Chapter 1
Hyacinth stood hunched over the small screen, tired and focused. She was coming upon the end of a double shift, and while she wanted nothing more than to get out of work, every part of her was screaming not to go home. Her delicate fingers hovered over the screen, her tired hazel eyes straining to read the small print. She would have reached up to rub at her eyes, but she didn't want to risk smudging the makeup that hid the dark shadows that tinted the skin under her eyes. She hadn't slept in a couple of days and hadn't slept properly for years.
Her foster mother had made sure to scrutinize her appearance before she left the group home every day. Every day it was the same routine. She dressed in dark turtle necks that clung to her too-small curves and dark skinny jeans. It was the only way to ensure that all her scars, marks, and bruises were covered. She would sit on her bed and face the cheap mirror mounted on her wall while her foster mother brushed her hair and styled it meticulously before doing her makeup to cover any blemishes or red marks on her face from scars that still had yet to heal fully. After everything was done, her foster parents would debrief her. Her foster father would cast his eyes to the ground in front of his wife, but his voice was no less menacing.
"Remember, do your job. Don't speak out of turn, and for fucks sake, try not to flirt with every male that comes into that slop of a restaurant. Don't mess up your hair." Her foster mother reminded her, sneering at her.
"Just shut your mouth, stand there and look pretty, and get paid. It's all your good for anyway." Her foster father doubled down. Hyacinth nodded curtly and left.
Today, her bronze-colored hair was pulled into a half ponytail, the sides braided tightly and neatly. There wasn't a hair out of place, and she ensured it stayed that way. Her foster mother had made her makeup more natural looking, nothing flashy, a small amount of mascara and eyeliner to look presentable, and that was pretty much that. Her foster parents weren't exactly poor, but they couldn't afford much out of their financial range. They kept her around because she was the only thing that held that house together. There were four other children in the home, an infant named Darwin, two twelve-year-olds named Chloe and Geoff, and a five-year-old named Merideth.
She fed them, bathed them, cleaned after them, and ensured all was right. She hid as much of the abuse as possible and kept the others in line, so they didn't feel her foster mother's wrath or her foster father's touch. Because her time was otherwise occupied and because of the insanely tight leash she was kept on, Hyacinth never left her house unless it was to buy groceries or to go to work.
Hyacinth pressed a combination of selections on the screen, and, after a thorough once-over, she printed out her table's check. She clipped the tab tightly in her black bill book, snapped it shut, and tucked it into her apron. She started on the next bill when she saw a dark form approaching her. Hyacinth straightened, her body going stiff.
"Hyacinth, there's a call for you," her manager, Dave, told her softly. For a moment, she was tempted to ask him if she could finish her task, but she what would happen. She knew who was on the other side of that line. She pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded. Dave held his hand out, asking for her notepad so he could continue her work.
She gave it to him and carefully side-stepped over to the back room and picked up the phone. Her hands shook involuntarily. She tried to steady her breath before putting the phone cautiously to her ear.
"Hello, this is Hyacinth." She greeted too softly. At first, there was nothing but shaky breath on the other end, then her foster father's gravelly voice began.
"It's time to come home, baby girl." The line hung up. An overwhelming feeling began to bubble in her throat; hot tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. She couldn't argue with him; she knew what would happen if she did. She knew the routine too well and had devised a solid excuse to leave work each time.
She set the phone back down onto its charger and took a second to steady herself before turning on her heels and silently making her way over to her manager. He was finishing her billings when she returned. He knew what to expect at this point; no doubt he was getting tired of her early dismissals.
"You leaving?" He asked, not tearing his eyes away from the screen.
"Yeah, sorry," she bit her bottom lip absentmindedly. "I'll come in early tomorrow?"
"That's fine. See you tomorrow, Hyacinth." Dave sighed and left to deliver the checks. Hyacinth signed out, preparing herself for the harsh, cold breeze.
Hyacinth did her best to slow the journey back to her foster home as much as was reasonably possible. She slowed her steps to an almost painful pace and took unnecessary turns. She couldn't slow it down too much, though. Her foster parents knew how long it would take her to walk home from work. Hyacinth didn't want to come home to screams and strikes. She didn't want to feel her foster father's advances become more violent.
The last time he had touched her like that, he had left angry bruises on her ribs and wrists, a bite mark on her inner thigh, and a burn from his cigarette on her left hip. Hyacinth shuddered at the memory, hugging herself tightly to protect herself from the chill of the breeze and to remind herself that that time had passed. She bit her bottom lip again absentmindedly as she fought herself to keep the doors to her past closed. She couldn't change her circumstances.
There was a time when she had hope. There was a time when she wished her life had turned out differently. That her birth parents weren't drug addicts sold her off to whoever was willing to get a quick fix. That she wasn't bounced around from abusive household to abusive household. That she wasn't stuck at this dreadful house with these god-awful people who took every dime, she had ever hoped to save.
Any fight that she had in her was beaten out of her until she became this pathetic, submissive shell of a girl. She bit her bottom lip more harshly than she had intended, pulling her back to reality. A bitter taste was left in her mouth at the lingering thought of her life. She almost didn't notice how her footsteps slowed as she neared the footsteps of her foster home's front porch. Her mouth went dry suddenly, her heartbeat racing. She had half a mind to run and never look back.
Who would watch the others? Where would you go? She questioned herself and beat down the urge to turn tail and run. She knew that her foster father wouldn't spare Chloe if she left. His abuse wouldn't stop with her if she didn't stay.
With a numbness that swept over her violently, Hyacinth climbed the porch steps and quietly reached for the door. There was nothing more to do than accept what was waiting for her; if she got lucky, he would have fallen asleep waiting for her.
