To Love a Tyrant

Evelyn’s POV I took the last few steps to the front of the shitty apartment building where I lived with my dad, well and truly exhausted. The chill from cold weather slowed me down and my entire walk home seemed to take forever as I struggled to put one foot in front of the other. I’d wrapped myself up as much us possible in my old burgundy coat but the cold still seeped through the thin material into my bones, deathly painful with its chilly bite. The black woollen cap perched atop my mahogany locks provided little warmth but it was hardly enough to counter the cold I felt. I stumbled, the two inch heel of my worn leather boots snagging into a broken piece of pavement and bit back a tired curse. The looming sight of my building around the corner filled me with a heavy sense of relief, a low thrum of anxiety following after. I could never find rest here, even though it was supposed to be home, the worries from the outside always following me in. The chill in the air had me hurrying to the last few steps to the doors, my key-card clutched in my freezing hands. I made the mental note to buy a pair of new gloves from my latest paycheck, even if I could get nothing else. Thankfully, the card worked without much hassle today and I pushed into the apartment complex a moment later, walking past the broken down elevator to face my next opponent; the stairs. Walking up four flights of stairs after working a twenty-four hour shift on my feet was definitely not on the top of my to do list, but I managed. My heart sunk when I came up to the bottom of the last fight of stairs, the loud banging and screaming that reached my ears making me wince. “Please be another door, please be another door, please be another door.” I whispered under my breath as I climbed up the last of the steps and poked my head around the corner, covertly scanning the scene to get a sense of what was happening. I stifled a groan to see my landlord, banging and screaming his head of at what was indeed my door. “Today is really not my day.” I muttered with a sigh before straightening my back and walking over to him. As soon as he saw me, he turned away from the door and started yelling at me. “Where the f**k is my rent money Grant?” “Mr. Schwartz, I can─” “Shut the f**k up! You and that bum of a father always got a smart ass excuse coming out of your mouth instead of my f*****g money. I know that fucker’s in there, but he wants to pretend he’s unavailable.” He growled with a furious glare. I glanced helplessly at the closed door, not a single sound filtering through from the rather thin doors behind. “The two of you are gonna be out on the streets tonight if I don't get my rent right f*****g now!” “Mr Schwartz, come on─” “The only word I wanna here out of you is HERE IS YOUR f*****g MONEY!” He all but screamed. “I've let you and your f**k face father stay here for long enough and I’m done, do you hear me? Pay up right now or get in there and start packing your f*****g things!” The weight of my recent paycheck sat heavy in my faux leather bag as I stood there, mind flying desperately. We were behind a month now and this month was almost running out, making a third. I had enough for last month’s rent but that would mean all the other bills would have to be owed as well. Winter was steadily approaching yet I couldn’t offset the water, electricity or heater in time to keep up. I didn’t even want to think about the empty fridge nor the fuss my dad was bound to make if I didn’t have his beer stocked. Still, I was painfully aware that all of that would be irrelevant if we had nowhere to live. Exhausted and frustrated from all the loads of responsibilities that weighed me down, I reached into my bag and pulled out the envelope with my pay in it. Before I could even hand it over to him, he snatched it out of my hand with his stubby fingers and ripped it open, counted through it quickly. He frowned at the amount, but it didn’t stop him from stuffing most of it into his pocket and handing me a ten dollar bill. “This only covers last months rent, I'll be back at the end of the month for the rest.” He started to walk past me but paused and said “this months end.” Panic flooded through me instantly, my heart fluttering wildly. “But the month ends in less than a week, how am I supposed to come up with a six hundred dollars in less than a week?” He spared me a leering glance. “Pretty thing like you, I'm sure you'll figure it out.” He said and a sliver of disgust crawl up my spine. I wasn’t sure if he was insinuating I sell myself to someone else for money or in place of my rent. Both thoughts were unpleasant to say the least. He was a fat, ugly, terribly mannered old man and I would rather go homeless than do anything with him. He strolled away after, whistling a cheerful tune now that he had his money