A Child's Days

by C. L. Quinn

  Chocolate. Julia had given her some once, and it had been so delicious. Could she dare spend that last dollar? Mother would know, she always did unless she was stoned. It was probably a bad idea, so she decided not to risk it.

  Just as she put her basket up on the counter, she smiled up at the pretty blonde girl who began to ring her items, and at the last second, she snatched the candy bar and placed it beside the eggs.

  “Got a thing for chocolate, eh?” the girl asked.

  Punk nodded.

  “Every girl does. It’s written in our DNA.” Laughing, the girl put the candy bar into the plastic bag, as she turned to Punk. “That’ll be nine ninety-eight, sweetie.”

  Punk handed her the ten dollar bill.

  “You just sneaked in under your limit. Smart shopping, honey. Here you go.”

  Walking out of the store, Punk stopped and sat on a park bench. The sun was out and moving higher in the sky, warming her frozen skin. Oh, it felt so nice!

  Her face raised to its increasing heat, she closed her eyes and let the rays infuse her with honeyed warmth that made her smile ear to ear. She whispered out loud, but softly, “Someday, I’m going to live someplace where the sun shines all the time and I’m never going to ever let a day go by without being in it.”

  Someday. She hoped that her mother wouldn’t try to stop her. Then she realized, Mother would be overjoyed when her homely daughter finally left.

  But now, today, this wonderful moment, Punk sat in sunlight, had a candy bar in her bag, and she was starving. So she fished out the small bottle of orange juice, twisted the lid, unwrapped the chocolate treat, and savored the flavor of tart orange juice, fresh and cold on her tongue, and the sugary sweetness of the candy. This was a good day after weeks of aloneness and worry.

  Punk looked around at people hurrying by to places they must have to be, and leaned against the back of the bench, her legs swinging, and enjoyed the morning.

  Twenty minutes later, she lugged the bag back up the five flights, and pushed the scarred door to their apartment open.

  “I’m back, Mother,” she announced, and came to a stop when she saw her mother lying on the couch, the robe open, her feet sticking up, a lit cigarette dangling from the end of two fingers, and a tray with the white powder she knew was called “coke” on the table beside her.

  Yes, she was out.

  Shaking her head, Punk removed the cigarette, crushed the end into a tray, and headed into the kitchen.

  “I’m still having eggs and bacon,” she said out loud as she set the coffee on a shelf in the cabinet, placed the eggs and package of bacon near the stove and reached for a skillet and bowl.

  TWO

  “Where the fuck are my fuck-me shoes?”

  Mother came from her bedroom, yanking on a skin-tight blue sequined dress that barely cleared her butt.

  On the couch, playing with a ball she’d made by weaving together strips of an old newspaper, Punk looked up.

  She didn’t have to answer because Mother’s friend Julia was waiting beside Punk and did so first.

  “Rena, you keep all of that shit under your bed or on that broken chair in the corner. Look under that pile of clothes you throw on it, I bet they’re under there!”

  Mother disappeared back into her room.

  Julia turned to Punk.

  “You know what shoes she calls fuck-me shoes?”

  Punk nodded. “Those red ones that have only that narrow band across the top and high heels. She says it’s because the men love them.”

  “That’s right. I only mention it because you need to be able to find them for her if she can’t. I don’t like it when she takes that shit out on you.”

  Of everyone that came and went through these apartments over the years, Punk liked Julia the most. She was high or drunk as much as Mother was, but even when she was, she was usually nice to Punk. When Mother wasn’t looking.

  Punk thought Julia was pretty, too. She had long thin blonde hair, but she usually pinned it up with a sparkly butterfly hairclip. Punk thought that both Julia and Mother wore too much make-up, but Julia used softer lipstick that was very shiny, and Punk liked that very much. And Julia had a nice smile.

  Julia looked down at the beautiful young girl beside her on a dirty, broken couch, and, not for the first time, wished she could get the lovely child away from Rena. Hell, she knew that she wasn’t any better fit to be a mother than her partying girlfriend, but Rena was just so fucking mean to the little thing.

