Minx Ahlstrom {D5}

Minx Ahlstrom

He could hear her shouting from the other side of the house.

"MINX!"

It was just before sunrise. A yellow stripe was drawn across the the horizon, but he couldn't see it past the roofs of rickety houses and the old brick school. His window was all scratched up for whatever reason, yet he could see the light casting an early glow across the sky. He kicked his blankets away and sighed in a dread that sank him further into his mattress. It was only a matter of time before--

"MINX!"

She was always louder the second time. Somehow that woman never lost her voice.

Aunt Lara always demanded that he look "decent" when entering her room, so he slipped on a shirt and tied the strings of his pajama pants. Last night's crossword puzzle had somehow made its way to his clean floor, but despite its lack of completion he crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash. His bedroom was the tidiest space in the house, save for the mess of knitting supplies sprawled across his desk. A half-knitted red scarf was draped over the back of the chair. He was thinking of selling it.

"MINX, WAKE UP!"

He slammed his drawer shut and growled. I'm fucking awake, you old hag. Her patience ran thinner than her hair, which was marked grey by sickness and age. She wasn't even that old, she was just dying.

And it was taking too damn long.

Red faced, he marched to her bedroom and wiped the crust out of his eyes. She was in bed - like always - surrounded by hand-made pillows and quilts with ugly furrows etched into her brow. Her scowl was a permanent mask. She even looked angry when she slept.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, "What took you so long? I've been calling your name for ten minutes!"

Two minutes, actually.

"Are you starting to neglect me now? Your poor sick Aunt Lara?"

He stared at her vacantly, waiting for her to cease her rant.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," she hissed.

"I'm sorry, I'll be faster next time," he interjected.

"You better be! I need my morning tea. You know I can't relax without my morning tea."

He nodded and started toward the door, but stopped short when she chucked a pillow at his face. "I wasn't finished!"

He nonchalantly lifted the pillow and set it aside."I need more morphling pills. Pick some up at the market after breakfast."

"I don't have the money," he admitted sheepishly. Inwardly he cringed at the inevitable onslaught of anger waiting to burst from her lungs.

"Excuse me? No money? What do you mean you don't have the money? What did you do, spend it on drugs again?"

"I'm not on drugs."

"Bullshit you're not. You're a criminal just like your parents were, spending all of your sick aunt's money on drugs! You're going to overdose just like they did!"

Wrong. My dad had a heart attack.

"I'm getting paid at my new job today. I can buy the pills after."

"What am I going to do until then? You're going to let your poor aunt suffer?"

"We don't have a choice, you ate all the pills."

"Don't talk back to me you ungrateful abortion,"

He closed his mouth and stared at her. There was no denying the only solution, he just had to wait for her anger to subside.

"Just get me my tea. You've given me no choice but to suffer. I should report you to the Peacekeepers!"

Too bad you can't move.

He left without another word and brewed her tea in the kitchen.

----

Sometimes I wish I could die.

Not living would be easier than this, but I've given it a lot of thought and decided that I still have a chance. If Aunt Lara would hurry up and die, I'd be free. I could do whatever I wanted, preferably before I'm an actual adult. I've accomplished almost nothing in life because of her.

Before she was sick, my parents were alive. They were druggies just like she said they were, and she says it's because I was born. She says my parents didn't want me and tried to abort me, but they couldn't afford a professional one so they tried other ways. Drinking was one of them. Obviously it didn't work, and I was lucky to have been born without any disabilities, but it was pretty obvious they didn't like me. For Ratmas they would buy me new toys to play with and then a few months later sell them for drug money. They sold my crib, too, before I stopped needing it. They never played with me or read me bedtime stories. Dad would just say "Leave your mother alone," and send me to my room. School was the only fun place to go, but because I was a moody kid that cried a lot nobody wanted to be my friend. I had to drop out two years ago.

My mom died of a drug overdose. I don't even know which drug, she was on more than one according to Aunt Lara. Life got pretty rough after that, because that's when Aunt Lara found out she was sick and going to die a slow painful death. Her husband had already died of a stroke, so she ended up moving in with us to comfort her brother. It didn't help; he just stayed in his room and did more drugs until he had a heart attack. I was ten years old. Aunt Lara started getting a lot worse, and needed care from nurses everyday. We lived off of what little money my parents and her husband left. She was a lot nicer back then. She even called me "sweetie."

Then the sickness got to her head. She's ruthless now. We barely have the money to afford one nurse, who only comes by when I'm at work, so I have to take care of her. She doesn't appreciate anything. I do everything "wrong" and I'm a "criminal" and I'm "lazy." She's bed-ridden and knows nothing about me. I do everything the way she likes it, and I do it the same way every time. I'm not a criminal, I've never touched drugs or even alcohol. I don't know anyone who could even sell me drugs because I have no friends. I don't even have time for friends because I'm the one that has to take care of her and then work to pay for morphling pills, food, clothes, the nurse, and the bills. The last thing I am is lazy.

I've had a lot of jobs. Oil rig worker, farm boy, animal groomer, janitor, cafe server. I get fired a lot. My coworkers said it was because of my moodiness and my tantrums, but I can't help it. I've never been able to take an insult from anyone but my aunt. She gives me enough shit (one of her rules is no cursing in the house, but she does it all the time so I can too), so why should I have to hear it from anyone else? It doesn't help that I'm jealous of them, either. Everyone seems to have everything that I want. Freedom, friends, motivation, confidence, a solid job, a sex life, a caring family. Where is my break?

I got fired from my last job for throwing a glass bottle at my manager. He called me a lazy good for nothing and I just snapped for some reason. I was tired of his shit, he treated all of the workers like that. I know I'm a lot of bad things, but a lazy good for nothing is not one of them. I work hard to stay alive, and for what? Not much. A bunch of bullshit maybe.

I have a new job now. I'm a servant who goes to rich people's houses and cleans things for them. The pay isn't bad, and you can even get tipped if you do a good job. I don't know if I'm cut out for it yet, but I'm going to try my best. I need the money.

I have to do something while I wait for my aunt to die.

Since I don't have any friends and can't really go out, I have to do things at home in my spare time. I usually just clean, do crossword puzzles, or knit. They're not manly hobbies, but they're all I've got. I get supplies cheap because one of my old coworkers owns a shop. I come by a lot just to say hi. He's pretty cute, but I don't think I'm much of a looker. I'm a short scrawny thing with boring black hair and boring dark eyes. Someone told me that I have a "baby face." That's probably why people don't give me a second glance.

I should probably pour my Aunt Lara's tea now. She threw a glass at me last time I was late with something, and it gave me a black eye for a week. Now I only give her plastic cups.

Hurry up and die already.