The morning arrived, and I woke up with a throbbing headache. I'm not entirely sure why, but I assume my lack of sleep has something to do with it. Glancing to my right, I see Bekah still sound asleep.
I check the time on my kid's watch and see that it's 4:10 AM. We are late. "Bekah? Bekah, wake up! We need to clean up before five, it's already four."
She shifts slightly and mumbles some incoherent words. Seriously? I shake her firmly while quietly urging her to wake up. After ten frustrating minutes, she finally wakes. This is such a waste of time. I hate being late.
"Good morning," she mumbles to me whilst rubbing her eyes. I scoff in response. She looks up at me.
"Get up, we need to clean up, we are already late." She grimaces but gets to her feet anyway. We begin clearing the area, stowing away our torn foam mattresses in our hiding place.
I walk over to the factory's back door and unlock it using a hair pin I once stole from an oblivious, spoiled lady. Just thinking about it made me chuckle, because she was one of those dim-witted ones.
After unlocking the door, I push it open and we step inside, down the short hallway and making a sharp left turn.
I push open the double doors to the bathrooms, and I immediately head to the girls' restrooms to check for any potential threats before leaving Rebekah to take her bath.
I couldn't afford any risks, not after what happened the last time. The memory still sent a jolt of cold fury through me. A lewd man, eyes glazed with a sickening intent, had been searching frantically in the girls' restrooms.
He had found Rebekah there, vulnerable, exposed while she was trying to wash up. He had tried to grope her. Thank God she screamed. I had reached them just as his hand tightened around her small neck. Let's just say he is no longer a threat to anyone else.
The factory workers, with their convenient blindness, believe he was just another homeless man who had broken in and 'accidentally' turned on the machinery, meeting a gruesome death in the shredder. You don't want to see that. The image still makes me shudder.
I make my way to the men's bathrooms and take my bath as well. Even without any soap to wash away the dirt, I'd prefer to clean up with just water than smell foul. I'm a different kind of beggar.
After we finish our baths, we hurry to the breakfast cafe that typically opens at seven in the morning, their peak hour is usually at 7:30. Since we arrived at 7:49, it means we've missed the wealthy crowd. Damnit.
I let out a sigh as we settle down between the cafe and the bakery. My headache has intensified, and the irritation I'm feeling today isn't easing it.
"Are you okay? You look tense and you've been massaging your temples since we sat down." I sigh again.
"Yeah, I'm good. Just a headache." She nods her head and scans the area for any benefactors.
"I've been thinking, Eli..."
"....Since when?" I cut in, the words sharper than intended.
She glares at me for cutting her short. "Let's try that again, shall we? So I was thinking.... can I pay for my tutoring now?" I turn to her, a frown creasing my forehead.
"Tutoring with whom exactly?"
"Mr. Anders....."
"No!" I reply sharply. The word exploded from me, harsh and immediate that I didn't even have time to process it.
"What? Why?" She whines, her voice laced with disappointment
"Because I don't trust him. I don't like him either, and I know for a fact that he doesn't know shit about anything. Besides, you have me. I've been tutoring you, haven't I? Am I not good enough for you, huh?"
"No! Of course not," she squeaked in embarrassment. "You are good, but I just thought I could go to someone who knows a lot more than you and is more experienced."
I turn fully towards her, pointing a firm finger at Rebekah, my face void of any emotions. "Listen to me very carefully Bekah, don't trust or put your faith in everyone that comes to you with a smile, do you understand? Some may smile, but when you are young, you can't always interpret their feelings... behind their grins."
" But..."
"Don't interrupt me, Rebekah!" I shout at her, "You are not allowed to be tutored by anyone else, until I give you permission. Do. You. Understand?"
She nodded quickly, her eyes wide and a little frightened. She draws her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.
With her chin resting on her knees and her gaze directed downwards, she murmurs, "sorry." I rub my throbbing temple, and let out another sigh.
I look away from her, my gaze drifting to the sidewalk ahead, where I notice some frowns, pitying looks and scoffs from passerbys.
Oh well, fuck them, they know nothing of the life we live on the streets and they never care to learn, so they had no right to judge me or my makeshift parenting skills.
My own upbringing had been a strange mix of privilege and neglect. Practically raised by my nanny, Ms. Nelson, a strong, Black woman whose memory I still cherished.
My parents had been perpetually absent, their lives consumed by work, leaving a void where their attention should have been.
Ms. Nelson, bless her soul, had been strict, her lessons often delivered with a no-nonsense firmness. She had drilled into me the importance of self-reliance.
Even during those lonely times when I yearned for my parents' affection, she had taught me to stand on my own.
"What if they died today, do you think people would rush to take care of you?" She'd often say, her voice grave. "No, they wouldn't, because they know their only source of money is dead."
Another one of her wise words echoed in my mind: "Do not reveal your weaknesses to anyone, they'll only be used against you" or "Don't flaunt wealth that isn't yours, earn your own first before showing it off."
And the one lesson etched most vividly, delivered with the sting of a leather belt, "Do. Not. Be. A. Bully. At home. Or at school. You never know who might get you out of your troubles because, once you are on the streets everyone will view you as trash.
On the streets it's survival of the fittest. If you are weak then death is waiting to embrace you in the most cruel way."
The memory of that whipping still made me shudder. It had followed an incident where I had bullied a classmate, my parents' status at the time shielding me from any real consequences at school.
Ms. Nelson had been summoned by the boy's parents, and her subsequent fury had been terrifying. I had been forced to write a full-page apology and drop my pride to kneel before the boy, begging for forgiveness, or face another, more severe punishment at home.
A soft sniffle beside me yanked me back to the present. I know Bekah is upset, but I can't afford to indulge her feelings. She needed to learn, and sometimes the lessons had to be hard.
This harsh reality was the only armor I could give her against the brutal realities of the streets. Rebekah had no idea the lengths I go to protect her.
That man, Anders, his eyes slick with a disturbing interest whenever he looked at her. I could sense something was off about him. Then had come the whispers, hushed and chilling, about his past, about how he had groomed a ten-year old.
I couldn't let that happen to Bekah. She wasn't my blood, not my responsibility in the traditional sense, but I raised and nurtured her to this stage. I would do anything in my power to protect her. Anything at all.