“I am so fucking sick of this,” I mutter. I’m sick of taking one step forward and two back. I’m tired of never having enough. I’m tired of everyone else’s shit always falling on my shoulders.
I want out.
Out of the ghetto. Out of poverty. Of working my ass off for measly tips and dealing with rude customers who see me as that trashy girl from the south side. I want to make a life for myself. I want to do better.
Picking pockets will only get me so far. I need to do something big, something like I used to do before, and get enough money to finally start the life I know I deserve. Picking my phone back up, I log onto a caregiver site. I have a profile on here, though it’s been a while since I used it.
Two years ago, I was a live-in nanny for a rich couple, looking after their entitled asshole children. Mostly I saw them off to school, spent the day hanging around the pool, and picked them up after school. I made sure they did their homework, but they each had separate tutors for their different subjects.
My biggest job while working there was constantly turning down advances from the children’s father. He was a decent-looking guy, ten years older than me and working the salt-and-pepper hair hard. He was funny, cultured, and totally infatuated with me. He started sending me gifts, which is how I acquired a few designer items.
Then the gifts turned into dinner dates, and after a night where he flew me to New York City on his private jet, I drank too many mini bottles of vodka and took things a little too far with him. I threw up before we actually had sex, but that night opened up a whole new window of opportunity for me, not that I’m exactly proud of it.
Afraid I’d tell his wife of what almost happened, he started giving me cash in exchange for my silence. I had photographic evidence of him shoving his tongue down my throat, after all. I quit working for his bratty-ass children and was able to live off hush-money for a good six months. Then he got caught cheating on his wife with someone else and she left him, so my silence wasn’t worth paying for anymore.
Not letting myself think about how deplorable I am, I make my account active again and update my resume a bit. I don’t think Mrs. Milton ever knew about me, and to be honest, I don’t care if she did. She was an awful woman who didn’t deny marrying for money and openly admitted the only reason she had children was because she saw it as a way around the prenup.
Still, her name looks good as a reference. I’ll leave it. I spend a few more minutes tweaking my resume, not exactly lying but making myself sound way better than I really am. I submit it to the site for review and answer a few questions to see if I can still pass a background check. Luckily for me, background checks don’t go into my family history.
“You make sure Jason does his homework, you hear?”
I press my lips into a thin line. “Dad, Jason isn’t in high school anymore. He’s in the Army now.”
Dad gives me a blank stare and tries to get out of his wheelchair. The new one is much more comfortable than the old one, but I guess I was overly optimistic that he’d keep his ass in this new chair better than the last. He’s too unsteady to be up walking on his own.
“And you tell your skank-ass whore of a mother to stop drinking my beer.”
“Mr. Cooper,” Corbin scolds as he comes around the corner. “Now I know your pretty little daughter didn’t take that nasty old bus and then walk two blocks in the rain to get her ass badgered by you.” Corbin stops in front of my dad’s wheelchair and pops his hip, holding out one hand.
Dad grumbles something I can’t discern but hefts back in his chair with a sigh. I mirror his actions, letting out a breath of frustration.
“He doesn’t mean it. You know that, right?” Corbin tells me, leaning against the wall.
“I know.”
“It can be hard to see family like this, but it’s the nature of the disease. Don’t take it personally.”
“I don’t,” I tell him, blowing a loose strand of hair out of my face. “He wasn’t very involved when I was a kid. It’s not like I have all these good memories of him to tarnish.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing.”
“I should have been there,” Dad says in a rare moment of clarity. “I should have been there for you and Heather and Jason. I should have made your mother get help. I’m…I’m sorry.”
I close my eyes, shoving all my feelings aside. “You’re here now, Dad.”
Corbin pushes off the wall. “Anyway, Mr. Cooper. It’s time for dinner. You coming, Scarlet? I can get an extra plate for you.”
“What are they having today?”
“Sweet potatoes and fish.”
I try not to cringe. “I’ll take some sweet potatoes, but I’ll pass on the fish.”
“Smart choice,” he mouths and unlocks Dad’s wheelchair. I follow behind as we head to the cafeteria, pulling out my phone to see who just emailed me. It’s a response to the nanny position I applied for a few days ago, which specific one is beyond me. I applied for any and all that I could.
I quickly skim the email, looking to see who sent it. The email was sent from a work account, and the name Quinn Dawson is at the bottom as an e-signature. Once I get to the table next to Dad, I enter her name in a Google search.
“Holy shit,” I say out loud, earning a nasty look from the uptight nurse passing by. Quinn’s made quite the name for herself, and she’s younger than me. I find her on Instagram and creep through her photos. She has a baby, and it looks like she’s either married or engaged to a doctor. I already hate her.
I don’t care what the job description is. This is exactly the type of gig I need.
Corbin comes over with two plates of nasty-looking salmon that reeks like it’s been left out on the counter all afternoon. Yep, I’m only eating the sweet potatoes. Swallowing the little bit of morality I have left, I turn to Dad and look into his eyes.
“I’m going to get you out of this shithole, I promise.”
I feel like I’m drowning. Like I’m madly treading water just to stay afloat. I’m gasping for breath, but every time my lungs fill with air, it feels wrong. Like I shouldn’t be breathing.
Like I should drown.
But like a cockroach, I keep coming back. Pulling on the cross necklace that’s hanging from my neck, I push my shoulders back and step into the coffee shop.
We’re meeting in The Loop, near Quinn’s place of work. She already ran my background check and said she called my references, and it’s a miracle she hasn’t been scared off yet. I spot her sitting at a table in the back, typing on a laptop. There’s an iced coffee next to her, and I can tell from back here her purse, clothes, and shoes are designer.
Her brunette hair is pulled into a braid that’s perfectly messy, and she’s not wearing much makeup. She’s pretty and has a kind face. You can tell she’s a nice fucking person just by looking at her, and I can’t let myself fall into a trap.
I need money. Specifically hers.
My phone rings right as Quinn looks up, and our eyes meet for a fleeting moment before I glance down at my cell in my hand. It’s the nursing home, and I hesitate before answering. They called this morning to tell me Dad was out of the medication insurance stopped covering and asked if I would be able to provide it until something was worked out.