Midnight Decisions

Ophelia

I stare intently at the front of the lecture hall, at what Professor Richards just explained up on the whiteboard.

My notebook is open, and my pen is furiously moving to copy every word.

I have everyone fooled.

Even I’m convinced that everything’s making sense to me, that I’m following all of it.

Seems like I was worried for nothing, that people might look at me and know right away.

There’s the sad orphan girl, penniless and homeless.

Turns out, it’s actually not that hard to go through the motions and pretend that everything is A-okay, even after your life has gone to shit less than a week ago.

Pretty easy to hide that the image of your mother’s lifeless body on the hospital bed, flashes behind your eyelids every time you blink. The sound of the beep stopping rings in your ears every few seconds. With the crushing realization that now both your parents are gone, leaving nothing behind. Not even a roof to shelter under. No other family, no friend you could go to.

That the only thing you have left is the full-ride scholarship that you earned yourself.

But that’s fine. It’s a breeze to fake that you have it together once you realize that there’s no one who cares either way.

I shift in my seat, and my stomach growls loud enough that a girl two rows ahead glances back with a cringe. I ignore her. I’ve always been good at ignoring things like they don’t exist. This girl, her cringe, my hunger, the urge to cry all the time...anything.

But my stupid head is pounding, and my body feels weightless by the time the class ends.

Damn it. You don’t eat for a couple measly days and your body starts acting like a diva.

My brain tries to explain to the rest of me that we can’t afford things like proper meals for now, until the tiny scholarship stipend hits. That everything else is second to not getting kicked out of school.

It doesn’t work.

My stomach just peals louder in protest.

Ughhh fine. Enough with the tantrum, you useless thing.

I stomp one floor down to the university cafeteria.

It’s noisy and bright, and smells like grease and bleach. I grab the cheapest grab-n-go thing they have, and join the checkout line.

Guess I’m having juice for lunch today.

Heading toward the door after paying, I twist the cap off the bottle, lift and tilt it up to my lips.

And go crashing to the floor with juice all over me when something blocks my ankle and I trip over it.

I’m scrambling for purchase and trying to wipe sticky splatters of juice off my neck and chin, when I hear it.

Elsa Godfrey’s laugh. Her group of girls is laughing too, but she can be heard above them all. Tinkling. Feminine. Is it weird that I think my bully’s laugh is...nice?

I glance around at the feet of the designer hyenas circling me, and prop myself to sit up, then stand up.

But I freeze when Elsa bends over, her hands on her knees.

“Awww.” She coos tauntingly. “Does the charity case even need help getting up?”

Her friends snicker. I don’t answer. Answering usually makes it worse.

But not answering doesn’t make it better either. There’s nothing really that does.

Right on cue, another one of them pipes up. “Blech...Vale, you look like shit and bones. Rough night in whatever cardboard box you’re currently sleeping in?”

I finally dart a look up. Elsa is smiling that sweetly venomous smile that makes my stomach churn even when it’s empty.

She’s holding a tray with half-eaten food and a half-finished glass of some colored drink. Most of them are carrying similar trays.

“We were just talking about how wasteful it is to throw away perfectly good food.” Elsa continues, voice dripping with fake concern. “Especially when there are so many pathetic skanks with their sad little juice lunches. So we thought we’d help.”

Before I can react, she dumps the entire contents of her tray on me. Cold pasta’s hitting me on my arms, lettuce pieces are landing in my lap. One of the other girls follows, scraping her leftovers right onto the pile. Another one tips her soda over so it soaks everything.

The smell hits me instantly. Garlic and ranch dressing and something else pungent.

“Eat up.” Elsa tells me brightly. “It’s on us. See how generous we are?”

In the beginning of freshman year, it was just mocking and insulting me with words. Then it was more. Locking me in the girls’ locker room with a janitor, tearing up my assignments, getting guys from the football team call me for servicing them...every few days she came up with something different. The first time she publicly, actively picked on me, I was frustrated and embarrassed and angry at the unfairness and helplessness of it. Why would someone like her get so much, and someone like me get nothing?

I know better now.

Life is unfair. It just is. Nothing anyone can do about it.

So I curl my hands into fists, and say and do nothing. Except wait for it to pass.

I ignore more insults they throw my way. I ignore one of them kicking at my leg, telling me that I’m in their way. I ignore another stepping on my backpack and jumping on it as laughter ripples across the cafeteria. Some uncomfortable sounds, but mostly laughs. I’m curious which part is funny. The way I look or the way I’m just taking it?

“What is going on here?” Professor Bright’s sharp voice cuts through the noise.

The girls scatter instantly. Elsa gives me one last look over her shoulder on her way out, filled with both satisfaction and disgust—before disappearing with her friends.

Professor Bright helps me up. “Miss Vale. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” I lie. My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

She looks at the mess on the floor, then at me. “You still don’t want to report this? There are enough witnesses to—”

“No.” The word comes out fast. “It was just a stupid prank.”

Professor Bright watches me disapprovingly. Then exhales. “If you change your mind…”

“I won’t.”