  When she’d first met Punk (God, she hated that name!) Julia had thought that she just glowed. Even dressed in those dismal garage sale rejects, the little girl had charmed her way into Julia’s battered heart. Now, two years later, Punk was growing up, and she worried that Rena might do something nasty with the kid.

  Punk was probably about 13 years old now, based on some of Rena’s ramblings. She didn’t really know exactly how old, Rena claimed that she had no recall of how long it had been since she birthed this appendage. Damn, that woman could be mean. The child was filling out now, her body becoming longer and leaner, less that of a child, more that of a young woman, and Julia knew that may spell trouble for her.

  That’s where she was going to draw the line with her friend. If Rena thought that she was going to sell this sweet girl to those godawful assholes she let use her, she had another fucking think coming. Julia would admit that she was a spineless wimp herself, and she’d never really stood up for herself with anyone. But for this girl, when it came to it, if Rena thought that she would sell Punk to the highest bidder, she was ready to stand in front of Rena.

  Somehow, she knew that the day would come. Rena was a blast to party with, and they both made some nice dollars playing with the men that Rena had no trouble enticing to their tables, but, at the core of all of it, Rena was a monster when it came to her daughter.

  Her eyes moved back to Punk, who was messing with a piece of wadded up newspaper. Sad, that she had so little nice stuff in her young life. Watching her now, Julia noticed that the old piece of newsprint was becoming something different, an intricate pattern of lattice and texture as Punk’s small fingers moved confidently and quickly with the paper.

  “What are you making there?” she asked.

  Punk’s shiny red head lifted up. “It’s a model of a pattern I saw in the store. I liked the way the straight lines intersected and weaved to make the unique curves and shapes, so I thought that I would try to duplicate it. This paper is working out very well. See?”

  Holding up the round shape that Punk was working with, the patterns almost had a lace-like quality. Julia had never seen anything like it before.

  “You’re very smart, aren’t you?”

  Punk dropped her head. Julia couldn’t see her face as she answered. “No. I’m not smart at all.”

  They didn’t speak for several minutes because Julia knew exactly why the girl felt that way. She’d had the idea beaten into her verbally by her mother for her entire life. Right now, Julia wanted to march into Rena’s room and pop her in the face as hard as she could for how she abused this pretty, loving, brilliant little girl.

  She wouldn’t though. Still, she couldn’t just let that sit either. “Punk, that isn’t true. You are exceptionally…”

  “Got them!” Rena screamed as she hurried out of the room with the bright red shoes she’d insisted earlier that Punk had probably lost.

  Her eyes turned on Julia, sitting next to Punk on the couch. They narrowed and her expression became stormy, as they shot to Julia. “What the fuck are you two doing there? Come on, Jules, let’s ride!”

  Seconds later, Rena stopped long enough to glance at Punk.

  “You, make sure you let me in tonight if I can’t find my key. Don’t make me have to wait!”

  “What if she’s asleep?” Julia tried to intervene on the unreasonable demand.

  Rena grabbed her bag and looked directly at her daughter. “She better not be.”

  Rena headed out of the do
or as Julia glanced back to Punk, who stood near the couch.

  Punk shrugged and smiled. “Have a good time, Julia.”

  Her eyes on this brave child, Julia slowly closed the door and followed the aggressive Rena down the stairs as she called up to Julia.

  “Hey, you got some cigs? I must have given my last dollar to that little bitch up there.”

  Julia stopped in her steps, sighed deeply, and pulled a cigarette from her beaded handbag.

  Punk killed the light in the living room. Yeah, she had to be awake when Mother got home, and yeah, Mother would forget how to use her key because it was easier to just pound on the door and make Punk get up to let her in, but that would be many hours from now, so this was her chance to get some rest.

  First, though, tonight was a full moon, and its position would put it right at the top of the small window in the front of the apartment for about twenty minutes. So she raced over to catch its journey and then she’d go straight to her bed.

  Julia felt sorry for her, she could feel it in her mind, but all of this, Mother’s demands, her caustic attitude, Punk was used to it. She knew how to keep Mother satisfied most of the time, heaven knows she’d been doing it long enough.

