~3~

~Claire Valli~

Three Months Later.

"Miss Valli. Miss Valli, are you even listening to me?" The doctor calls out with a mild slam on her work desk. Her face squeezes then she folds her arms.

I flip my eyes on her, recoiling my phone back into my pocket. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Grey. It's my boss. She's crashing out." My voice squeaks. "Can we be quick, please?"

Side note: I am so going to be fired today.

Mrs. Grey sighs deeply. "I'm advising you about your health. You need to start taking it seriously, or you can suffer anemia. It can affect your baby. Let me place you on our dietician care for..."

I crash out right away. flared eyes fixates on Mrs. Grey. "For what?" When I collect myself, I release a long sigh. "You've been of great help to me since I've been using this hospital but I can't afford that. If not for your help, I probably won't be able to afford antenatal."

She's not buying that, so I further. "I'll work on my diet."

"It's not enough." Mrs. Grey alerts. My phone rings again, and I hideously check the messages.

'Where are you lady? Be here in ten minutes or you're fired'

"Three exclamation marks?! I'm damned." I squeak aloud without realising. "I'm sorry, but I have to leave." I start to pack up.

"You need supplements like iron, antioxidant recommendations, and..." I'm not listening anymore. "Miss Valli, this is about your baby." Mrs. Grey's voice fades out as I rush out of the consulting room. I ramble my way outside the building and call a taxi.

On the way, tears brim my eyes as I think about my life. I am suffering. Things aren't getting better here in Los Angeles. When I found a job as a salesgirl in a hardware store, I thought life would be fairer but it's all messed up.

Why did I even think I can survive without Russo? Yes, he's never treated me better throughout our marriage, but at least, I never had to suffer to survive. I only needed to be quiet.

I ought to be smarter than offending him. Being an orphan, I know living like this is unbearable. Isn't that why I jumped on the offer to marry him when he requested? He was never kind but I enjoyed his influence.

Now, I can't take care of myself nor my baby. When does it get easy?

Gravity shifts when the door pulls to an abrupt stop. I'm not even near the shop when an ear-piercing voice calls. "Lady, I am deducting from your salary. Twenty bucks." And she continues rambling. "Coming in here all the time late like you're the boss when I am."

What? That's absurd but I dare not say that.

"Miss Calvary. I'm sorry. I—"

"No apologies, lady." She says. Does she even know my name?

"The money isn't even enough. I need my complete payment, please." I give her the puppy eyes, holding on desperate hope that she changes her mind.

"Get inside now and help Abigail with the customers, and maybe I'll reconsider." She commands and I nod my head, rushing in my flat sandals.

Inside the store, Abigail appears behind me, whispering into my ears. "I wonder how you survived two months here without crashing out. I've only spent...three weeks? And I am exhausted."

"We need the money." I tell her as I pack synthetic ropes and window glues into a carton.

"Ugh, whatever." Abigail groans, and I hasten to finish my orders.

The rest of the day is chaotic, as always. By the time we close, my stomach hurts, and my mouth is starting to salivate excessively. I'm outside the store when Abigail hits my shoulder.

"Here." There's a lemon in her hand. It helps with my ptyalism condition.

I squint my eyes at her as I hug her arm. "Aw, how did you know? Oh, what would I do without you?"

She chuckles, nudging towards the path home. "Come on. Let's go get some drinks." I nod in agreement.

A few minutes later, we are in an open cafe and I have a cranberry juice in front of me while Abigail has a malt beer.

I start the conversation. "I'm tired, Abigail. I saw the doctor today. She told me my blood level has reduced, worse than the last time, and I need more nutrients." My hands are on my stomach. "My baby's suffering and I can't even do anything about it."

Abigail is the only person in Los Angeles who knows about my pregnancy. Perhaps my only friend. I trust her enough to continue ranting. "I'm running out of time. I won't be able to work with Miss Calvary anymore when my stomach pops out. You know how she can be."

Abigail drops an empty bottle. "Of course, that old woman is a money's girl not a girl's girl. But I don't know how to help you."

"You assist with my utility bills and other things. You're obviously not relying on the same salary as me. How about the job you mentioned the other day?" I inquire, brows brushed against each other.

"You dismissed it." She shrugs.

"I—" I exhale loudly.

Abigail holds my hand when she says. "You're not going to be exposing your body. It's just a club. They have chatrooms where you speak with rich men. You make them get, you know," she clears her throat, "and they pay you when they're done." Her eyes sparks as she adds. "There might be a tip if you do better."

Rent dues in a week. My health is declining. I'm at a brink of losing my only job. I don't think I have a choice.

I glance towards the street to see it's getting darker and mute. Eyes back on Abigail, I nod my head. "when do we go?"

She spreads her hands out. "Oh, chill. The men in this place don't accept "no" for an answer. You either are in or not."

"I am in." My tone is firm.

Her lips twitch upward to one side. "I'll keep you in tabs. For now, go home."

"Thank you." Mouthing to her, I pick my bag and hurry home.

Within a few minutes, I'm close to my apartment. My legs have been quickfewer recently. My senses have been projecting eerie chills for the past weeks. It's poisonous and dark. I feel like someone is watching me whenever I pass through this alley.

"Oh, God!" My heart spikes in response to the rambling of a can. It rolls towards me and when I look up, I see a man to my left. A lighter in his left hand which he used to light up his weed. I can't see his face but his vibe is dreadful.

I pick up a race until I get to the apartment then to my door. Another shock overwhelms me when I see it's already opened. I can swear I locked the door before I went out this morning.

Slowly, I walk inside. Silent. Dim. Then, I turn on the bright light only to scream out of my lungs.

My legs lose equilibrium, and I crawl backwards in my butt. My cat is pinned to the living room wall with a nail — and its blood is used to write: "I MISS YOU".