"You're a pretty girl. We all got options, even if they ain't always appealing. Ya know what I mean, doll?"
"No," I snap. "No, Marcus, how the hell could you suggest something like that? You want me to go sell my fucking body on the street just so I can pay rent for some shithole without working heat or plumbing?"
"Easy, kid. I’m sorry, okay? It just seems like your sorta desperate at the moment, and there ain’t a whole lot of options out there. You know what, though? I saw some rented space down the street. There was a big sign looking for help, and I think it included room and board. I don't know what it is, but maybe it's sumthin’. If not, there's a shelter down on Francis Street. They'll help you." An exasperated breath puffs out his unkempt, raggedy beard as he pinches his nose and clenches his eyes. "Harley, you gotta get out of here. Just go."
I can't do much other than stare at Marcus—the landlord who has had more patience than I could ask for—and wonder how he pulled himself out of poverty. I thought if anyone would understand, he would. I know for a fact Marcus used to live on a bench in Boston Common, and someone obviously gave him a break at some point. Back then, before I became who I am now, I would see him while running in the mornings. I would give him spare change … food … anything I could offer because seeing someone at rock bottom is heartbreaking. At least, for me it was. It’s the reason I avoid looking in the mirror these days.
"Can I get my stuff at least?" I ask, sniffling.
He nudges me out of the way and opens the door, standing to the side with his arms crossed over his chest. "You got two minutes." How kind of him. I want to remind him of the days I used to help him, but I’m sure it wouldn’t matter.
I grab my backpack from the closet and fill it with as much crap as I can stuff inside. The last thing I take is my cereal box with only a few crumbs left, but without a dime to my name, I’ll need to ration whatever I can.
I don't need the full two minutes he gave me. "Thanks, Marcus." There is hostility in my voice, but it feels warranted.
I walk past him, clutching the cereal box. "Chin up, kid, it can only get better." Yeah, unless starvation wins this battle.
I amble down the stairs to the first floor and out into the early December air. The chill hits me like a backhanded slap, biting through every layer of my clothing—it's so cold, it hurts to breathe. My timing couldn’t be worse seeing as the sun is beginning to set, which means it'll only get colder from here.
With my arms locked tightly around my torso, I walk down the block toward the shelter, feeling the empty cereal box shake against my side with every shiver running through me. I had everything for so long and never appreciated it. Mom and Dad gave me a comfortable life. Both were determined to offer me all opportunities in life after living through their own wars and battles. I was their princess and felt like I sat on a pedestal, but as Dad warned me, it takes one bad decision to ruin everything that had been worked for. While still assuming I was secure inside of my protected bubble, I chalked his lecture up to just another parentally required speech, but I know now that he was right and I should have listened. Though, I’m not sure I could have predicted my life taking the turn it did.
Where is the building with the hiring sign? I don’t think Marcus would lie and make up a job posting. He wasn’t letting me stay anyway. Then again, I’m not sure I’ve ever met a person who knows how to be trustworthy. I glance at the front of each building for the sign, finally spotting it toward the corner at the end of the block. The sign reads as Marcus said, which is the surprising part because it isn’t often that a job offers free room and board. In any case, I’m desperate and I’ll try my failing luck again. I tap the back of my knuckles against the fogged-up glass door, but the more I try to look through the clear spots, I begin to accept that the space is empty since its completely dark in there. Still, refusing to give up hope, I use the back of my sleeve and rub another foggy spot off the glass to get a better look inside, but there’s still nothing to see. It looks like an abandoned store that has been trashed.
So much for that idea. I’ll stop by again tomorrow, but someone is probably just offering the unemployed false hope, especially while advertising free room and board. It’s not like I wasn’t already aware that everything is a scam these days. It sucks that it’s so hard to find something legitimate. I slap the door with frustration and turn around to continue walking toward the shelter, but after only a couple of steps away from the door, I swear I hear the faint sound of footsteps coming from inside the building.
Someone’s probably screwing around with me, but I knock once more, hoping to lure out whoever’s walking around an empty, dark space. Since I’m literally asking for trouble right now, I try and convince myself that this idea is way worse than going to a shelter for the night. I turn around to leave again, but this time I hear a lock unlatch. The door opens a couple inches but not wide enough for me to see inside. I should be going now, maybe even start a slow run because I was, in fact, born with a brain and a gut that speaks when danger is present. "What do you want?" a man asks. Each of his words sounds like it’s covered in rust and gravel as it echoes through the store.
I should still be walking away, but as I’ve been good at doing lately, I tell my gut to shut the hell up and make a stupid decision anyway. My poor decisions are the exact reason I’m here at dusk, knocking on a random door looking for a job with housing. "Yes, I'm inquiring about the job you have posted on the window—the one with room and board," I say, squinting and cocking my head in every angle to see a hint of anything inside the dark opening.
"What qualifications do you have?" the man asks without pausing. He sounds tired, and far too irritated to be bothered by my inquiry.
"Well, I don't know what the job is for, but I'll tell you I'm desperate. I have nowhere to live, no food, and no money." That might have been too much information, but when I can give the truth, I’ll offer it to anyone who will listen. "Oh, but I do have a college degree, so that's gotta be something, right?" My college degree is a joke. It’s a piece of paper stating that I will forever be in debt, but that I’m also a certified psychologist, and the stupid memento was used as a wick to start a fire in my borrowed wood stove a month ago.
I hear a snide chuckle come from within the darkness. "Interesting. Something tells me a pretty girl like you, who has a degree wouldn't be knocking on unknown doors looking for a shady, unlisted job."
"I told you I was desperate," I plead, while trying not to shiver against the harsh wind blowing up the back side of my sweatshirt.
A moment of silence becomes irritating, and I'm beginning to feel uncomfortable standing here as the sunlight inches away, stranding me in a dark alley alone with whoever this guy is. Bad idea. While I’m standing here waiting for this ass to give me some information, I’m drawing a conclusion that this probably has something to do with sex trafficking or drug deals.
"You're in," he says sharply, surprising the hell out of me, and not so much in a good way.
"Excuse me?" I ask. Maybe I didn’t hear him correctly, and if I did, I’ve decided it’s best that I run like hell.
"Meet at Hotel Long Wharf in an hour. Axel will find you." A hotel? Desperation comes with a price to pay, and I’m not sure I’m there yet.
"Thanks anyway," I say, fleeing the conversation and running toward the nearest intersection.
As I’m running, I hear the glass door slam. I look over my shoulder and feel relieved to see no one following me. What the hell was that? Months of looking for a job led me to nothing—and now this? I know well enough that an easy offer won’t come without consequence.
2
Axel
Five Days Earlier