Myocardium

Part 14

"Well, he's right, isn't he? Still, good you defended your pride," Joe laughs and takes a drag from his cigarette.
"Even if, it doesn't matter. Either way, I got into quite the trouble for threatening to shoot him first and now everyone's convinced I'm a terrorist planning a school shooting," I rant. 

Joe snorts. 

"That's funny. As someone who has actually been to jail for bringing a gun to high-school and shooting someone, I can tell you that if you were someone like me, you'd certainly not give out a warning before shooting them," he replies, his words send chills down my spine. I know that he has a messed-up past, but I didn't know that he actually shot someone. 

I don't dare ask about it, despite all the burning questions tickling my tongue. Who did you kill, Joe? How long of a sentence did you receive? 

How the hell are you out of prison already, you asshole? 

And why the fuck is the police not literally up your ass?

"Why'd you kill them?" I simply ask him in a cold voice instead, fearing for my own life on the inside. Who knows, maybe he plans to kill me and is just waiting for the right moment? I need to get away from him for good. 

The sooner, the better.

"Oh, that motherfucker didn't even die, it was just two weeks in the hospital worth of damage. At least now I can tell you that it's not even close to being as rewarding as I had imagined. So, friendly advice, shooting someone is not worth being sentenced to prison. Trust me on that one, kid. 

Yeah, I don't exactly have the urge to kill anyone at the moment, so thanks. 

Also, let me just pause for a moment. How in the world is this paedophilic maniac out of jail? What did he tell the judges that they didn't give him a life sentence? Or is he really that closely related to the mob that they cleared things up for him? 

What the fuck?

"Alright, I won't. By the way, how much do I still owe them? I kinda lost track a bit, sorry. I haven't done the math on the records I'm keeping for some time now, so I thought maybe I could ask you for a quicker answer first," I ask him about my debt so I can finally change the subject. 

Sticking with the other one might only give him stupid ideas that could potentially end lethally for me. 

No way in hell I'm risking that.

"You're almost done, Elijah. I've been meaning to tell you, but I've always missed the opportunity. Can't tell you exactly how much it is right now, but it can't be more than a month worth of delivering. Congrats, kid. You've actually almost made it, I'm really proud of you."

Wow, that is less than I've imagined. I'm almost there, almost debt-free for the first time since my parents died. Those really are some good news, maybe it'll all turn out okay after all. 

The feeling sadly doesn't last. 

My hands begin shaking and sweating for no apparent reason, I need to stay focused. There's this deep, internal pain again, this fear of something completely irrational.

See, ever since my parents have died, I've dedicated my life to keep my siblings safe. What if they won't need me after I've paid off our debts? What if I don't mean anything to them anymore? What if they leave me too? 

What purpose will I serve in their life, if we have everything? 

Money, an apartment, food, safety. 

What will they be needing me for? 

What if they stop appreciating me eventually?

My thoughts make me sad. It feels terrible to accuse them of such actions, but they mean the world to me. 

And now? 

Now I'm stooping low enough to begin doubting their love for me. 

Sure, we've all grown up to be survivors, but we've always been a team. I'm just afraid that we'll lose our bond once our lives are okay for once. 

"That's great. Thank you so much for managing all of that for me, I really appreciate it, Joe," I tell him and stare into the distance, my thoughts being solely with my siblings. 

Why do I always doubt all the good things that happen to me?

"You're more than welcome, kid. You know, I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't know what services you'll pay me back with," Joe resumes and snaps me back into reality, ringing all my inner alarms at once.

Now I need to act quickly enough for him to let me go before he talks me into following him into this fucking trailer.
"Of course, you know I'm good at what I'm doing. It's just that I'm in a bit of a hurry today, I need to cover up those bruises, don't exactly need the kids to notice. But thanks anyways, Joe," I excuse myself and leave the scene swiftly before he gets the chance to continue bribing me into intercourse again. 

It's only after I've put on some makeup that I'm letting myself breathe again. Exhaustedly, I drop onto my bed and take a few extra deep breaths to clear my thoughts. Shit, I really need to pull myself together, it was so unlike me to start this fight. I really cannot be bothered getting kicked out of college now, and I definitely cannot afford being charged with assault if the dean decides to get the police involved. 

By 5:30, my two precious siblings are racing each other to the door of the building we live in. From the kitchen window, I watch the bus drive away and begin smiling to myself as they hop out of the bus and begin running. 

When they enter our apartment, I laugh audibly while my sister comes running up to me and throws her arms into the air, pretty much commanding me to catch her. So, I crouch down and let her run straight into my arms so I can hug her tightly. 

"Hey there, guys. How was school today?" I ask and let the youngest down to the ground again so she can go wash her hands before dinner.
"Pretty cool, actually. Mara's back at school, too," Sasha informs me.

"That's good to hear, buddy. I hope you behaved well," I chuckle, just because I like to watch him cringe at my words while I bring the food to the table, waiting for Daisy to join us.
"Aww, don't you want to eat more?" she speaks her disappointment when she notices the lacklustre amount of food on the plate in front of me.

 
"I'm sorry, honey. I already had some before you two come home."

I lie. 

It feels so terrible to lie to her.

"Oh, alright. But it's very good," she responds and chews on a piece of chicken. I tell her how glad I am that she likes it and take a sip of my glass of water. After eating, we clean the dishes together and I rest on the sofa while Daisy's writing her homework. 

"Eli, why is a pencil called a pencil? I mean, there's pens, but what is 'cil'?" she questions me out of the blue. 

I frown. 

Well, that's such an oddly specific question that I don't even know how to possibly answer. 

Now wondering about why pencils are called pencils, I exclaim with my eyebrows furrowed from the confusion, "Uhm...I'm not sure about that, honey. I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you right now, but how come you ask me that?"

"I'm doing my English homework and we have to spell words in cursive again, like 'pencil'," she replies and shrugs her shoulders. Sometimes I wonder what's going on in that ridiculously intelligent little girl's mind. 

"That sounds nice," I miserably try to motivate her and cheer her on. As I shift around on the cushions to lie on my back, I feel a sharp pain on the right side of my ribcage and hiss in pain, instantly checking Daisy's reaction. 

Luckily, she's still too deeply focused on her English homework to notice.