It's been two weeks since my mother used me as collateral in exchange for drugs. Every day with Black feels like walking on thin ice. He's becoming obsessed, clinging to me like I'm his last hope. He insists I stay over, begging.
But each time I refuse, a storm brews in his eyes. He shouts, hurls insults, and sometimes, objects. Last night, he threw his phone at me. The impact left a bruise on my shoulder, a dark reminder of the growing danger.
It's my day off today, so I went with Grandma to the market. The sun is merciless, but the air outside is a relief. We sell all of her vegetables earlier than expected, by 4 pm, which means we're heading home earlier than usual. I feel a small, fleeting sense of freedom with every step. But the relief is tempered by the weight in my chest, knowing I'll have to face Black soon enough. Grandma's hand slips into mine, grounding me, and reminding me that there's still a sliver of safety in this chaotic world.
"Let me cook while you rest," Grandma says as we step into the corner of our house. Her gentle hand press mine.
I laugh, shaking my head. "I'm not fragile, Grandma. I can help."
She scoffs, glancing over her shoulder. "You should rest before that vile boy sends someone to fetch you again." Her voice carries a hiss of disapproval, eyes sharp with worry.
I sigh, understanding her concern, but determined. "I won't let him control me, Grandma. Today, we're cooking together, just us."
She smiles, relenting. "Alright, child. Just us."
My heart raced as I watched strange men toss our belongings onto the dusty ground outside. Pots, pans, our meager collection of clothes, the old bed my grandmother slept on, all strewn about as if they were worthless. My stomach twisted with a mix of anger and fear.
I sprinted toward the man holding papers, desperation pushing me to fight against the rising tide of helplessness. "Who are you?" I demanded, my voice trembling as I fought back tears.
The man turns to face me, a thick stack of papers in hand. "We bought the house," he replied, his voice cold. "Your mother sold it to us last week." He shoved the documents toward me, his finger pointing to a signature at the bottom unmistakable, my mother's.
My grandmother's soft gasp brought me back. I turned just in time to see her crumple to the ground, the weight of betrayal too much for her frail body to bear. Panic surged through me as I rushed to my grandmother's side, dropping down beside her. Her face was pale, her body limp, and for a terrifying moment, I thought I had lost her. My hands shook as I patted her cheek and called. "Grandma! Grandma, please wake up!" I pleaded, feeling the panic clawing up my throat.
The man stands there, his gaze shifting uncomfortably from me to the papers in his hands. Another man in the group places his hand on his shoulder and whispers something in his ear. He looks at me with a mixture of pity and indifference, as if he's already weighed our situation and found us unworthy of further sympathy.
"Do something!" I scream, but no one moves. To them, we're just a couple of inconveniences blocking their new property.
One of the men sneered. "Not our problem. You have until sundown to clear out."
"Come on, Grandma," I murmur, taking a deep breath and lifting her head onto my lap. I can't give in to fear, not when she needs me. As they continued their ruthless work, I tried to revive my grandmother, stroking her thin, weathered face, whispering reassurances I barely believed myself. After a few agonizing tense seconds, her eyes flutter open, and she looks up at me, her face creased with confusion.
"They're... throwing us out?" she whispers, her voice a mix of disbelief and betrayal. I nod, unable to find words that could ease her shock.
The man with the papers, noticing her consciousness, clears his throat. "I'm sorry, but it's all legal. I assure you.
She stirred slightly, but her gaze was distant. "It can't be," she whispered, her voice frail and broken.
Meanwhile, the men continued to haul our belongings out of the house, oblivious to our shock. One of them—a tall man with a scar across his jaw—caught my eye as he shoved our small dining table onto the growing pile on the ground causing it to break. "You'd better clear out soon," he said gruffly. "Our boss paid good money for this place."
Anger bubbled inside me, but I held it back, too overwhelmed by the situation to find words. "This...this is our home," I managed to say, my voice trembling.
"Not anymore," the man replied with a shrug. "Your mother signed the papers herself. It's all official."
I knew my mother was capable of making reckless choices, but selling our home—the only place we had left—felt like a betrayal I couldn't comprehend. My grandmother let out a small, defeated sob, and I wrapped my arms around her, feeling a mix of fury and helplessness. How could she do this to us?
"Come on, Grandma," I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady. "Let's get away from here for a bit. I'll figure something out."
As I helped her to her feet, I could see the light fading from her eyes. She looked smaller, frailer.
"Where are we going to go?" she asks, her voice fragile, almost trembling.
"To the hospital, Grandma," I reply, steady but soft. She glances at me, her face shadowed with worry and a hint of fear. Her blood pressure has been high, climbing day by day, and with everything happening around us, I can't take any risks. "They'll take care of you there, and we'll have somewhere safe to stay, at least for now."
"We can't afford it," my grandma says, her face pale and tired.
I stand frozen, my mind racing for an answer that won't destroy us. The weight of our situation crushes me. "We'll use the loan shark's money," I reply, trying to sound confident, but my hands tremble.
"No, we can't. He'll be here for his money in two weeks. We can't get that kind of money in two weeks!" Her voice cracks, and I watch as the tears fall down her wrinkled cheeks.
"Let's worry about that later," I say, trying to calm her. But my grandma is so scared she slumps to the floor again. Panic rises in me as I rush to lift her onto my back, her frail body pressing against mine. I walk quickly to the road, flagging down a cab.
I lean against the window as the cab rattles down the dusty road. Grandma's frail frame leans into mine, her breathing uneven, as she tries to keep calm. I can tell she's struggling, her hands trembling as she clutches her skirt. Every so often, she glances at me, her eyes filled with worry and pain, and I look away, trying to shield her from the fear brewing inside me too.
Her breath is shallow, her eyes half-closed, but she still mutters, "This is wrong. We can't afford it. He'll come for us."
