Chapter 1
1184 Words
EMMA
The woman comes towards me, swinging her fat arms. She steps on and breaks a framed baby picture of me, lying on the floor, then kicks aside a bag of my clothes.
"So you've got money to buy food but you can't pay your freaking rent for months?" she almost screeches, her eyes taking in the bags of groceries I have clutched in my shaking hands.
"Why?" I choke out, my eyes started to sting with angry tears. "Why?"
"Because I hate people like you and that worthless father of yours!" the landlady, Mrs Wilson shouts, poking her finger in my chest. "If you can't pay for my house, then get the hell out. One more week is all I'm giving you!"
With that she looks around self importantly. Something like a smile touched her lips as she waddles away. I finally see father, head and shoulders bowed, standing in the midst of our scattered belongings.
He looks so sad and lost it breaks my heart. That's when I notice the clicks.
I look around and see a small crowd gathered just beyond our little picket fence. They are taking pictures, recording, whispering among themselves.
"Get the hell out!" I scream. "This is private property!"
Slowly, reluctantly, they disperse. I go to father, drop the groceries and hug him tightly.
He sighs deeply.
In a breaking, defeated voice he says, "I'm so about this, Em. So sorry. I should be the one taking care of you-"
"It's okay, dad-"
"I'll find a way to fix this. I promise. I'll do anything. Anything!"
Father keeps apologising as we pack our dirty, battered belongings back into the house. I keep acting like I'm not affected by what just happened until he goes inside to prepare for another day of job hunting.
It is then I let myself fall to pieces. I collapse into the chair in front of the kitchen's tiny table.
Stacked on it are envelopes containing bills and more bills. Burying my face in my hands, I fight back tears.
It sucks to be so dirt poor. No matter how hard father and I worked, we barely seem able to get by.
It had been the same thing when mother was alive.
I can still remember how she died like it was yesterday. The earthquake at the mall where mother had taken me to look at a brand new pair of shoes I had been longing for.
A pair of shoes even nine year old me had known we would never have been able to afford. A section of the buildings' ceiling had caved in and she had died, shielding me from the worst of it with her body.
Some nights I could still hear her screams in my dreams.
My phone beeps, startling me. 30 minutes to 7.
"Oh s**t!" I curse, jumping to my feet.
I am going to be late for work if I don't hurry.
As my feet took me down the familiar streets to the restaurant, I can't stop myself from thinking about our growing debts and father's health.
Lately he's been looking too pale, too frail but there is no money to see a doctor and we have no health insurance.
I step out into the street to cross to the other side and don't see the car rounding through corner until it is too late.
I hear someone screaming. There is the sound of screeching tyres. More screaming.
Someone bellows, "Get out of the way, girl!"
As I start to run, I trip over the laces of my sneakers. As though in slow motion, I see the driver's face.
It is a horrified mask. He was going too fast to stop and he knows it.
I smell burning rubber. My knees buckle. I stumble backwards, fall on my ass. My bag goes flying, it's contents spilling everywhere.
At the last instant, the car swerves hard to the right. I actually feel it's bumper graze my arm an instant before it screeches to a stop.
My heart thuds, stutters and picks up again double time.
Lying a few feet away in the road is one of my sneaker, crushed flat by the car's tyres. I shut my eyes tightly.
I can't stop thinking, just another inch, and that would have been me. Squashed like a bug.
"O god," I groan and began to shake.
As though from far away, I hear voices, people talking, yelling.
"Oh s**t! Is she okay?"
"Someone call an ambulance!"
"Was she hit?"
And then another voice, raised in surprise, "Holy crow! It's HIM!"
Footsteps approach.
"Are you alright?" a voice nearby asks and in the same breath says, "For goodness sake! What were you thinking walking in the middle of the road like that? Do you have a death wish or something? Do you-"
"That will do, Elliot!" a quiet voice interrupts.
I feel rather rather than see someone standing in front of me.
A strong hand grips my shoulder. I smell expensive perfume.
The man in front of me is talking but I can barely hear him past the blood roaring in my ears. Taking deep steadying breaths, I open my eyes and found myself looking at a pair of fancy, designer shoes, pants, then a gold watch.
"I'm fine," I manage to croak when I can finally make sense of what the man is asking. "And no, I- I don't think I need to go to a hospital."
My cheeks are burning with embarrassment as I push my hair back from my face and start to raise my head. The accident is my fault.
If I had been looking where I was going-
As I finally look the stranger full in the face, I gasp. It can't be!
But it is. I would recognise those icy blue eyes, that mass of thick brown hair anywhere, though the years had now shot it with grey.
I feel hate and anger burn like bile in my throat as I stare and stare at him.
He hasn't noticed my shock yet. While the man I assume is his driver is picking my scattered things, stuffing them into my bag, he is squatting, reaching for a snapshot of me and mother, a shocked expression on his face.
I snatch the picture away. He stares at me, eyes widening.
"Wait a minute," he says. "The woman in the picture. Isn't that-"
"I have to go," I say, pushing to my feet.
My head is swimming but I ignore it. Ignore him even as he called after me as I flag down a passing taxi and hop in, slamming the door shut.
"Just get me away from here," I tell the driver. "Fast!"
As the taxi zooms off, I pray to the universe or whatever is out there that the rich asshole back there, billionaire CEO of Cole Empire, Ethan Cole, does not suspect the connection between us.
Because if he does, I don't trust myself not to do something extreme. Something that could even land me in jail.
That is how much I hate him.
- Writer
