Chapter 3
627 Words
The next day, I was jolted awake from a dead sleep by the blaring ring of my phone.
It was the funeral supplies shop I’d ordered my urn from.
"Miss Lancel, when on earth are you going to pay the rest of what you owe? It’s only 500 bucks, do you really have to string this out for a whole month? If you don’t pay within three days, we’re not holding it for you anymore, and we won’t give your deposit back either!"
My voice came out rough and scratchy, frantic with urgency as I said, "Just give me a little more time. I get paid in two weeks, then I…"
"We can’t wait two whole weeks!" The man cut me off mid-sentence, his voice sharp and snappish, "I’ve never dealt with anyone like you, even buying a damn urn you have to drag your feet on. If you don’t have the cash, why pre-order it at all? Why blow money on a fancy one you can’t even pay for?"
I fumbled to get another word out, but before I could get a single word out, click, the line went dead.
My head was splitting, so I had no choice but to dial my manager and beg for an advance on my paycheck.
What came next was even more brutal, "Just letting you know, you don’t need to come in to work today. And you won’t be getting any of your owed pay either. Boss Lancel gave the order, so there’s nothing we can do about it."
A deafening buzz exploded in my skull. Panic scrambled my voice, and it came out all wrong and wobbly, "This violates labor law! I’m filing for arbitration!"
My manager let out a cold, biting laugh. "Arbitration? Go right ahead. Boss Lancel said he’ll take full responsibility for whatever happens. His legal team is one of the best in the entire country. If you're dead set on running headfirst into a bullet, I can't stop you." After that, he hung up on me too.
A thick, suffocating ball of pent-up anger was stuck right in my chest, too high to swallow down and too thick to spit out.
My face drained completely white, and a thick, metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth.
Before I could even react, a mouthful of bright red blood came gushing out of my mouth.
I stared at that glaring pool of scarlet on the floor, and the dam of tears I'd been holding back finally broke.
It took me ages to pull myself together enough to grab a tissue and wipe the mess clean. Then I automatically pulled out my painkillers and swallowed them dry in one hasty gulp.
By the time I finished, I had barely any strength left in my body.
I leaned back against the bed frame and let my mind wander back over the five years since I was kicked out.
A cold, brutal truth hit me all at once, every path out I ever had, my own brother cut off every last one himself.
Now I didn't even have my job at the nightclub anymore.
Putting food on the table was already an impossible struggle, let alone affording my painkillers, or that urn.
All I wanted was a beautiful 'final home' when I die.
What the hell was so wrong with that?
I buried my face in my hands and sobbed until the afternoon, until I finally scraped together a scrap of energy to stop crying.
Staring down at my own shaking, uncontrollable hands, I finally made up my mind, I was going back home.
I was going to go straight to Jerome Lancel and demand to know why the hell he had the right to treat me like this!
- Writer
