(Disclaimer: This chapter includes a past experience for Seri/Leia that some viewers may find uncomfortable. It includes certain scenes of child abuse and substance abuse. Since this is a comedy/light novel, I tried to tone it down to the best of my ability.)
I opened my eyes and saw a familiar ceiling overhead. It had several spots of watermarks from the leaking roof. I looked at my thin and old ripped blankets. When I looked around my room, it didn't contain anything else except the familiar smell of mold. If one looked at this room, they would know it wasn't habitable for a human, let alone a child.
This was my childhood room. My real one. This was one of my earliest memories. I didn't know how old I was, but I knew I was too young.
I got out of bed and held my head whimpering. I had a fever for several days now, but today it was especially bad. I went to the sink and splashed my face.
I looked up at my reflection and saw a small girl with dark brown hair and brown eyes. I had a bruised eye and a cracked lip. My throat was so dry it burned.
I walked out of the bathroom and went into the kitchen. When I opened the fridge, it was almost entirely empty. I shut it and grabbed a glass from the cupboard and stood on my toes to reach the sink. I poured a glass of water and drunk it quickly.
It always had a bit of a metallic taste, but today it was even worse. I was so thirsty I didn't even care. I grabbed a slice of bread and picked around the mold. I sat at the table and munched on the bread. My stomach wasn't feeling the best, but I knew I had to eat something.
When I finished, I checked the time and walked over to my mother's room. I poked my head into the doorway and saw her combing her raspy brown hair and humming. She puffed from her cigarette as she looked at her reflection.
I spoke timidly, "Mama... I'm not feeling good."
She spoke with the cigarette still in her mouth, "Why the f*ck do I care?"
I looked down, "Well I think it's getting worse. Maybe I should see a doctor."
"F*ck that. I'm not paying for a godd*mn quack to tell you the obvious. Just go the f*ck away already. I need to get ready."
"Where are you going?"
She continued getting ready and sprayed on too much perfume. I wrinkled my nose at the intense smell. She spoke still frowning, "I have a godd*mn date. What business is it of yours?"
"Oh... Sorry..."
"Yeah. Now get outta my face before you really piss me off."
I turned to leave and heard her say, "You best not be out when we come home if you know what's good for you."
"Yes mama..."
I went back to my room and laid down. My body temperature soon fluctuated between hot and cold. I could barely stay awake and soon fell asleep. When I woke up once more, my body felt so awful it made several tears roll down my face. All I wanted was to be held and comforted.
I whimpered, "Mama... Mama... Please help me... I don't feel well..."
I saw her walk past the room without even paying me any attention. I held out my hands, "Please Mama... Please..."
However my cries went unanswered. She flung her purse over her shoulder and walked out, slamming the door behind her.
I sat with my arms outstretched still whimpering. My hand fell onto the bed. I made a fist and slammed it down. I don't need her help. I got up and shuffled over to the medicine cabinet.
When I opened it, there were several prescription pill bottles that my mother took even though they weren't intended for her. I grabbed a bottle of generic pain killers and took some. I put it back and drunk them down with water.
After laying down in bed some more, I started feeling a bit better. Now I could tell I was hungry. I went back to the kitchen and grabbed out the package of hotdogs. There was only one left but that was all I needed.
I grabbed a chair and pushed it up to the stove. The buttons were on the top, too far for me to reach without a step stool of some kind. I filled a pot of water and put in the last hotdog. I waited for it to finish and reached over to turn off the stove.
As I reached, I fell forward and tried to catch myself, but ended up touching the hot stove top with my hand. I screamed and pulled it away. While pulling it away, my elbow smacked the pot and sent it crashing to the ground.
I looked down at my hands to see blisters forming. I rushed over to the sink, careful not to step in the boiling hot water, and turned it on. I whimpered as the cold water rushed over my hands.
I knew I had to dress it, but the medicine cabinet didn't have any bandages. I put on ointment and grabbed an old shirt to wrap around it.
I returned to the mess I had caused and sighed. That was the only food left other than moldy bread. I picked up the hotdog on the floor and shrugged. I started nibbling on it.
"Still better than moldy bread." I sighed and tried to cheer myself up, "One day, I will be rich. Then I won't have to cook food. I can have my own cook make me anything I want."
After I cleaned everything up, I returned to my room. I fell back asleep and woke up from hearing a commotion from the living room. I rubbed my eyes and winced at the pain on my hand.
I could hear my mother's loud laughter. Maybe she was in a good mood. I opened my door and spoke, "Mama... I burnt my hand earlier. Can you take a look at it?"
Her head bobbed up from the couch and I saw an unknown man underneath her. Her once happy face turned sour.
The man looked at her in anger, "Did she just call you Mama?!"
She smiled at him and shook her head, "No, no. You heard wrong."
He sat up and forced her off, "You have kids?! You didn't tell me that! I'm not interested in a b*tch with kids!"
My mother shook her head and pulled an innocent face, "She's not my kid. I told you baby. I don't have kids."
My mother glared at me, "Go back to your room." I hesitated. She grabbed a glass and chucked it at me. I dodged it and heard it shatter against the wall. She screamed, "NOW!"
I ran back into my room and shut the door. I leaned up against it and started whimpering. In my rush, I had bumped my bad hand. It still burned as if it was on fire. I sat on the ground and stared at my hand.
I could hear the man on the other side of the door still arguing with my mother. "If you don't have kids then why was she calling you Mama?"
"She's just confused, baby. She's too young to understand. She's my sister's kid. She's just staying here while her mom's at work."
I hugged my knees and sighed. My mother didn't have a sister.
He spoke in a gruff voice, "I don't need this. I'm leaving."
She shouted after him, "Fine! Leave! See if I care." She slammed the door and chuckled. "Dumba** didn't even know his wallet was missing. Heh. Only 120? What the hell. Oh well, the night's still young. I will just go back and find another."
I sighed once more. My mother was always stealing drunk guys wallets from the bar. She would always return them without them ever noticing. If she wanted to convince you of something, she could. In short, she was a con artist in more ways than one.
I unbandaged my hand and looked at my burnt hand. It was still very inflamed and painful. I was about to start sobbing again, but shook my head. I made a fist and repeated my mantra.
"I will get rich. When I'm rich, I won't have to worry about this. I won't have to worry about my mother or anyone else."
After I heard my mother leave, I walked out and made sure she was actually gone. I grabbed the broom and started sweeping up the glass. I winced from the pain in my hand, but tried to ignore it.
After I threw it away, I went into the bathroom to look at my hand. There wasn't any ointment left so I tossed it to the side. I went to my mother's special cabinet and pulled out a glass of clear liquor.
I took it to the sink and poured it over my hand. I yelped at the shock of pain. I bit my lip as I continued to pour it over. I redressed my hand and laid back down in bed.
I turned to my side and sighed. The house was so quiet, I couldn't help but feel lonely. I stared at my hand and wished that there was someone there to hold it.