I SIT ON the edge of the chair, my fingers tapping a restless rhythm against my knees. Every creak and groan of the house sends my heart racing. I can't shake the feeling that they'll be back. Those men—angry, demanding, unpredictable. What if they come tonight? What if they come when I'm not ready? What if Dad is wrong, and they won’t wait until the morning?
I glance over at Lily, my little sister, who is absorbed in the colorful animations dancing across the TV screen. She's giggling at some cartoon character's antics, her earlier fear almost gone. I wish I could shield her from all of this.
"Lily, are you okay?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, calm. She looks up at me, her eyes wide and innocent.
"I'm fine, Sasha. Now that you are here.”
I force a smile. "Do you want anything? A snack, maybe?"
She shakes her head, already turning her attention back to the TV. I wish I could join her in that simple, carefree world, but my mind is too busy with worry.
The noise of Dad entering the hallway has me jumping to my feet. I had left him upstairs crying, hoping he would pull himself together before he came down here.
His face is flushed, and his eyes are bloodshot from crying. As I enter the hallway, I can smell the alcohol on him. Great. Just what I need right now. Him hitting the bottle when I need his head straight.
He narrows his eyes at me, his expression a mixture of frustration and disappointment.
“Maybe if you didn't leave, things wouldn't be so bad."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I can feel the anger rising inside me, but I try to keep it in check. "I had to leave, Dad. You know why."
"Do I?" he sneers. "Because it seems to me like you're just running away from your responsibilities."
I clench my fists, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over. "I'm doing the best I can, Dad. Someone has to."
"Yeah, well, maybe your best isn't good enough," he mutters. His attitude sure has changed in the short time I've been down here with Lily.
I bite my lip, the taste of blood sharp on my tongue. I want to scream, to yell at him for being so blind, so unfair. But I can't. Not in front of Lily. Not when she needs me to be strong.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of the kitchen again, a glaring testament to our chaotic lives. Dishes are piled high in the sink, food stains mar the countertops, and the floor is littered with crumbs and wrappers. It's a mess—just like everything else around here.
Dad’s behavior has only made things worse. I remember the times when he used to take care of things, back before his gambling problem spiraled out of control. It's hard not to blame him for our financial mess, even though he insists it’s not his fault.
"Was it the gambling, Dad?" I ask, my voice softer now, almost pleading. "Is that why we're in this mess?"
He doesn’t look at me; instead, he stares into the distance, his expression hard. "No," he says flatly. "Interest rates went up, cost of living went up, and my hours at the factory got cut."
I study his face, searching for any sign of truth. His eyes flicker with something—guilt, maybe? I know he’s lying. I remember seeing the gambling slips, the hidden bottles. But what can I do? What did I do before? I ignored it. Because I kept it hidden from Lily and hoped it would all go away.
I swallow hard, knowing I need to confront the real issue. "Dad, we can't have Lily here when those men come back. It's not safe for her."
He snaps, turning on me with a fury that makes me flinch. "I'm doing my best, Sasha! What more do you want from me?"
His shout rings in my ears, and I hear Lily’s small intake of breath. She is no longer focused on the TV. I wish I could shield her from the ugliness of our reality.
"It's not enough, Dad," I say quietly, my voice trembling. "Your best isn't enough."
He looks at me, his anger fading into something else—defeat, maybe? Or just sheer exhaustion? He rubs his face with his hands. I can see the toll this life has taken on him, but I can't afford to feel sympathy. Not now.
I turn my attention back to Lily, smoothing her hair and whispering reassurances. "It's okay, sweetie. We'll figure something out."
But inside, I'm screaming. Screaming at the unfairness of it all, at the helplessness I feel. How can I keep us safe when everything around us is falling apart?
“I need some air,” I say to my father, making my decision to get Lily out of this situation first. I brush past him and out into the overgrown garden.
Hitting dial on Aunt Karen’s number sends butterflies erupting in my stomach. She doesn't like us much, but maybe she'd take Lily for a few days. It’s worth a try.
The phone rings, and with each ring, my anxiety grows.
"Hello?" Aunt Karen's voice is sharp, impatient.
"Aunt Karen, it's Sasha," I say, my voice quivering despite my efforts to sound calm. "I need your help."
There's a pause, then a sigh. "What is it, Sasha? I'm busy."
I take a deep breath. "It's about Lily. I need you to take her for a few days. Just until things settle down here."
"Why can't your father take care of her?" she asks, suspicion coloring her tone.
"He…he's sick," I lie, my heart pounding in my chest. "And I just got a job. It’s only for a few days until Dad gets better."
Another long pause. I can almost hear her weighing her options, considering the inconvenience against whatever small bit of family loyalty she still feels.
"Just a few days?" she asks finally.
"Yes, just a few days," I assure her. "Please, Aunt Karen. It would mean everything to us."
"Fine," she says, her voice begrudging. "Bring her over this evening."
"Thank you," I say, relief washing over me. "Thank you so much."