Is she really this naive? There are no witnesses when it comes to Elsa. I’ve seen enough, heard enough about her to know that this is not a battle that’s going to win me anything.

And I’d rather spend my limited energy getting out of this hellhole with a degree, than fighting with Elsa Godfrey for my dignity. She’s too fortunate, too untouchable for my dignity to be worth anything.

It takes me an hour to clean up, and I would’ve let it be, but I don’t want to smell when I’m sitting in the library.

My clothes are still damp and I don’t have spare ones on me.

Whatever. I need to study.

And the library’s warm. Cozy.

So I stay put there, until I hear the librarian announcing that they’re closing.

When I step out of the university building, it’s fully dark.

I make my way to the 24-hour laundromat three blocks off campus. My home for the night, for four nights now after the landlord evicted me. Mom paid rent month to month, and the last paid month just ran out.

Thankfully, the old guy who works the night shift at the laundromat, doesn’t care as long as I don’t make trouble and leave before the morning rush.

I curl up in my usual spot. On the bench between the dryers with my backpack as a pillow and my hoodie pulled over my head. A duffel bag with everything I own is under the bench.

I close my eyes but it’s another fitful night. Waking up to see if I’m safe, alive, then eyes going shut from sheer tiredness, then I’m jolting awake again. Rinse and repeat.

Who knew sleeping soundly on an empty stomach is next to impossible? Although I miss cooking and baking more than having food to eat.

I’m both relieved and exhausted when sunlight trickles in through the partially closed blinds.

I clean up as best as I can in the washroom there, and change into something else. Luckily, I don’t have a lot of options to choose from. So at least it’s quick.

When I step out of the washroom, I almost run into...Mrs Rivera.

She works at the Godfrey mansion—like a lot of people in this small town. Like my mother before she died.

Mrs Rivera’s in her fifties, has the kindest face I’ve seen, and always gives me things. Even back when mom was alive and she was mom’s boss. Old clothes, fancy leftover food from the mansion’s kitchen, things that the Godfreys were throwing away—

“Another rough night, honey?” She asks me softly.

I swallow, my eyes stinging. She knows everything. She was there for mom’s funeral, the eviction, and she’s been the only person following up on my so far fruitless hunt for odd jobs to support myself. Maybe I should take that busser job at that restaurant with the creepy manager who looked disappointed when I told him that I was 19—almost 20, and not a minor.

“So I have something for you.” She tells me, patting my cheek. “Your mom’s old job.”

I blink at her. My mom’s job.

A maid. In the Godfrey mansion. At the mercy of Elsa and her powerful father.

“I know Elsa has made your life difficult for months, and you don’t want to be around her any more than you have to. But it’s good pay.” She adds. “Boarding and food is covered. You’d live with us—the rest of the staff. So you’d also have me if you need anything. And the chef’s nice—you can use the kitchen if he allows you. You like to bake, right?”

I love to bake. I’m good at it too.

But my gut sinks.

A maid. In the Godfrey mansion. At the mercy of Elsa and her powerful father.

It’s come to either that, or spend the day in classes and the library, to skip or skimp on lunch and dinner, then sleep in a public place that I can be kicked out of any time. Or jumped or mugged.

Choices are not for girls like me. I have to take the cards I’m dealt. And as far as jobs go, I don’t think I’ll find anything better than this.

I nod. “Yeah. I’ll take it.”

Mrs Rivera visibly brightens. “That’s settled then. You just have to meet with Mr Godfrey once before you can start.”

I pale. “Mr Godfrey?”

She nods. “He personally vets every employee before he hires them. It’s nothing too extreme. He just talks to them to get a sense of whether he can trust them. And he’ll do a background check, of course.”

My pulse jumps. I’ve glimpsed Maxwell Godfrey from a distance once, soon after mom had just started working for him. It was a week after my 18th birthday. Mom had accidentally taken my phone with her to work, and I went to the mansion to get it from her.

Mr Godfrey was...in their sprawling yard, splitting wood with an axe. In a button down gray shirt, black dress pants that clung to his insanely fit build—every swing of his axe potent and controlled. He was razor focused on the task. I couldn’t look away. Until he stopped and turned, his eyes abruptly locking with mine. He was several feet away, but I felt that look like a physical touch. Intense. Unflinching. Sharp. Inexplicably shaken, I’ve never run so fast out of anywhere. And I never went back.

But from what mom told me, the man has impossible standards and non-existent tolerance for mistakes. He docked her pay once for not checking with him before ordering a new shower curtain for a bathroom. It wasn’t even his room’s bathroom.

And now I’m going to work for him. In his house.

“Hey.” Mrs Rivera touches my arm gently. “Don’t you worry about any of it—you’ll be fine.”

I’d snort at that if I didn’t have jitters right now.

If life has shown me anything in the last seven days alone, it’s that I may be destined to be as far from fine as I can be.

This job will likely be another chapter in my series of unfortunate events.

But what have I left to lose anyway?