~*~
She pushed the shiny key into the silver lock, so at contrast with the rusty metal door. She banged the door open and stepped into the dim, damp apartment. Clothes were draped across the couch like throw-on blankets and her mother was probably passed out asleep in her room. She walked across the living room, cautiously avoiding the empty beer bottles and cigarette butts on the floor.
After going in her room and plopping on her bed, she took out the wallet from her hoodie and began to count the money. First hundreds, then fifties, then twenties; the money just piled in a neat, thick stack in the wallet, coming to a total of six-hundred-thirty-seven dollars and eighty-three cents. Enough to pay for two months of rent and a little extra. There was two credit cards which she couldn’t use, an ATM card and numerous gift cards which she would. Of course, her mother, if that is what she must be called, would want money for drugs and beer, so she had to hide it all.
She pulled up her mattress and found the crude pocket she cut and sew herself back when she was thirteen. She stuffed the full wallet into the pocket and tied the string to it shut, then put the mattress back. She lay on the bed for a couple minutes before forcing herself to stand, wash up and get to school. As she was opening the creaky front door to the apartment, she was interrupted by a bang and heavy footsteps. She turned and was greeted by the sight of her mother, right in front of her, reeking of mixed perfume, sweat and vodka.
“I’ve got a hangover. Get me some Advil and where’s the money? Jim needs to borrow some cash,” her mother slurred, holding her hands to head.
“I don’t have any money and Jim can go screw himself. Advil’s in the cabinet, you’ve got two hands, use them,” she snapped then turned to the door.
She was half way out when her mother’s hazy mind comprehended all of what she said.
“May! Don’t speak to me! All I sacrificed for you and this is how you treat me! Where are you going anyway?”
She ignored her and kept walking.