"Shh," I whisper, squeezing her hand. "Let's just get you checked out. You're all I have, Grandma."
"But we," my grandma starts, and I cut her off.
"We'll be okay, Grandma," I murmur, even though I don't quite believe it myself. The weight of our debt hangs over us like a storm cloud, darkening everything.
As we approach the hospital, the cab driver glances at us through the rearview mirror. He's seen the whole ordeal unfold, our desperation, the urgency. He doesn't say anything, but I catch a flicker of pity in his eyes. I'm used to it by now — people's pity, their judgment. But I ignore it. Grandma needs me.
"We're here," I say softly, nudging Grandma as the cab pulls up to the hospital. I pay him and I help her out, her hands clutching my arm as if it's her only lifeline. Inside, the harsh fluorescent lights make her look even paler and more fragile. I guide her to the reception, explaining her symptoms to the nurse on duty, who glances at us with a mixture of concern.
"She needs help," I say, my voice trembling and she fainted earlier."
"Your grandmother needs to be admitted her blood pressure is high. We'll need to keep her for monitoring," the nurse says after checking Grandma's vitals.
"Is it... is it serious?" I ask, my voice trembling.
She looks at me, finally, with a softness in her eyes. "Yes, it's important we act now. The stress could lead to something worse."
I glance at Grandma, who's leaning on the counter, her eyes dull with fatigue. She has given so much and sacrificed so much, and here she is, worried about paying a debt rather than her health.
"All right," I say, nodding to the nurse. "We'll admit her."
Grandma grips my hand, her voice barely a whisper. "You're making a mistake, child. We don't have money for this..."
But I shake my head, determined. "I'll figure it out, Grandma. Please, just rest."
The nurse guides us to a small room, and I help Grandma into the bed. As soon as her head hits the pillow, her eyes close, and she lets out a long, weary sigh. I stay by her side, watching the monitor that beeps softly with each heartbeat.
"We'll need a deposit," the nurse says and walks out.
I follow the nurse out to the reception, where she hands me a form to fill. I glance at the total; it's more than I expected, but I don't hesitate. With a shaky hand, I pull out a few bills, each one feeling like it scalds my fingers as I hand them over. The nurse signs off with a nod. I take a deep breath and turn, my heart pounding as I head back to meet my grandma. Her frail form in the hospital bed feels like a heavyweight, grounding me, reminding me why this cost doesn't matter.
My grandma reaches for my hand as I sit on the chair beside her bed, her eyes glistening with fresh tears. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "This is my fault. If I hadn't gotten so worked up..."
I shake my head firmly. "Don't say that. You've done nothing wrong, Grandma. We'll figure it out. Just rest for now." I manage a weak smile, hoping it will give her a little comfort, but she sees right through it, and I feel her grip tighten.
"I'm sorry, my boy," she whispers, her voice frail.
"It's okay, Grandmother. Just get better," I reply, holding back tears as I press a gentle kiss to her hand. Her fingers tremble, and I can feel the years of warmth and wisdom they once held.
As she settles in, I slip out of the room, needing a moment to think. Leaning against the wall, I count the remaining cash, a sinking feeling deepening in my stomach. There's barely enough left for food and essentials, let alone the debt hanging over us.
I take a deep breath, pushing down the panic. Right now, I need to focus on Grandma. I head back to her room, where she's already dozing off, her face softening as sleep overtakes her worry. I watch her for a moment, wondering how we'll make it through this.
Once she's asleep, I step outside, leaning against the cold, white wall. My mind races. I know the loan shark will be knocking soon, demanding his money. Two weeks isn't enough time, not for someone like me who's already scrambling to make ends meet. But I don't regret my choice. Grandma's life is more precious than anything else. And somehow, I'll find a way to buy us some time. I'll work double shifts, cut corners, and maybe talk to Black to help with a loan. One way or another, I'll make sure she's safe.
As the last traces of daylight slip behind the rooftops, I feel an urgency swell in my chest. I push myself off the cold wall, taking brisk steps toward home, hoping to salvage anything left behind. Each step is heavy, weighed down by dread, but I keep running, driven by a spark of hope.
When I arrive, the spark dies.
The outside is empty. Stripped bare. Not a single trace of our things remains. I rush inside from room to room, each corner only confirming what I already know. My heart sinks. I pause, letting the quiet settle over me, a hollow ache echoing in the stillness. I press my hands against the bare walls, searching for some trace of warmth, some memory of the life we once had here. But there's nothing.
I step outside, my legs weak, and sink onto the ground. The street is silent, and the night feels colder than before. I wrap my arms around myself, unsure of my next move. Helplessness settles in, heavy and unforgiving. I stare into the darkness, feeling a chill that goes deeper than the night air.
Zhan. Someone calls my name but I ignore it.
"Zhan." I hear the voice again, sharp and unforgiving. I lift my head, eyes heavy with fatigue. One of Black's men stands over me, his face shadowed under the dim streetlights.
"Black wants you," he says, jerking his head toward the sleek, black car parked just a few feet away.
"Not today," I mutter, the words slipping out more as a plea than a refusal. My body aches, hollow with hunger, and worn from too many sleepless nights.
Without warning, he strides over, grabs my arm, and yanks me up from the ground.
"I said not today," I hiss, pulling my hand free. Anger flickers, quick and fierce, but he only laughs, a cold sound that cuts through the silence. Before I can react, his fist slams into my face, sharp pain blooming along my jaw. My vision blurs, but I feel him dragging me toward the car.
The ride is silent, the streets flashing past in smears of light and shadow. Minutes later, we stop outside Black's building. I step out, my legs shaky, stomach twisting as I follow him up the stairs, each step echoing with a sense of dread I can't shake.