I hang up and turn to find my father standing in the doorway, his face flushed with anger.
"You called my sister?" he growls, his fists clenched at his sides.
"I had to," I say, meeting his gaze head-on. "Lily can't be here when those men come back. She deserves better than this."
"I don't like asking for help," he snaps, stepping closer. "Especially from her."
I feel my own anger rising to meet his. "And I don't like seeing my sister in the middle of a drug lab, Dad. So you can suck it up."
He recoils as if I've slapped him, the truth of my words hanging heavy in the air between us. For a moment, we just stand there, glaring at each other. Then he turns away, muttering something under his breath.
I let out a slow breath. That’s one problem solved, now the other.
Next one to tackle is going to Marco once I get Lily safe with Aunt Karen. I can't shake the memory of Marco. Last time I saw him, he made it clear just how dangerous he could be. Marco isn't someone you want to cross paths with. He's ruthless, the kind of man who doesn’t flinch at breaking bones or worse. But he was never like that with me.
I remember that house party; the music was so loud it felt like it was shaking my bones. Everything had been fine until it wasn't. Some guy, drunk and aggressive, cornered me, his intentions clear and vile. Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, Marco appeared. He broke the guy's nose with a single punch, blood spraying everywhere. He turned to me, his eyes cold and hard.
"Stay away from places like this, Sasha," he had said, his voice like ice. "You don’t belong here."
I can still hear his words, feel the chill they brought. Marco was deep with the mafia—how high up, I don’t know. But he showed me kindness once; maybe he would do it again. It’s a slim hope, but right now, it’s all I’ve got.
Determination settles over me like a cloak. I have to protect Lily, no matter what it takes. I head to our shared room, pulling out a small suitcase and stuffing it with her favorite clothes and a few toys. She enters the room and watches me, her eyes wide and confused.
"Why do I have to go, Sasha?" she asks, her voice small and scared. She must have heard me and Dad fighting outside.
"It’s just for a few days, sweetie," I say, forcing a smile. "You’ll be safe with Aunt Karen. But you can’t tell her about the bad men, okay? When you come back, they’ll be gone."
She nods, but I can see the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. It breaks my heart to send her away, but it’s the only way to keep her safe. I load the suitcase into Dad’s car, then help Lily into the back seat.
Dad watches us from the porch, a dark silhouette against the dim light. I can feel his disapproval, his anger, but I ignore it. This is bigger than his pride. This is about survival.
The drive to Aunt Karen's house is quiet; Lily stares out the window, lost in her own thoughts. I wish I could say something to make her feel better, but the words won’t come.
When we arrive, Aunt Karen is waiting at the door, her arms crossed and a stern look on her face. "Just a few days," she reminds me as I hand over Lily's suitcase.
"Just a few days," I promise, bending down to hug Lily tight. "I love you, Lily. Be good for Aunt Karen, okay?"
"I will," she whispers, clinging to me for a moment before letting go.
I watch them disappear into the house, my heart aching with every step. As I turn back to the car, I can feel the weight of the world pressing down on me. I have to find a way to fix this. For Lily, for me, for all of us.
I start the car and drive away, my mind racing with plans and possibilities. I know I need to talk to Marco, to see if that small kindness he showed me once can be extended just a little bit further. It’s a long shot, but it’s the only shot I’ve got.
I drive through the dark streets, my grip tight on the steering wheel. My heart is pounding, a mix of fear and determination pushing me forward. I pull up outside the pub where Marco and his crew used to drink. I haven’t been here in ages, and for all I know, he might not even come here anymore. But I have to try.
The pub is as I remember—well-lit always freshly painted, and the most high-end pub in the area. Its clients not so much. I hesitate at the entrance, my stomach churning. This is dangerous territory, and I’m painfully aware of it. But what choice do I have?
I push open the door and step inside. The place is overflowing with people, loud and crammed. I scan the room, looking for any sign of Marco. My eyes land on a large man behind the bar, one of Marco’s old friends. I steel myself and walk over to him.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound confident. “Is Marco here?”
He looks me up and down, suspicion clear in his eyes. “Marco isn’t here,” he says gruffly. “But you can wait if you want.”
I nod, my throat tight with anxiety. “Thanks,” I manage to say, then retreat to a corner where I can keep an eye on the entrance. I sit down, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible.
The minutes drag by, each one feeling like an eternity. I can feel eyes on me, the weight of their gazes making me uneasy. I know I don’t belong here, and I can sense the hostility in the air. But I have to stay. I have to talk to Marco.
As I wait, I think about the last time I saw him, the way he had stepped in to protect me at that party. Maybe there’s still some of that kindness left in him. Maybe he’ll help me again.
A group of men near the bar start laughing loudly, their voices carrying over the din. I catch snippets of their conversation—boasting about their exploits, mocking those who’ve crossed them. I shiver, trying to block out their words. This place is a den of danger, and I’m right in the middle of it.