Tangled Poor Heart

CHAPTER 1

I will end your life if you don’t stop with this childishness.

I won’t care if we are related.

No one crosses me and survives it, you should know that by now.

If you prioritize the life of your stupid daughter and yours, let my sleeping lion lie, don’t disturb me.

Let go of the properties!

“Sim, when you’re leaving, can you help me empty the trash bags? They are beginning to smell.”

Mrs. Clinton says from the kitchen, bringing me back to the present moment of me standing in her living room, leaving my daughter with her as usual for babysitting.

“It’s Cyn!”

I want to correct her about my name for the umpteenth time, but the words of my uncle from the previous night resonates deeply in my mind that Mrs. Clinton’s mistake is the least of my worries.

“Okay, I will.” I reply mindlessly.

But I am still disturbed. My uncle isn’t taking the issue between us lightly again. All I want to do is get back the rightful inheritance my dead parents left behind for me, but he is making it hard. He has been in charge of my family’s riches ever since my parents died. So now he feels entitled to them, despite the fact that they belong to me.

He isn’t even considering the fact that my daughter and I are living in complete wretchedness, a life that I have to subject myself to the constant mocking of Mrs. Clinton which she loves to mask with a lifeless smile as she bosses me around, while I have no choice than to dance to her tune because she’s the only neighbor I can leave my baby girl with while I go out to work for the night.

I just wish my uncle will be kind enough to give me some of the properties, even if it is just a little. That will make my life better. But nothing seems to be working in my favor. I know I will just have to keep subjecting myself to bossy people like Mrs. Clinton to get around my problems.

So with a bright smile plastered on my face, I pick up the two fully stacked trash bags she had prepared for me to carry while bidding my farewell to her and Anabel.

“Thank you again, Mrs. Clinton. I don’t know what I would have done without you,” I say with a bright smile.

“Anything for a friend, Simp. Lest I forget, I hope I wouldn’t be asking for too much if I ask you to help me get some laundry from the supermarket while coming back. I think I just ran out of it,” Mrs. Clinton says with a smile plastered on her face.

Again, I feel my blood boil from her intentional insults. She knows my name is Cynthia, but she just loves calling me whatever whenever she wants to boss me around because she knows I have no choice than to accept it.

“Now, she resolves to Simp?”

I want to tell her the piece of my mind, but I am smart enough not to let it out as I plaster a fake smile on my face while nodding to her request.

Without uttering another word, I look at the little girl beside her with a bright and genuine smile, Anabel. She looks back at me with the most adorable smile that keeps me going in life.

“Bye, Mommy!” My three-year-old girl says with a bright smile.

“Bye, baby. I will be back as soon as I can,” I reply to her with a big smile.

She is my whole world. She is the only reason I keep being strong despite the heart-wrenching disappointment I get on a daily basis. Her smile is enough to get me to forget being treated unfairly by people as I hog Mrs. Clinton’s trash bags and make my way outside.

As I dump the trash bags into the can outside, I try to straighten my crumpled shirt with my little hands. Although it doesn’t seem to work no matter how hard I try to smoothen the wrinkles away.

Knowing that I am getting nowhere with it, I pick up my tote bag and start hurrying down to my destination. I fast-walk to my place of work, Mooney’s, and push open its creaky wooden door. It’s already 5 pm, so the bar is gradually coming to life. The place is almost full of young adults that feel that getting drunk will miraculously solve their problems.

The Mooney’s is designed to exude warmth and intimacy. The air carries the faint scent of aged oak, leather, and a hint of pipe tobacco. The dim light emanates from an assortment of hanging filament bulbs that softly dangle from the exposed rafters above. Each bulb, swathed in a golden hue, casts mesmerizing patterns on the unevenly hewn wooden tables below.

A wave of nostalgia washes over me, transporting me to times when I made some good memories in this place. That is partially one of the reasons why I choose to work in this bar over other better job offers I have been getting.

I look over to the table at the far end of the bar, the table that holds the best memories of my life. How I wish I can return to that moment. A moment when my worries can easily be lifted away by a bright smile from him. But I know fantasizing about it will not make it happen again, especially not when I haven’t seen him in four years. So I just make my way to the shelves, hoping that one day, he will walk into the place majestically, ecstatic to know that I am still waiting for him to come back.

Behind the bar, the shelves are lined with an impressive array of amber liquids contained in vintage glass bottles. My best friend, Beatrice, is already clad in classic waistcoats and a bow tie, waving me over to get dressed before my boss notices I am late for the umpteenth time.

“Cyn, you’re late again,” Beatrice says with a tired smile.

“Thanks for covering for me, Tris,” I appreciate it.

“It’s no big deal,” Beatrice says before she continues.

“Lest I forget, that lawyer of yours has been waiting impatiently for you at table 4.”

I look over at table four where I see the familiar face of my lawyer, Mr. Aiden. He looks disoriented and disturbed as he taps his feet impatiently on the hard floor, looking around for something keenly until his eyes land on me. He quickly signals for me to come over, and I wonder what could have gone wrong.

“Mr. Aiden?” I ask with confusion.

“Cynthia, why didn’t you tell me that the person I am going up against in court is Jacobs Smith? The one and only Jacobs Smith is the uncle you want me to sue?” he asks fearfully as a bead of sweat forms on his forehead.

“s**t! I tried to prevent this.”

“It shouldn’t be a big deal, right?” I ask unsurely, knowing that I sound crazy.

“Are you kidding me? Jacobs Smith owns the biggest gang in Cape Town and you don’t think to inform me about this beforehand? The court session is tomorrow and I am just finding out now?” Mr. Aiden screams at me, turning almost all the heads in the bar at our table.

“Mr. Aiden, calm down. I think you are overreacting. He cannot do anything to you in the courthouse. I really need to get my rightful inheritance from him. Please look at the bright side here. I will pay you handsomely if we win this case.”

I plead with him, but deep down, I know my apologies aren’t going to work again. He is the fifth lawyer I have been trying to get on my case, but the moment they all know who my uncle is, they bail on me. And honestly, I cannot blame them. Who wouldn’t run from danger as notorious as my uncle?

“I choose to prioritize my life over money. I am going to drop all charges against him. Find another lawyer to do your bidding,” Mr. Aiden says as he angrily storms out of the bar.

I sigh defeated as I slump on the chair. I cannot do this again. It is like trying to fight a battle but getting nowhere with it. I feel tears close to my eyes until a deep calm voice interrupts me.

“If you won’t call me nosy, I know someone who can help you.” A man, looking dapper in his beautifully crafted tuxedo, says to me with a calm smile.

No doubt, he is another rich entitled playboy trying all his possible best to get in my pants. This isn’t the first time something like this will happen. I work in a bar after all. But the typical me will never be rude, so I look up at him politely.

“Erm, who are you?”

He looks down at me with the most beautiful yet sinister smile I have ever seen as he says the word.

“Alex!”