world be happier? Is that what they want – for me to die, just like my parents and grandparents? Twelve years old was far too young to be having these thoughts, but at this moment, I wondered if the world would be better off if I ceased to exist.