Ava's POV:
"Av," Winnie said. "Mind if we have a chat?" She looks at everyone. "Privately?"
"Sure," I respond.
Winnie leaned against the wall and took out a pack of cigarettes, "Want one?"
I shook my head, "I told you. I'm quitting."
She removes one from the pack.
"And you should too."
Winnie lay it between her lips and lit it up, "What can I say? Old habits die hard." She exhales the smoke and rests her head against bricks. "You know, I've been smoking since I was twelve. Found it in my mom's purse. She always lit one after her boss beat her."
"And your reasoning?"
"I like to smoke when he beats her."
"No one likes to smoke."
"But, they do enjoy the aftermath."
"Lung cancer?"
"The shorter aftermath."
"It's only temporary."
"A temporary means of escape-" She took another inhalation, "is better than no escape."
"How did you guys get into this?" There's no point in running around the situation; it'll only waste time.
Winnie ran her tongue across her cheek and rested a leg against the wall. "My mom wasn't born here. She was from another country," she said. "Mom got sold to a man here, and that's how we end up in the states." Winnie looks at me, "You know, like one of those foreign brides."
"Your dad wasn't a good man?"
Winnie shook her head, "A man who purchased a woman to be his wife. I believe with just that; he's expelled from the good man group." She took another inhalation, "It turns out the marriage was a shame. They weren't legally married, and daddy dearest went to prison. The government took pity, so they allowed us to stay here as long as mom has a job. That was the deal."
"And how did you two end up in that house?"
"Mom became a janitor, and well, life was rough. I mean, you saw my mom before." Winnie's mom is beautiful. That's a fact. Beautiful, intelligent, but uneducated - a lethal blow. "So, at her old company, she met her current boss. One thing leads to another; the wife agreed to let my mom be a maid in their lavish house."
"Wife?"
Winnie nods, "The husband would work, and the wife would tour the world. She doesn't care about my mom as long as she knows her place." Winnie smirk, "You know, as the gold digger of the household."
Winnie threw down the finished cigarette and crushed the fire with her shoes. She looks at me, "Times like this, people would've said something on the line of: I'm sorry this happened to you."
I cross my arms and lean back, "Empty apologies won't do anything."
"How about: I met your mom before. Your mom isn't that type of woman."
I chuckle, "Then, I would be lying." I turn my head, "You know your mom best."
Winnie cracked into an uneven laugh, "You're right. If you did say that, you would be a liar. My mom is a fucking gold digger."
It's apparent the reason why Winnie's mom decided to stay with the abuser. It's the lifestyle. Winnie's mom enjoys the lavish life. I met Winnie's mom before; her hands are too soft to be someone's maid.
The title maid is carved on her records for show - a mere reminder from the wife that she will never be replaced.
"So, tell me," I said. "What are you going to do next?"
Winnie shrugs, "What can a minor do?"
"Tattle tell?"
"So, my mom can go to jail?" Her nails tap against the brick wall, "You're smarter than that, Av. You know, even if I did file a case against the man. He would've hired a good lawyer, probably pay a fine, and boom - he's a free man again."
I exhale softly at her words. I couldn't even tell her that's not true because it is. Men with his type of wealth are always privileged.
"And my mom?" She laughs bitterly, "She'll probably be deported back for fraud." Winne rests her head against the bricks, "I need a smoke."
"You need a break."
The edge of her lips tilt upward, "That would be nice too." Winnie exhales softly, "One more year, right?"
"Winnie. You know I hate being-"
"Burst my bubble," she said. Winnie probably knows me better than I know myself.
"Even if you are 18, how are you going to get out?"
"Go to college?"
"With whose help?"
Winnie stays quiet.
"Your mom?" I ask.
We both know her mom didn't save any money for her.
"Your mom's boss?"
That'll never happen.
Winnie kicks a rock, "Get a job. I guess."
"And then what?" I question. "You want to get a 9-5 job and be stuck with that your whole life?"
"Then, what do you think I should do!" She burst out. "Get a fucking scholarship?" Winnie laughs, the tears emerge from the corner of her eyes, "Look at me, Av. I'm stupid. I'm academically stupid." Winnie shook her head, "And the fucking government won't give me any money. My whole shamed life is too privileged for it. My whore of a mother spends as if there's no tomorrow with her close to a six-figure income, and she's a fucking maid!"
There it is, the outburst.
I stood there and listened to Winnie vent. I know she needs it. Though I do admit, it did hurt when she said particular stuff about me, though.
With each day in the past, the emotions I believe were gone only pushes back in. And it's a scary thing to allow it to return.
With a single blink, I returned to reality and watched the young girl in front of me. I would see it in her eyes first, the ones that are consistently covered by her lids. It's as if she continually closes them to prevent people from entering.
Her fists stayed firmly by her sides, and the backpack slid towards the ground. Her damaged words steadily became gibberish.
The school bell had rung long ago, and I knew there was no returning to class.
It doesn't matter, though.
This is more important.
And finally, when Winnie opens her teary eyes. It showed the scars from inside.
The girl who was taught to be strong, but only on the outside. Inside, she was starved of love.
But, once she received it, she didn't know what to do with it. And so, she got afraid, and she pushed the comfort away.
Maybe, that's why she dated shitty guys like Landon. Unconsciously, she knew they weren't the best partner and so they won't be able to provide the love she craves.
That's safe for her.
She won't get hurt.
She won't get scared.
Scared that one day, the love may pack up and walk out.
I dropped the backpack on the ground and embraced Winnie firmly. Another round of tears burst into my shoulder, "I'm sorry for saying all those stuff about you, Ava. I-I-" her chest rises and drops dramatically, "I just don't know what to do. I just don't know anymore."
It's difficult to see the pain beneath her mask, but past it, you can see her soul had been drowning in this persona that she carved.
One word can sum it all up.
She's desperate.
Desperate for her mother's love. It's there - maybe. But, she doesn't know whether or not her mother kept her because she wanted to or because she had to do it.
Winnie is a citizen; the country won't deport her.
Winnie's mother is another case.
Then, there's the abuser.
I'm sure Winnie can sense it. The predator is breathing behind her neck. Each day, he's lurking closer and closer to her until her mother no longer satisfied him.
And she's scared.
But what can she do?
File a lawsuit?
Well, I can see how it all turns out.
Just like what Winnie said.
He will hire a good lawyer, and well, somehow, it will become Winnie's mom's fault. And Winnie? She'll be in foster care for a year.
Doesn't sound like a big deal, right?
Then, how's the thought of losing your reputation, your only family member, and a place to live in sounds?
There's always the rebuttal: "At least she got away from the abuser."
Well, there's a bit of optimism.
But, how does getting withdrawn from a familiar situation and thrown into an unfamiliar situation sound?
The orphanage is in another town.
Most likely, Winnie will be transferred there - away from everything she had known.
A burst of the bubble.
People who never lived in her shoes don't understand the stress that's crushing her.
Even I don't.
Perhaps, that's why I've been walking on eggshells around Winnie.
Unlike the past, I couldn't blame my youth for the ignorance.
But what can I do?
Despite having the brain of a full-grown woman, I'm still a minor—someone who can't do anything without my parent's support.
With my power, I know I can't fight it.
I won't.
It'll take a toll on me to do so the best I can offer is to spread my arms and allow her head to rest against my shoulder. Allow the water to stain my shirt and pretend her violent words didn't hurt me.