Claimed by my Unexpected Protector

Eralia’s POV It’s taken me three buses and over an hour’s walk, but I finally turn the corner that places me onto the familiar dirt track that will lead me to my home. It’s already becoming dark, and a glance at the cracked screen of my crappy cell phone tells me it’s already past seven at night. The journey has taken three hours . . . but I don’t have any choice but to make it each day. I hurry past the rows of shabby trailers, ignoring the wolf whistles and crass cat calls of the few rough looking men that loiter around a set of brittle steps leading up to a rusty swinging door of one of the homes to my left. Keeping my head down, my shoulders hunched protectively, I move past the remnants of a burnt out truck to my right, and dodge around some overflowing refuse bags that have been unceremoniously dumped by one of the tenants of the trailer park. I glance up at the trailer behind it just as the door opens and a downtrodden woman shuffles out, looking back at me. I nod to her silently before continuing onward, reaching the next trailer quickly, trying not to stare at the peeling paint and uncared for façade. I head up the four chipped wooden steps set against the side of the home, and make my way to the front door of the place I’ve unfortunately lived in for more years of my life than I care to remember. Tugging open the metal door, I mutter a string of curses when I find it unlocked. Of course it is, because why would it not be? As she never f.ucking locks it! Stumbling through the door, I recoil from the scents that assault me, blinking quickly as I try to adjust to the gloomy interior. The first thing that comes into focus is the empty beer bottles that litter the floor around the two busted up chairs that make up half of our living room furniture. Each of the chairs is occupied by a man in their mid to late thirties, both of whom are unconscious and neither one do I recognise. My gaze flicks from one to the other, taking in their unkempt looks, one is dressed in faded jeans and a stained wife beater top that I think might once have been white but it now a dreary grey. The other is in greasy sweatpants and no top, his beer belly protruding over the waistband as his hand moves in his sleep to scratch at his skin. Turning further, my attention falls to the couch where a pasty thin, bottle dyed, platinum blonde in a leather mini skirt and boob tube top is sprawled. Her lipstick is smeared across her cheek, and drool soaks into the threadbare fabric as she snores, one hand still holding a half empty beer bottle by the neck. I sigh heavily as I look at her, my mother, blind drunk and passed out once again. Turning my back on the trio, I pad quietly through the room and toward the back, down the narrow corridor, making my way to the second door on the left. Placing my hand on the doorknob, I take a deep breath, preparing myself before pushing open the door and slipping into the darkened room. A small nightlight flickers from a plug socket in the wall, casting a soft hue over the tiny space. A bunk bed sits against the wall in front of me, and as I move silently toward it, the bottom blanket shifts before a messy mop of straw coloured hair appears, two bright blue eyes looking up at me. ‘Rali?’ the timid voice of my eight year old sister, Liberty, calls out nervously, as she clings to a stuffed rabbit that has seen better days. ‘Hey, Libs’ I croon softly, moving toward her and crouching down by her side, my bag falling from my shoulder and landing with a thud on the floorboards under my feet. I look over her pale face, my chest squeezing painfully as I see the fear mixed with relief on her face. ‘I’m sorry’ she continues at a whisper, ‘I shouldn’t have called.’ She reaches under the thin covers and pulls out the house phone, the one that only works because I paid the bill last week, the little girl holding it out to me. I take it from her, placing it on the floor beside me as I shake my head at her. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for’ I tell her firmly, ‘that’s why we have the phone, so you can ring me when you need me.’ Liberty stares up at me, her top teeth sinking into her lower lip, ‘you were working’ she mumbles, ‘I made you come home, I cost you money.’ Reaching out I cup her face with my hand, ‘don’t worry about it, I can make the time up, I’m just glad that you are OK.’ My sister nods, swallowing as her eyes slide to the door to my right. ‘Mama brought home some men; they were really loud . . . they were shouting and I heard glass break . . . I was scared . . .’ My other hand curls at my side as I force myself not to react, not to show how angry I am at what this little girl is saying, listening to her trying to justify her fear like she needs a reason to be frightened at strangers in her home. ‘Did you see them? The men?’ I ask carefully. My throat relaxes as Liberty shakes her head, ‘no, mama sent us in here before they came in, she told us to go to bed.’ I swallow down the growl that tries to claw its way up my throat, typical Laurie MO, hide away her responsibilities so she can party with strangers who offered to pay for the alcohol. ‘Well you don’t need to be scared now, I’m here’ I tell her, smiling as the tension in my little sister’s shoulders finally drains away, and her sweet smile returns. ‘Did you bring anything home?’ she asks, looking at my bag on the ground now, fear no longer clouding her eyes, instead, a sparkle of hope fills her face. ‘Did mama not feed you?’ I sigh, reaching for my bag and tugging it toward me. Liberty hesitates before she slowly shakes her head, ‘I managed to grab the bread bag when we came in here, but there were only two slices left, and the boys were hungry . . .’ My eyes flick upward to the second bunk where the sound of the even breathing of my two younger brothers, Austin, six, and Tanner, four, is barely audible. Anger bubbles once more at the thought of my eight year old sister having to go hungry, being concerned that her little brothers need to eat . . . I open my backpack and pull out a paper bag, handing it over to Liberty who takes it eagerly, diving in and pulling out one of the slightly burnt cookies that are inside. Biting down into the treat, her eyes close as pure enjoyment lights up her face. The view is bittersweet, I’m glad that I can give her something, but the fact that she’s so thankful for a few cookies in a bag, hurts, she shouldn’t think that this is luxury. ‘This is the best cookie ever!’ Liberty exclaims, opening her eyes and grinning at me. ‘You . . . you won’t get in trouble for bringing them home to us, will you?’ she adds, suddenly worried again. I force a smile, shaking my head, ‘no, of course not’ I reply, ‘they were extras.’ Liberty nods, accepting my words as I turn away, wanting to hide the truth from her, that they were actually rejected by my boss and were meant for the trash. That I offered to throw them out just so I could take some and smuggle them home for my siblings, knowing that the chances that they ate today was slim. My sister eats two cookies before handing the bag back to me, ‘Austin and Tanner will want some when they wake up’ she murmurs. I nod, taking the bag and putting it back in my backpack before standing up. Liberty lies down, her blue eyes wide as she looks up at me, ‘thank you for coming home Rali’ she tells me. I smile stiffly, ‘anytime Libs, if you need me, I’m here.’ The little girl nods before rolling over, pulling up her covers as her tangled hair fans out across her pillow. I watch until her breathing evens out, telling me she’s asleep, then I push up on my tiptoes, peeking through the slats of the top bunk at the two small humps that lie next to each other, one with dark brown hair, the other strawberry blonde. Reaching up, I pull up the covers a little further, tucking them around both boys tighter before stepping back and turning on my heel. Walking back to the door, I flick the flimsy lock I installed across, sealing us all in the room before I walk to the window and drop down onto the kid sized mattress that makes up my own bed. Kicking off my shoes, I settle back against the wall, facing the bunk bed, the only piece of furniture in the room that doesn’t look like it should be thrown in the trash, the bed that I saved my pay checks and bought second hand off a selling site so my siblings could stop sleeping on a mouldy double mattress on the floor beside me. I suddenly feel exhausted, I want to sleep, but I can’t, not if I want to change anything. Sighing heavily, I reach over to the foot of the mattress, grabbing the first of the books that are piled there, and pull them toward me, flipping open the top one and starting to read.