Break and Enter
The hunger curled in the pit of her stomach, sending dull pain throbbing through her abdomen. Kara clutched her belly as she peaked around the corner of the little house. The pain of hunger had become very familiar to her and yet was never any less painful.
She bit her lower lip in concentration as she listened for anyone approaching, knowing very well that whenever anyone caught her, there was often hell to pay. Not that she cared, having had her life long ago turned into hell anyway. She might as well get a sandwich out of it.
Nervously, she glanced back at the dark woods behind her, her untamed black hair whipping around in the wind as she did so. The wind howled around her, making it more difficult for her to hear anything inside the little house.
Bitter past experiences had taught her that running blindly into any situation was a recipe for cops and prison and at just twenty-three years of age, it really was the last thing she wanted.
Worse than cops was if they called her father. Chills crept down her back at the thought of it, fear filling her heart. Clenching her jaw, she ignored the thoughts. He wouldn't find her. Kara would rather die than go back to him. She wouldn't get caught, she would find some food and keep running until she somehow made it out of France. She had to survive.
Clutching her nearly empty backpack, she darted around the house, silent on her booted feet. She reached the front and halted. There was a wide expanse of green land and just about twenty-five feet from where she had stopped, stood a mansion. Her mouth slowly fell open as she gazed up at the back of that beautiful big house. For a second, she wondered what it would be like to live in such a palace. Did the owners feel like royalty?
She sighed. "Bastards must be loaded with a s**t ton of cash...”
Uneasy, she glanced at the backhouse she was targeting. She just wanted to find some food and clothes... maybe some money.
Her uncertain gaze returned to the mansion at the front of the large property. This was definitely the house of some rich bloke, she thought. If she got caught, the wrinkled old prune probably would not hesitate to call all the cops in France on her. Kara scowled at the house.
All she wanted was a sandwich, surely… surely he could have mercy?
Deciding to take the risk, she darted onward to the front of the smaller cottage-like house. It had a large wooden door that seemed half-eaten through by ants or some other foul pests.
“Should be easy…” she murmured to herself as she braced her hands on the door.
Having originally intended to push it open quietly, Kara shrieked when the old piece of wood crumbled in her hands, the rest crashing loudly against the floor. “Damn it.”
She muttered curses, gingerly stepping around the mess. That rotten old door had crashed rather loudly and that rich old man who owned the property was probably on his way over, shotgun in hand. There was no time.
Kara hurried into the dim little house. It had looked abandoned from the back, but Lord only knew what she would actually find in there. Despite the condition of the door, the inside was quite clean. She rushed past an empty room, probably what had to be some kind of living room. The space was quite large. She and six other girls could have easily slept comfortably in there. Not stopping to ponder over non-existent living arrangements, Kara darted into the small kitchen.
It had a few wooden chairs and a table in one corner. She stared at them, taken back to her childhood and the hours she would spend at a very similar table. Drawing, painting… crying. She sighed, brushing away the thoughts as she pulled her bag off her shoulder and opened it.
Everything in here was covered in dust, but she hardly cared. If she could find something edible, anything, and before its expiry date, she’d be grateful. She set her bag on the dusty little kitchen table and dashed for the brown cupboards. She threw open the cupboard doors, her eyes searching greedily.
Nothing.
“What?” she gasped disbelievingly. “Nothing? You can’t… you can’t be serious…”
Kara searched harder, throwing open each cupboard door. Only to find nothing but spider webs. Hunger burned in her stomach.
God, she needed to get out of there before somebody came to investigate the noise of the crashing door. With a frustrated groan, she grabbed her backpack off the kitchen table, zipping it closed as she turned to run out.
The next thing Kara knew was a painful collision with what felt like the Great Wall of China. Her slim frame was sent staggering backwards until she landed on her denim-clad butt. She looked up with a hot glare, only for her gaze to freeze on the sight before her.
Drat. The owner had caught her.
No, this wasn’t a mean, wrinkled old prune with a shotgun. It was a tall, grey-eyed Greek statue of a man.
With a shotgun.
