Rays of light crept through the uncovered part of the window as I woke from my drug-induced sleep. For years now, I haven't been able to sleep without pills. The nightmares never stop—endless and painful, so vivid it feels like I'm still trapped in that horrible place. The stench, the cries of the tortured—it's unbearable.
I drag myself out of bed and start getting ready for work. I'm a full-time babysitter for a rich family. It's not that I couldn't get a better job; the truth is, I can't. Life didn't turn out the way it was supposed to. I only managed to finish high school. College was never an option after my stepdad drained the college fund my mom had left for me.
So, long story short, I couldn't afford college. I spent the years after that waiting tables at a bar just to survive.
I finish my morning routine and have breakfast—if you can even call it that. Money is tight. Rent, groceries, bills—everything adds up. Even my wardrobe had to be cut down to the bare minimum. Luckily, that problem fixed itself.
Where I work, Lisa—their teenage daughter—is almost my age. I'm twenty-one, practically. She usually gives me her clothes once she gets "tired" of them, which apparently means wearing them only once. But hey, who am I to complain? I always end up with good stuff, and at least I don't look like I shop at a lost-and-found department store.
I take the bus to work, then walk a few blocks to the house.
The moment I step inside, the madam of the house comes straight at me.
Mary—that's her name. She's actually kind when she wants to be, but most of the time she wears a permanent poker face.
"You're late, Mia."
"I'm sorry, Mary. I had a problem on the way," I say.
She scoffs. "Yeah, I bet you overslept and came up with that lame excuse to cover for it."
If only she knew the only time I ever get decent sleep is when I'm drunk enough to pass out. I stay silent. I'm not in the mood for an argument today. Seeing the conversation is going nowhere, she walks away and leaves me to do my job.
I head straight to Abby's room. She's their eight-year-old daughter—and easily the cutest, most loving child I've ever met. She makes my life feel less boring, less lonely. When I walk in, she's already getting ready to go swimming.
"Mimi!" she squeals, running toward me.
I spread my arms just in time to catch her hug.
"I was waiting for you so we could go to the pool!" she says, bouncing up and down.
I love her, but she's a full package—sometimes too much. She's bursting with energy from morning till evening, only shutting down at bedtime. That's when I tuck her in, sing her a song, and read her a story. Her parents are always busy, though they try—occasionally—to make time for her.
Abby practically drags me to the pool. We spend the whole afternoon there, with me watching her like a hawk. When she finally gets bored of swimming, we head back inside so she can shower and change. After that, I help her with her homework—even though it's summer break. She still has schoolwork packets she needs to finish.
While we work, I keep leaving to grab snacks—milk, cookies, chocolate. I carry most of it myself since Abby isn't allowed that much sugar.
Evening rolls around, and I start gathering my things to leave when Madame summons me to the kitchen.
Of course. My day couldn't end peacefully.
When I walk in, Mary has her back turned, talking on the phone. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I slow my steps, listening.
I'm not surprised to hear she's talking to Abby's mother.
"I see… I'll ask her to stay for the night since I can't… Yes, I will… I'll pass on the message. Goodbye."
I straighten up just as the call ends.
Mary turns to me. "Mia, I know you probably had other plans tonight, but something came up. I have to leave, and Lisa isn't home. There's no one to watch Abby for the night."
I already know how this ends.
And just like that, I realize I won't be going home tonight.