The Lost Princess of the Orphanage

Nadia

When I was about to turn eighteen, surviving after leaving the orphanage was the first thing on my mind.

What I hadn’t expected was that I’d be trapped in the orphanage, facing the director Cliff’s harassment.  

“You have one last chance to be adopted,” Cliff whispered in my ear. His breath fell hot on the side of my face. “Tomorrow an important person will be coming here, and I can arrange for you to make an appearance. A life of luxury is within your reach, Nadia.”

He ran a meaty hand over my body, and I trembled. Cliff was a big man, with cheeks that were forever blotchy and red. With eyes that roamed hungerly over my seated frame.  

He was a mess of an orphanage director, only dealing with the adoptions when he felt it suited his needs best. Background checks were forgone, bribes were encouraged, and closed-door meetings with the other girls here were a constant plague.  

And, like now, rich clients were grabbed at with greedy hands.

My skin shook, blood heating. Growing up in the orphanage taught me many things. It had taught me how to make a bowl of oatmeal feel like an extravagant meal, how to bathe fast and thoroughly in ice-cold water, how to walk with silent feet over the groaning stairs outside the director’s door.  

But mainly, it had taught me how to protect myself and how to read people.  

It was how I knew that Cliff was a man of foul-smelling confidence. He lacked the tact of keeping his touch to himself, and I highly doubted my thigh was the first that his fingers had grazed or my spine that first that his belly had pressed against.

The question was: how many girls had he hurt?  

I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know.

My teeth stretched into a convincing smile. Cliff leaned back, eager eyes sparkling at the sight of my agreement.

His lips stretched into his own grin.  

Smug. Successful.  

My nails dug into my palm.  

Pig.

Without hesitating, I threw my fist forward. It smashed into his wide nose. Pain crashed through my knuckles, but it was worth it when Cliff let out a smothered howl. Blood rushed from his now-broken nose.

I didn’t stop there.  

I hammered my firsts into his face, again and again. He threw his hands up to defend himself, but it was no use. My hands felt warm and wet, pounding into flesh, bone, and blood. Growing up in the orphanage had made me strong, but it had also made me angry. Cliff had ensured that.

“You’ve lost this chance forever!” Cliff shouted, his words a sputter of spit. “Tomorrow, you’ll be thrown out of this orphanage. You’ll end up as a nameless waitress. A prostitute selling your body on the streets. A worthless, pathetic thing—I can promise you that!”

My chest heaved. “You’re a disgraceful pedophile.” I wanted to spit that word. I wanted to keep throwing my fists into his face until his body went slack, his anger buried under the bruises and torn vessels soon to grace his skin.

Life outside the orphanage was terrifying, but if Cliff wanted to use my body just to show off in front of rich men, I’d rather be a waitress. On my own, away from this. From him.  

I left a grumbling, cursing Cliff and returned to my room.  

Though the orphanage was a broken cage of a place, my dorm had always been a refuge to me. It was the only space that had ever felt like mine, with its tiny window and its thin quilt. The walls were bare, no memories fond enough to be hung along the trim, but the mattress was shaped to my body. And once, just before my first adoption, I’d carved my initials into the wooden door of the splintered wardrobe.  

It never felt like a home, but it was a space.

Crawling into bed, I left the day on the floor like a pair of discarded slippers. I slipped under the covers anew and fell asleep.

Early the next morning, I made my bed and packed the few belongings I owned. I ran my fingers over the carved initials of the wardrobe and shut it for the last time. Today, I would be leaving this place for good. Today, my life would truly begin. For better or worse.

Through the crack in the window, an engine rumbled up the orphanage drive. I dropped my small rucksack to the floor and crept toward the noise.  

Outside, a sleek, black Mercedes pulled up to the front of the orphanage entrance. The car looked out of place amongst the decaying stone of the building, and the man that emerged from the vehicle did too.  

He appeared to be around thirty years old, wearing a form-fitted suit and a pair of black sunglasses perched on his stern face. He tipped his chin toward the sun, then toward the towering building, before shoving them off of his face. His eyes trailed the rows of windows buried into the stone foundation.

His gaze swept over my room, and our eyes met.  

I pulled the curtain shut and stepped away. It no longer mattered why he was here, or for who. I was on my own. But this place had taught me to be okay with that. I would leave here and find a job, my own way.  

I would build a life that wasn’t full of grimy men, of abusive stepbrothers or grabby pedophiles.  

I took a deep breath. You can do this, I told myself.

Grabbing my bag, I trudged downstairs.

The man had made it into Cliff’s office by the time I stepped off the last step and onto the main floor. I could hear Cliff’s monotone voice droning on about the children here, recommending the best of the “lot.”

The man mumbled something in return. His voice was deeper than Cliff’s, the sound rumbling through the thin walls of the entry way. The word princess slipped through the open door.

The two syllables collided like a shock to my body. I coughed out a laugh.  

Right, I thought, This was the kind of place where princesses were found.  

Here where men like Cliff enjoyed stomping on the girls they raised, striving to make their bones brittle and their voices small. Here where girls were spit out to the first greedy hands that wanted them, just to be pressed into the ground even more.  

Maybe if I hadn’t been brought up in a place like this—in places like my first adoptive home or foster placement—the thought wouldn’t seem so ridiculous.  

Regular, unbroken people still had dreams, didn’t they?  

Princess. I scoffed. What a life that would be.

I shrugged my bag further over my shoulder, ready to leave. There was nothing left for me here.  

“I want to adopt her.”

The word fell heavy through Cliff’s door. The floor beneath my feet creaked as I froze, one step closer to the door. To my life after this place.  

Reluctantly, I turned back toward the door.  

I want to adopt her.

My breath caught. My heart hiccupped in my chest.

The man stood in the doorframe, tall and foreboding.  

And he was pointing directly at me.