Wild Bastard by Ella Savitskaya (book suggestions .txt) 📕

Marina

In the morning I wake up to the sound of someone furiously banging on my door. I squeeze my eyes shut and cover my head with the pillow. Whoever it is, let them go to hell.

The hope that the uninvited guests would disappear fades as soon as the sound of the opening lock reaches the muffled eardrums of a pillow.

Oh, shit. The housekeeper. She's the only one with keys. She uses them in case I don't open the door or I'm just not home.

I reluctantly climb out from under the pillow, ready for the tantrums of a woman who could easily compete for the title of the most scandalous in a radius of a hundred thousand kilometers. I get out of bed just as the door creaks open and I see her corpulent body in the hallway.

"So, you are at home". She starts up a tattered record in a grumpy tone from the doorstep.

"Good morning, Mrs. Dean" I greet her sleepily, trying to guess the reason why Big Momma might have left her den and visited earlier than expected. Usually one reason is rent, but it's too early now. I've got one more week for sure. I'll have time to get my paycheck, "Do you want some tea?"

"She offers me tea, look at her. Now, honey, listen to me carefully. You have one hour to pay for the month, pack your stuff, and leave the apartment."

After throwing a bucket of cold water on me, with a loud slam she closes the door behind her and enters the only room with her hands at her sides.

"What do you mean, to leave?" I can't tell from her appearance that this person is capable of jokes on principle. That makes it even worse.

"That's what I mean. I'm tired of waiting for you to pay me. Last time It took you three months to pay."

"But I paid later."

"Yes, later. And then last month you were late again."

"Because my salary was late" I explain for the third time, because twenty days ago I told her how everyone at the bar had been held back on their money.

Sticky sweat begins to run down my spine.

"Salary, yes, I know what you do for a living!" The venom from the sarcastic mouth stung, but not fatally. - Life has hardened. People often assume that if I'm from an orphanage, I can't do anything but make a living with my own body. So I just clench my teeth, hoping that the woman will let off steam now and go back to her den, because at this price to find an apartment is not real, and for I don't have money for a more expensive one. "Anyway, I don't want to hear anything. I will make repairs here and take normal tenants who are able to pay steadily. And who will not bring clients to my place. To my apartment!"

"What? What clients?" I can't stand the false accusations. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't play the fool with me. I won't take money for the whole month, though I should. For moral damages."

I feel anger coming over me in invisible waves. My pulse is racing, my palms are sweating.

I suddenly realize that in a short time I won't even have a place to go back to after work.

"I have nowhere to go," I tell, looking straight into her fat face.

"That's not my problem anymore" Mrs. Dean snorts, turns around, grabs my scarf from the nightstand, and tosses it in my direction. - Get packed!

I caught the one thing I cared about, preventing it from falling to the floor.

"Don't you dare throw my things" I warn her through gritted teeth.

"And you pack faster for me not to throw it."

If I could kill her with my eyes, I'd have already dismembered her into little pieces. Let her choke on her own apartment! This person would sell her mother for an extra penny!

I pull out my gym bag, with which I left the orphanage, from under the bed, and start throwing my modest belongings into it.

I don't have much stuff, so I'll manage quickly, as long as I don't have to look at her blurry face for at least one extra second.

I turn my back and swap my pajama top for the first T-shirt I can find. I lean over, pulling down my shorts and exposing my black tango butt to her, as an example of where she needs to go.

A disgruntled quack comes from behind me as I pull my sweatpants up my legs.

"No manners!" Grumbles the hippo.

Well, yes, her manners I had the opportunity to hear, when right in front of her an old lady from the fourth floor accidentally spilled a bag of milk. Or rather, she just dropped it, and it burst, slamming into the cement. This lady was not stingy with her expressions, walking around the puddle with regal gait and spewing curses at the entire entranceway.

I throw my cosmetics in with the rest of my things, take my dishes, which are only a cup and a teaspoon. My soap and sneakers. On top of all of this I carefully lay out a blue wave scarf and, clasping my bag, put it into the hallway.

"Where's the money?" Mrs. Dean yells, shuffling after me.

"You know very well that my paycheck is in a week, you should have learned in six months" I hastily tie the laces on my sneakers and gather my ponytail on top of my head.

I try to look indifferent and show that I don't care that I'm thrown out of an apartment like a puppy, but my trembling hands give me away. Shit.

"Don't get smart with me. You have something to live on! Then you must have something to pay for it, too."

"Are you serious?" I can't even control my mouth from the shock. "If I give you the last of my money, I won't even be able to buy myself a cheap pie from the market. I'll get my paycheck and bring it back in twenty days, just like you said."

"No, dearie, you pay now!"

I'm the only one who's quicker. And while this heartless woman is trying to grab my hand, I pick up my bag from the floor and run out into the stairwell.

"Stop, you bitch!"

Like hell. I'm not going to starve to death while she uses my hard-earned money to buy herself a cake for tea tonight.