and left me with a fresh batch of anxiety as I wondered how to survive the rest of the month much less raise this month’s rent in such a short amount of time. With a frustrated sigh, I took out my keys and unlocked our apartment door, walking in to see my father poorly hidden and cowering behind our ratty couch. He peered around as I entered, his wide eyes almost childlike “Is he gone?” He asked sheepishly, still crouched in his spot and I held bit back my frustration and anger. He was going through a lot, my brain supplied and I refused to listen to the resentful voice that whispered that so was I. “Yeah.” Was all I managed and he let out a relieved breath before rising to his feet and settling his bulk on the couch with a grunt. I kicked my boots off at the door, hanging my sorry excuse for a coat up before I entered further into the apartment. After dumping my emptied bag and keys at the center table, I made my way to the kitchen to see if there was anything I could scrummage together for dinner. “Get me a beer will ya.” Dad said from his spot on the couch and I bit back an angry retort. To my relief, there was still almost half a loaf of rapidly staling bread plus a couple slices of ham, half a carton of milk and four eggs. There were some veggies inside, but they already looked to be turning over so I dumped them in the trash and as I took out the bread milk and eggs, face grimacing at the stack of empty beer cans inside. I picked up my dad’s latest beer and wordlessly handed it over to him before returning to whip up some dinner for my hungry stomach. At least the benefit of the beer was that it kept him eating minimally leaving more food to stretch out for me, but it was very little nutrient. I was beginning to worry about the frequency and amounts he was consuming but I was too exhausted to do anything about it for the moment. After an unremarkable meal I ate standing over the counter, I got to work cleaning up the kitchen, washing the dishes that had piled the last few days. I went to my room and forewent a shower, thinking about my next water. I simply changed into my baggy, gray sleep shirt and comfy matching shorts before I dropped dead on my bed, and slept my miserable day away. My alarm woke me up the next morning, the shrill sound cutting through the fog of my mind as I woke u from my barely enough sleep. I stayed laying down for a couple minutes after turning it off, trying to mentally prep myself for the day to come. It was weekend so I didn’t have my usual nine-five as a secretary and my shift as a waitress at the diner a couple of blocks from here wouldn’t start till Twelve. Usually, I took these little pockets of time for myself to rest, but with a bill of six hundred to meet up by the end of the month, I couldn’t afford to sit home as usual. I picked up my phone, scrolling through craiglist to see if I could find something to occupy myself for the next few hours and get a little extra cash. In between bouts of scrolling through job listings, I slid out of bed and went outside my room, coming to a complete halt when I saw my dad already seated on the couch with a beer in hand and a couple of more empty bottles that hadn’t been there last night littered all around him. I fought to keep my annoyance down as much as I could. “Good morning dad.” I said and he merely grunted, eyes trained blearily at the TV. With I sigh, I turned to the kitchen, sadness and resentment warring for dominance withing me. He wasn’t always like this, my father. Once he’d been sweet and hardworking; so full of life. We used to live better than this too, in a nice neighborhood with decent food and clothes back when mom had still been alive and healthy. I tried not to think of my mom too much, as it always brought a rush of tears to my eyes. Unlike my dad, I haven't had the luxury of being sad and depressed or wallowing in the escape of alcoholism. There were bills to pay, rents to figure out, life to continue. I couldn’t afford the time to reflect on my grief or her loss. I supposed I couldn’t blame him too much; she was the love of his life after all. Our happy little world had been shattered when she’d been diagnosed with cancer and despite indebting himself to making sure she got the best possible treatment, we still lost her six months ago to that curse of a disease. In less than a year, he’d lost her, his job, his mental health and practically any will to keep on living and I was left with the burden of carrying on for the both of us. “Dad? I’m about to make some omelette. Want some?” I asked even though I already knew what his answer would be. At first, I made food for him despite his appetite, but after one too many wastage in the time of shortage, I’d learned to only make what we could finish. “Nah.” He said and my heart sunk “I’ll get something later.” I sighed.