Chapter 3- You Wouldn't Be Getting Anything
AVA~~
"Why are you still in this position?"
That voice. Cold. Familiar. Full of judgment.
The head maid.
I froze.
My heart dropped even deeper into my chest, and my body started to tremble again.
"Because… because I can't see."
My voice cracked as I sobbed, the words stumbling out of me like a broken prayer.
"Please don't call the Beta. Please… I swear I wasn't trying to bewitch anyone. I'm not doing anything wrong."
I was begging, crying so hard I could barely speak clearly. My whole body ached. My face was still wet—tears and blood mixing together.
"Please, I'll work faster. I'll never be slow again. Just… don't ruin me. Please don't do this to me."
But she said nothing.
Silence. Nothing but silence.
I couldn't see her face, couldn't read her expression. I was still on the floor, eyes shut tight against the stinging blood. My hands were sticky with it. My breathing came in shaky gasps.
Still… nothing.
I didn't even bother asking for a cloth. I knew she wouldn't offer me one. Not someone like her.
She already told me how much she hated me—how much she hated my kind. I didn't need another reminder.
So I just stayed there, quiet, waiting for her to finish whatever she came in for and leave.
Time passed like forever. Then I heard her footsteps.
She walked past me.
I heard the door creak open.
And then—
Click.
She was gone.
I stayed on the ground for a full minute, holding my breath, just to be sure she was really gone. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
Finally, I let out a shaky breath and tried to stand.
Tears still leaked from my closed eyes, mixing with the blood. I couldn't see anything—everything was just red, hot, and painful.
"Where am I even standing? How do I know where to go?"
This is the worst day of my life.
And the day wasn't even close to ending.
What if it gets worse than this?
I almost laughed at that thought—if I wasn't already choking on my own tears.
If things got worse than this… maybe I really would give up. Maybe dying would be better than feeling like this every single day.
I took a deep breath and moved carefully, trying to feel my way toward my old, torn bag. I had kept a spare change of clothes inside—something ugly and worn, but I didn't care. I just needed something to wipe the blood from my eyes.
Because right now, seeing was more important than anything.
But the moment I took my first step, pain shot through me.
"Ouch!"
I screamed as something sharp tore through my foot.
I'd stepped on one of the broken pieces from the plate that was thrown at me.
I bent forward, groaning, holding my foot.
"Moon Goddess… please," I whispered through clenched teeth. "Just… please."
I tried again, limping forward—just one more step.
And again—
Another piece. More pain.
"AAAH!" I screamed again, falling back.
"Why?! Why me?!"
I cried harder than I ever had. My hands were shaking.
"Who did I hurt? What did I do to deserve this? Why does it always have to be me?!"
I dropped to the floor again, shaking, covered in my own blood and tears.
I was tired.
So, so tired.
I didn't even care about dying anymore. Not if this was what living meant.
"What's the point of this life… if it only gives me pain?"
I curled up on the floor. Too tired to move.
Maybe if I died here, then… I'd finally have peace.
I kept asking myself the same question over and over as I cried. My voice was low, shaking with pain and sadness.
"Why me?"
I sat back down on the cold floor, right there in the middle of the blood, broken plates, and foam. At that moment, I didn't even care if another piece of plate pierced my skin again. Let it.
If the pain wanted to go deeper, then maybe it should. At least I'd feel something other than this emptiness inside me.
As I sobbed quietly, my hand slid across the floor, searching for something—anything.
Then suddenly, my fingers brushed against something rough and familiar. My breathing hitched.
It was my bag.
I wiped the tears off my cheeks as quickly as I could and fumbled to open it. My hands were still shaking, and it took a few tries, but I finally got it open and pulled out the ugly old cloth I had kept inside for changing after work.
I pressed it against my skin, wiping the thick, sticky blood off. It was already dried in some parts, but still slippery in others. The cloth turned red quickly. My forehead was sore, but at least the blood had stopped pouring.
I reached up, touched the spot gently—yes, it had stopped. I could open my eyes now, just a little.
I blinked a few times through the pain and forced myself to look around.
The floor was a mess.
Blood, shattered plate pieces, soap foam… everywhere. It looked like a crime scene, and I was the victim.
I stumbled to the small tap and washed my face properly this time, trying to get every drop of blood off. I washed my hands too, even though they were cut and stinging. The water made it worse, but I had to do it. I couldn't leave blood lying around. I knew how evil that woman was—she'd use any excuse to ruin me.
"My life is a mess," I whispered under my breath as I watched the blood swirl down the drain.
But crying wouldn't fix it.
I already knew I was doomed. Crying would just make it feel heavier, and honestly, I had cried enough for one day.
I cleaned up the floor. Every piece of that broken plate. Every drop of blood. I wiped, picked, and swept like my life depended on it.
When I finished, I tore a piece from my cloth and wrapped it around my palm and my foot to stop the bleeding.
Then, with a deep breath, I went back to the dishes.
The moment I dipped my hands into the soapy water, I let out a loud groan. The pain shot straight up my arm. The detergent felt like it was burning through my already broken skin.
I pulled my hand out fast, gripping my wrist and breathing through the pain.
Then I looked down at the dishes again.
I didn't have a choice. No one was going to save me. So I put my hand back in, even though it stung like fire. I bit down on my lip to stop myself from screaming.
This was my life.
And after all of this… after all this torture and hard work… I wouldn't even see a single coin from it.
Every payment would go straight to my uncle. He would pocket it, like always.
But at least… at least that meant he wouldn't bother me tonight. Since he had already gotten the money, maybe—just maybe—he wouldn't be in the mood to hit me or yell at me.
That was the only peace I could hope for.
I kept washing.
After what felt like forever, I finally finished. I wiped the sweat from my face and tried to stand.
But my legs gave out.
I dropped back down into the chair like my body had completely forgotten how to move. I was dizzy, weak, and every bone in my body screamed for rest.
But then the door opened again—and I shot up immediately.
Even though just seconds ago I couldn't stand, I forced myself to stand now.
The head maid stepped inside.
I bowed quickly and gave her a small, shaky smile.
"I'm done, ma," I said, my voice soft and tired.
She looked at me coldly. No smile. No kindness.
"Okay. You can go." Her voice was dry. Stern.
I opened my mouth to speak.
"But… but," I stammered.
"Wasn't I supposed to receive payment? To give to my uncle?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, you were." She folded her arms.
"But I don't think you'll be getting anything… after breaking the plate I told you to wash."