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Chapter 5

Penulis: Krissy Writ3s
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-07-02 00:41:16

𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘼

I’m crying so hard I don’t even notice when I miss my turn.

Everything’s a blur. My scarf is slipping. My cheeks sting from the wind and the salt. I can’t stop choking on air. I must look insane, stumbling through the city like a mental asylum patient.

It’s not until a tender voice asks if I’m okay that I realize I’m on a completely unfamiliar street.

I glance up. The woman looks nervous, like she’s debating calling someone. Her eyes flick from my face to my trembling hands.

“I… I’m fine,” I say meekly.

She doesn’t look like she believes me, heck if I were in her position, I wouldn't believe me too, my puffy eyes are a dead give away. But she nods anyway.

Another man in a tee shirt and jeans, joins in, and points toward a nearby train station. “Q line’s just down there,” he says gently. “Head two blocks east.”

I thank them both. My voice sounds so small and far away, like it’s not mine anymore.

I move toward the subway, each step slower than the last, it's like my body doesn’t want to keep going. I’m still too busy replaying everything from earlier, the way he looked at me, the weight of his mouth on mine, the way the air just disappeared the second his hand touched my chin.

And the worst part?

I let him.

I let him kiss me.

I didn't even do the next smart thing normal people do. I didn't ask for compensation, because that was clearly sexual assault. It was done without my consent.

I don’t know how long I ride the train. I keep my head down the whole way. My eyes are blurry and my mind is a carousel of shame and anger and disbelief.

When I finally get back home, the apartment feels unusually still.

I unlock the door and step inside. The late afternoon light spills through the curtains, soft and golden. The air is warm, and the scent of old fabric and cough syrup hits my nose immediately. Everything’s quiet, but nothing feels right.

My father looks up from the couch, brows furrowed.

“You’re home early,” he says weakly, his voice rough. “You okay?”

I turn away, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie. “Yeah. I’m not feeling great. Just… tired.”

He tries to push himself up, grunting. “Did something happen?”

“No,” I lie. “Just cramps. I’ll be fine after a nap.”

His expression softens instantly. “Oh sweetheart… go lie down, rest a bit. I’ll heat something up.”

“You should be the one resting, Dad.”

He tries to smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “You know I can't rest when you are unwell.”

That’s what he always does, minimizes his own suffering to take care of me. Even when he’s half-alive on a threadbare couch. This is who he's always been, my caregiver. Now, he barely has the strength to even take care of himself. Tears gather up in my painfully dry eyes and my nose becomes painfully ticklish.

Needing a way to escape, I simply nod and rush to my room.

The second I close the door, my legs give out. I fall onto the bed like the gravity in this room is heavier.

My hands tremble as I reach for my phone, checking the time.

Almost 3:30.

I try to breathe.

And then my phone rings.

Mrs. Lane.

My stomach drops.

I answer.

“Alera,” she says, her voice already sharp. “You have got to be the most ungrateful, unreliable brat I’ve ever had the displeasure of hiring.”

My throat tightens. “Mrs. Lane, I..."

“Don’t interrupt me,” she snaps. “You’ve been late five times this month. FIVE. You didn't even show up today, no heads-up. You shelved the horror novels under self-help again last week, and don’t think I forgot you mouthing off to a customer.”

“That customer was yelling at me...”

“And instead of apologizing, you talked back. Don’t bother coming in tomorrow. Or ever.”

“But—Mrs. Lane, please, ...”

The line goes dead.

I blink. Stare at the screen.

Just like that.

I don't think I'll ever get used to how quickly things can go from bad to worse.

This is a job I fought to get. The job I held onto when all the degrees and certificates I've amassed couldn't put food on our table. The only steady job keeping the rent paid and lights on.

Gone.

The tears come fast. I bury my face in my hands and let it all crash out of me.

What the hell did I do?

Why didn’t I just go to work like I was supposed to? I knew she was waiting for a reason to get rid of me. I could feel it in the way she sighed when I clocked in. In how she looked at me with such distaste and bitterness.

And today? I handed her her chance.

I curl into myself on the bed, fists clenched against the blanket.

Everything hurts.

My body, my heart and my pride.

I look at my hands. I find chipped nails, blisters on my palm from carrying too many boxes at once. This isn’t what my life was supposed to look like.

These hands used to sign checks. They used to wear Tiffany bracelets and tap designer bags closed.

Now? They ache from mopping floors. Scraping burnt rice off cheap pots. Folding Dad’s laundry on Sundays because he can’t stand long enough to do it himself.

I have two degrees, honors and internships.

And none of it matters without connections. Without money. Without a name that still holds weight.

I feel my anger rise like incense, gradually be clouding my senses.

I'm not just angry at Dante. Or Mrs. Lane.

I’m angry at my dad.

Why didn’t he prepare me for the real world? Why didn’t he teach me how to hustle? How to survive without privilege?

I sob again, clutching a pillow to my chest like it can ground me.

Then I go still.

Because something isn’t right.

It’s… quiet.

Unnaturally quiet.

No cough.

No creaking of the couch as he shifts.

No flipping TV channels. No wheeze. No throat clearing.

I sit up fast.

“Dad?” I call out.

Nothing.

I wipe my face, stumble to my feet, and open the door.

The hallway is dim, the kitchen light off.

I step into the main room. “Dad?”

Still nothing.

I check the couch first.

Blanket...empty.

His slippers are still on the floor. One flipped upside down.

Then I see him.

At the foot of the hallway.

Sprawled out. One arm bent awkwardly, the other lying useless across the carpet.

He is motionless.

The blanket is tangled near his legs.

“Daddy?!”

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