“Worthless shit!” the waste of flesh my mom married yelled as they slugged me.
Apparently, wanting to buy myself food instead of him booze was a horrific sin. How much more is he going to punch me? I am going to be sore for work now. This is probably not good. The floor felt so cold. I wish I had my social security card and birth certificate so I could move out. He was really winding up his swings today. I have to leave for work soon.
Should I fight back? My malnourished body barely had any muscle. It would only piss him more being honest. If I leave soon enough, I might be able to grab some food beforehand. The garbage was still punching me. Seriously? Do you not get bored? So macho. Not like punching me is going to make money appear.
The beating continued for another five minutes before he finally switched to kicking me. Ah yes, the variety pack. He gave me a few solid kicks to the skull. I curled up, trying to protect my head a little bit. I am going to be so sore later. The piece of crap grabbed his straight razor and started forcibly shaving my head.
“I thought I said to keep your hair short!” he roared. I could barely move. I felt blood begin trickling down my head. Just great.
He finished, and I could tell I was bleeding severely. Nothing a few butterfly stitches won’t fix. He went off somewhere, so I peeled myself off the floor. I went to the bathroom, where I butterfly stitched the cuts on my head closed. I cleaned off the blood and looked at myself in the mirror. I was heavily bruised. A few of these are going to swell up. Thankfully no black eyes this time.
I need to figure out where my documents are. Only reason I haven’t left; I don’t have my documents. I can’t figure out how to get replacements either. I have nothing for them. I could hear him storm out the door. I changed into my work uniform. I walked out and did a quick sweep. I’m here alone. I got nine minutes to search.
I already checked the vents, safe, and more obvious locations. There are no floorboards. I’ve checked the ceiling tiles already. I’m confident they don’t have a lockbox at a bank. I quickly rummaged through the cabinets, looking for my documents. There’s no guarantee they’re even here though. Nothing. I looked in the freezer. Maybe today is the day.
I searched through the various bags and boxes. I had to be careful moving the bottles around. I finally reached the back of the freezer, and the final few boxes. Please be in here. Please be in here. In the second to last box, I finally found them. YES! SWEET FREEDOM! I sprinted to my room and grabbed my hidden cash. I can finally get out of this hellhole. I grabbed my winter coat as I left the apartment for the final time.
There was a minor blizzard outside. I passed the sack of filth smoking in the stairwell as I left. See you never again! As I walked down the stairs, I was having a bit of trouble balancing. That’s not good, but never again. My head was pounding. There was an odd metallic taste in my mouth. I wiped my mouth, and realized my nose was bleeding. It just keeps getting better.
It was quite cold outside as I trekked to the bus stop. Something was off as I made my way to the bus stop. I was having difficulty moving through the snow. I took more of a beating than I realized. Does everything look weird because of the blizzard, or because my vision is blurry? I’ll be able to tell when I reach work.
I navigated the alleys before finally coming out to the street the bus station was on. I looked down the block and saw the bus was already at the stop with no one loading. That’s not good. I broke into as much of a sprint as I was capable of. Did I search the freezer too long? Am I moving a bit slow today? Unfortunately, the doors were already closing by the time I started sprinting. Before I even made it a block, the bus was pulling away. Just great. I checked my watch, which I was having a hard time reading in the poor lighting. If I was reading the time right, I could barely make it to work on time if I walked. Probably not getting to eat before my shift.
Don’t have much of a choice. I thought to myself.
Thus began my trek through the blizzard to work. Even wearing my uniform and winter coat, it was bitterly cold outside. The wind was cutting to the bone. I pulled the hood on my coat over my face a little better. Hopefully the cold helps reduce the swelling. The frigid temperature at least made my headache a bit more tolerable. Five miles in an hour and a half. Easily doable. Just have to remain motivated. Wish the weather didn’t suck.
It was so fucking cold. I trudged through the snow, humming happily to myself. I found my documents. I found them. Sweet freedom! I should’ve checked the freezer sooner. What moron keeps documents in a freezer? I was too excited to really care though. I definitely feel a bit nauseous. I hope it’s because I really haven’t eaten today. I kept moving through the snow, just slowly making my way towards work. At least the kitchen will be nice and warm.
After a while, I could finally see the restaurant. Whew. I turned into the nearby alley and entered through the backdoor. The temperature easily jumped seventy degrees when I stepped inside. That’s much better. I took off my coat and hung it on the rack. I got a few glances. I probably look pretty bad.
“Mother Theresa’s tits boy, did you start making extra money as a punching bag?” the head chef asked me.
“I look that good huh?” I asked back.
“You seem awfully chipper.” He observed.
“I finally found my documents. I can finally move out and never look back.” I replied.
“So you’re coming home with me?” He checked.
“At long last you finally getting me to go home with you. Better not try anything funny.” I told him.
“Not everyone wants to pound you. You not that good looking.” The head chef teased.
“Enough chit chat. Clock in and get to work. Your shift starts in less than a minute.” The manager snapped at me.
“Yes sir.” I said mockingly.
“Why is your nose bleeding?” the head chef asked.
“Probably the beating I took. Also got a monstrous headache.” I replied.
“We’ll keep an eye on you. To your station.” The head chef informed me.
I walked over to the entremetier station. My knives were already laid out. Thank you head chef. My station looked a bit off. Maybe today is just one of those days. Today was a nice and slow day in the kitchen. It was just hours of prepping and cooking vegetables. It’s my job granted, but not a heavy workday. My headache did not improve as my shift went on. I was drinking a bit of water, which did nothing to make me feel better. It was hard to find time to swallow from calling out times.
“Are you okay?” the head chef asked.
“Why?” I asked back.
“Your ‘Yes sirs’ and times are getting a bit slurred.” The head chef informed me.
“Just tired.” I replied.
“Your speech in general actually. Your nose bleed has not stopped either.” He told me, looking at me a bit concerned.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Look directly at me.” He told me.
I did as he asked, and he was looking at my eyes with increasing concern. The manager walked over, and his face shifted from irritated to concerned. That’s probably not good. If he looks concerned, I’ve got to look bad. Other than my crushing headache, I felt fine. The looks on their faces had me feeling a bit uneasy.
“What’s wrong?” I probed.
“Your pupils look off. We should take you to a hospital.” The head chef said.
“I’m fine. I can’t afford the hospital either way.” I replied.
“Keep an eye on him.” The manager ordered.
I powered through the rest of my shift, with them occasionally checking on me. It was a bit concerning the looks they were giving me. My headache was not improving. I began using the stool that was by my station. After a bit more, they asked me to take a break while giving me some food. Why is it hard for me to swallow? My nausea was making it hard to eat. It was just not my day.
The end of my shift finally arrived. The head chef insisted I just sit still while everyone else closed. Normally, that kind of behavior was met with glares, but everyone just let it slide. I must look terrible. Not that I mind, my head is killing me. After everything was closed, the head chef motioned for me to go with him. Sweet freedom, here we go. I stood up, got off the stool, and fell to the ground. Oh, that’s not good.
I tried standing back up, but my body gave out. The staff rushed over, with someone yelling. I hate yelling. Why am I thinking about that? I have more important concerns. Am I dying? I tried moving again, but everyone was trying to keep me still. Someone was roaring to call an ambulance. Everything was spinning around me. Could I win just once? Please? I can’t die like this. I finally got free; not like this.
Part of me wanted to let the head chef know not to blame himself if I croaked. Not like if I survive I could afford the hospital bill. I tried forming words, but even to me they sounded slurred. Is this how it ends? Everything slowly began fading to black. Goodbye, I guess.