Imagine…
It seems like a totally ordinary morning when you wake, with nothing to suggest that your life is about to be upended. You get up slowly, savouring the warmth of your bed, and wander around your room brushing your (long, brown) hair. You pick out an outfit for the day - a loose fitting Star Wars tee, skinny jeans and red converse - and tie your hair up in your usual ponytail. After lightly applying some mascara and eyeliner (you’ve never been one of those girls to cake their whole face in makeup) you make your way downstairs to have breakfast.
The vibe is…weird, in the kitchen. Your mom seems kind of uptight, watching you out of the corner of her eye like you are a rare bird who might take flight at any moment. You do your best to ignore it - it’s such a sunny morning and you just want to focus on getting ready for school - but when you sit at the table with your cereal and orange juice, she comes to join you.
“What’s wrong, mom?” you ask, through a mouthful of cornflakes. “And don’t say nothing, because clearly something is.”
Your mom hesitates. “You’re right, Y/N. There’s something going on. But it’s not bad, it’s just…different.”
“Huh.” You wait for her to go on.
“Well, you know your father and I have been struggling recently,” she continues, now avoiding your gaze. “Everything costs so much, and we’re trying to do our best by your little sisters.”
You nod, slowly. This isn’t news. As the eldest sibling, you’ve always been allowed to know more of what’s happening with your family than your younger siblings.
“And then this man, well, he came to us with an offer.” A tear slips her cheek, splashing into her morning coffee.
Startled, you reach out to take her hand across the table. “Mom? What’s going on?”
Right on cue, there is a knock at the door.
“He’ll take good care of you,” your mom says quickly, taking her hand back so that she can go to open the door. “He promised. And we’ll still be able to see you at some weekends. It’s…it’s for the best, sweetie.”
She opens the door and a strange man walks in. He’s strange-looking, all dark shadows and sharp angles, and even though he’s many years your senior you can’t help thinking that he’s maybe the hottest person you’ve seen in your life.
“This is Goncharov,” your mom says, clearly trying to hold herself together. “Your new owner.”