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Dad said I couldn’t bring anything. That we didn’t have room. Judging by the speck of a trailer, I can see why I had to leave my things.
I glance back down at my bag and force a smile, trying for positivity, but it’s short-lived.
This is all you have left in the world, Pippa.
That fact stings worse than the cold bite of air.
He slams a palm on the car frame, eliciting a flinch. “Get out.”
Dad must have more pressing issues than me and my turmoil. He always does. Everybody does.
Is it booze? Drugs? Probably gambling. It could be any of them—and more than likely all three. I imagine the time and attention he gives those three rival what a real parent would give their child. Not that I would know.
What I do know is we’re in this shithole thanks to these vices. It’s tempting to find some of my own. Anything to escape this hell seems good about now.
My heart rattles in my chest as I step out of the car on shaky legs. The door slamming shut behind me sends a shiver sprinting down my spine.
Dad pinches my crusty sleeve, almost disintegrating it. “Why’d I give you money for a new coat if you don’t even wear it?”
I turn in time to catch his vicious snarl. He scrapes his gaze up and down my practically see-through frame, sneering as though I’m dirt stuck to the bottom of his shoes.
I am wearing a coat. Just not a new one.
Turns out, Dad forgot we had no groceries. So, instead of warmth, I chose to eat.
I don’t say any of that because it would do no good. He’d grumble something, likely yell some nonsense excuse, and then stomp off, leaving me to wonder if I made a mistake
It’s always my fault.
I glance down at the white-striped, navy jacket. The coat has seen better days. Ripped and tattered, it’s practically useless. But the truth is, that’s not why I shake.
I’m scared.
I hate change.
And this is more than change. My whole life is about to be uprooted.
Nothing will ever be the same again.
I swallow down the lump in my throat and rub at my chest. I won’t be able to survive unless I fortify my walls. A skill I mastered at the tender age of ten, when everything went to shit, Dad lost his job, and I was forced to grow up.
This is your life, Pippa. You have no choice but to survive.
I find a new sense of purpose and stride up the path that leads to the weathered metal door. As soon as I’m in front of it, hand lifted to turn the knob, the squeak of rusty hinges sends me jumping backward. My spine goes ramrod straight as it swings open.
An older woman glowers down at me. Deep lines pepper her forehead, short gray hair sprouting from her scalp.
“Pippa,” my dad barks. “Get back here.”
The stranger narrows her eyes at me, running a hand down her pinstriped pants, her nose turned up. I blink several times until one bushy eyebrow lifts, and I realize my dad ordered me back to him.
Turning around, I try to navigate the rickety steps with tears welling in my eyes. I stand at the bottom, silently waiting for my father to approach. The muscles in my back tense as he strides past without a word, making his way toward the nasty woman.
“It’s about time you got here.” She motions him in, turns without waiting, and stalks farther into the trailer. “We have some things to go over.”
I follow behind, giving my dad some space. Crowding him only makes him angrier. The two of them start talking about things I don’t understand. I lose interest very fast. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t pertain to me. Even if it did, I wouldn’t be allowed a say, anyway. I’m used to being invisible and easily dismissed. It comes naturally.
I take a step deeper into the small trailer, deciding I might as well look around. It’s much smaller than the last place we lived, which is oddly comforting. Dad might act like he’ll run the place, but I’m the one who will have to clean and care for this space. Small is a blessing.
