Chapter 3

The next morning, Brenda was already in a foul mood.

"Since you're so set on those expensive schools, you can start paying for that door you broke," she sneered, shoving a newspaper at me. "And your 'future contributions'. Find a job. Now."

I publicly filled out applications for the local state college, just as David had "suggested" to keep Brenda somewhat placated.

But in the privacy of my locked (from the inside, this time) room, I meticulously completed applications for my dream universities, states away.

Brenda found me a job within days.

A dishwasher and busgirl at a greasy diner on the highway.

"Mrs. Henderson needs someone reliable," Brenda said with a cruel smile. "Long hours. Good for teaching you responsibility."

The hours were brutal. Ten, sometimes twelve hours a day, six days a week.

My hands were raw from the hot water and harsh soap. My back ached constantly.

The diner was always busy, always loud, always smelling of stale coffee and fried food.

Brenda confiscated every cent I earned.

"For the door," she'd say, snatching the cash. "And for your room and board. Don't think you're living here for free."

She never mentioned the "agreement" or my future riches then. Only my current debts.

Life at home became an even greater nightmare.

She'd wake me at 4:30 AM, banging on my door.

"Get up! Cook breakfast for your father and brother before your shift!"

It didn't matter that I wouldn't get home until late at night, exhausted.

The food I was allowed to eat was minimal.

Brenda would serve David and Kevin generously, then slide me a plate with the smallest portions, often the burnt bits or the leftovers from the day before.

"Don't want you getting fat," she'd say. "Waste of money."

I was constantly hungry.

At the diner, I' d sometimes sneak leftover scraps from plates when no one was looking.

Sometimes, if I was desperate, I' d eat food from the discard bin that wasn't too spoiled.

The shame burned, but the hunger was worse.

Kevin seemed oblivious, or perhaps he just didn't care. He got his hot meals, his clean clothes, his pocket money (some of it mine, I was sure).

David remained distant, only speaking to me if he needed something.

I was a ghost in my own home, a workhorse designed to serve their needs.

But every night, before collapsing into exhausted sleep, I' d look at the brochures from the faraway universities I' d hidden under my mattress.

Pre-med. Engineering.

A different life.

I just had to survive until then.