white knuckles rap against the heavy wooden door, black hair swirling in the gale as rain pounded against her thin back. she wore little more than a sweater and leggings, holey boots covered in mud as she began to kick at the door. tap tap kick kick.
“hey! open up! I’m sorry,” she yells over the storm just as lightning illuminates the sky. she’d gotten into a fight with her father moments ago, threatening to leave. it wasn’t her job to care for her sisters -- it was mother’s.
but mother wasn’t home. she hasn’t been here for months, Josie thinks with water dripping down her spine. she’s shivering against the elements, pressing her body against the house in a feeble attempt to keep herself dry.
“I’ll behave! I promise.”
all of the lights in the house flicker out, one by one. father wasn’t budging -- she was sleeping outside tonight.
“you fucking asshole,” she whispers beneath her breath, arms wrapping around herself in a weak attempt to keep herself warm. it was at least an hour hitchhike to the nearest town, and she didn’t have the keys to the car. she couldn’t drive it, anyway, she was too young.
shaken, the brunette turns away, knowing that it would be better to start walking than to wait for her father to have a change of heart.
after almost two hours of sloshing around in the rain, refusing offers of being picked up by strangers (that will be for another day, another mission). she’s pushing open the door to a diner, soaked to the bone.
the waitress eyes her up and down, her penciled-in eyebrows pushing past her hairline. her name tag read Marsha.
she clears her throat, closing her notebook with a huff. “fighting again, Josie? this is the fifth time this week. you shouldn’t push your father’s buttons like this,” the woman led the way to a small table, one that is almost reserved for Jo. “when he baits the conversation, you don’t have to bite it. just take a breath, let him go on, and do as he says.”
“but he’s such an asshole!” Jo is practically whining, sitting in the booth. there’s already a mug waiting for her. “why does he have to leave me with Ruth all of the time? we shared a womb and a room for fourteen years, I need some space!”
Marsha pours the youth a cup of coffee, knowing that Jo had no money to pay for it. she offers a tired smile (she’s worked a long shift), grim and tight lipped. she’s witnessed the rage of Josie’s father, Michael, first hand. it was not the first time that she has had to call the police for disgruntled guests, and it certainly will not be the last.
“Marsha, are you listening to me?” she’s staring at her, frowning. apparently, she’d been explaining tonight’s mishap but Marsha was not listening. irritated, she repeats herself. “he kicked me out of the house for refusing to cook dinner for Ruth. she’s supposed to be my older sister, right? so what was stopping her from taking care of herself? nothing. she’s so fucking privileged and I’m what? her slave?”
she slams her hands against the table
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