Chapter 8 Sand Drinks Blood
POV: Catherine
I said no to Eric Wood. Not because the contract was underpaid. With what he was offering, I could have breathed for six months. I said no because I am not a whore, and I am not a doll you set on a shelf when you are done playing. I am human. I have feelings, limits, and a dignity that still sticks to my skin even when my stomach is empty.
Except here is the thing. Shit. I will not have a paycheck next week. Mom left nothing. She is gone and she took the slightest bit of security with her. We have this fucking apartment to pay. We have bills piling up on the kitchen table that I do not even open anymore. I refuse to carry all of it alone. I am done. I am tired of being the mom, the sister, the accountant, the maid.
Walking up Frenchmen Street, I was making my plan. I was going to sit across from Dad and talk to him. Tell him Mom is not coming back, that we can drown in grief but it will not pay the rent. I was going to call Anastasia. Waitress, dishwasher, anything. I will work doubles if I have to. I refused to be a doll who just signs contracts to survive.
I want to believe it when I turn the key in the lock.
The second I step through the door, the chaos hits me. Yesterday I spent three hours cleaning. Tonight it looks like it never happened. Empty beer bottles, crushed cans, dirty clothes, and that smell of cold tobacco that grabs your throat. Liam comes out of his room. He is fourteen and he already has that jaded act to hide that he is scared.
“Cathy? You eat?”
“Toast. Three hours ago. Dad is sleeping.”
Of course he is sleeping. I go to the kitchen and there, my whole plan collapses. Mom’s Le Creuset pan is on the stove, the bottom completely burned black.
“I was hungry,” Liam mumbles while looking away. “Dad told me to figure it out.”
I close my eyes. We will order pizza. I dig through my wallet. Empty. My debit card is gone. I know before I even walk into his room. I do not knock.
“Dad. My card. Where is it?”
“Calm down,” he says, slurred. “You never use it.”
“It is for when we have nothing left! Give it to me!”
He pulls it out of his pocket. I snatch it.
“You used it?”
“I went out to buy bottles. I needed it.”
“Dad…” My voice breaks. “I do not have a paycheck anymore. No salary. And you drain the card to drink?”
He shrugs, and that gesture makes me want to scream.
“Stop with the drama. You have WSL. Eric Wood pays you a fortune.”
“A fortune is not enough when you drink everything we have!”
“Liam is the priority, Dad!”
He grabs a beer and throws at me: “You have him. And I know you will do anything to keep him.”
The front door slams behind him. I slide down the wall and collapse. All my plans. My hope that we would figure something out together… All of it just walked out with him and his thirst.
In my bag, Eric’s folder suddenly weighs less than the emptiness of my bank account. I am not a whore. I am not a doll. But at fourteen, Liam did not choose to be hungry.
I look at the message on my phone: “Don’t sign, or you’ll never be free.”
I stare at the screen with my breath short. My eyes drift to the red folder. How can this guy know? Nobody was in that office except Eric and me.
A cold sweat runs between my shoulder blades. Was someone listening to us? David, who always seems to know what I am thinking before I do? Or maybe Cael, that guy who is always lurking in the hallways like a shadow? The idea that one of my coworkers is watching me, that he knows my misery and this disgusting deal, makes me want to throw up.
I look at the message one last time.
Don’t sign, or you’ll never be free.
Like I have the luxury of freedom.
“I do not give a shit who it is,” I whisper to shut my fear up.
My hand is not shaking anymore. It is ice. I press the pen to the paper.
With a hand that is trembling but decided, I put my signature at the bottom of every page. The paper drinks the ink like sand drinks blood.
It is done. I do not belong to myself anymore.