  So, Moon, bed, and the final three squares of a chocolate bar, a bad habit she’d developed and indulged once in a while when she could get away with it. She would sleep well until her unique sense let her know that Mother was coming home soon and would need her daughter to play doorman for her.

  Later, as she fell asleep, Punk wondered what Julia would say if she told her about her special talent, the strange ability she had where she could read people’s moods and feelings, and sometimes, even their thoughts. Would she be shocked like Mother had? Would she call Punk a freak? Would she hate her? Fear her?

  No, Mother was right, it was best to never tell anyone of the strange things that she could do. After she’d told Mother about the odd way she could read people’s minds sometimes, and then proved to Mother that she could do it, her mother had looked at her as if she were an alien.

  So, when the ability had suddenly developed where she could do things with her mind, move things, change things, she decided never to reveal it even to her.

  She woke quickly, the rush of thoughts invaded her REM sleep, and Punk tore from the bed to race to the living room. She’d just hit the door when the first hard knock arrived.

  Releasing the locks with her mind, Punk stepped back as the door swung open quickly, and Mother came rushing in with not one, but three men tonight. Julia was gone.

  Punk stayed behind the door as they all surged through the room and into Mother’s bedroom together.

  Sighing, Punk closed the door, lifted a hand as she walked away and listened for the lock to turn, then closed her bedroom door tightly before she crawled back into her bed. With so many strange men in the house, she wouldn’t sleep anymore tonight.

  Yawning, Punk slipped from her bed. She had to pee, so, quietly, she opened her bedroom door, looked and listened, and when she was satisfied that no one was around, she hurried to the bathroom, relieved herself quickly and raced back to her room. Just as she reached for her door, a voice stopped her.

  “Eh, you. Who are you?”

  One of Mother’s men had left her room. Crap! Punk turned to face him. “I’m no one. Go back into that room, please.”

  “You’re far from no one.” He moved closer. “Are you her daughter?”

  Oh, no, no, no. Mother didn’t like any of her guests to know she had a child.

  “No, sir, I am a friend’s child. Rena doesn’t have children.”

  He nodded. “She said she didn’t. Yeah, you don’t look anything like her.”

  Nodding, Punk agreed. “No, sir, I don’t.”

  He turned to go back into the room, but she heard what he said before he closed the door behind him.

  “Too pretty.”

  Punk stood still. Did he mean Mother was too pretty to have a child that looked like her? Or did he mean that she was too pretty to be Mother’s? Could he have meant her? Could he have said that she was pretty?

  Punk dropped back into her bed, threw her head onto her pillow, stolen from a corner of her mother’s bedroom, an abandoned pillow that mother never used, and, thankfully, had never missed.

  She fell asleep with a smile at the possibility that this man had said that she was pretty.

  The door to her bedroom stayed closed until she was certain that all three men were gone, then Punk wandered out. Mother was still absent, so she went into the little kitchenette, pulled out the remaining eggs and bacon, scrambled the eggs and fried the bacon. After putting the coffee on to heat, she ate a small amount of the food, scooped some water into a bowl and drank it, and went to the window to see if clouds covered her precious sun today. Sliding down the wall, she leaned against it to watch the sky. A snick let her know that Mother’s door had opened.

  “Good morning, Mother,” Punk said, smiling up to her as she passed by.

  Mother eyes, half-closed, moved up, she waved at her, and ended up at the counter that held the eggs and bacon. They were cold now, but Mother never cared. Her coffee was still hot, though, because the cheap coffee maker she’d bought kept it so.

  “Did you have a good time last night?”

  Three forkfuls later, Punk got her answer.

  “I made eighty bucks, so, yeah, I had a good night.”

  “That’s nice. They were generous, then.”

  “They were assholes. But I did them right and that usually pays well.”

  “Is your breakfast okay? I added that spice you like to the eggs.”

  “They’re eggs. What else can I say?”

  No, Mother wouldn’t say that she enjoyed the eggs, but she did eat every bite. And Punk could tell that she did like them, because of everyone, she could read her mother best.

  Mother’s emotions were easy because they were so basic. She wasn’t complicated, but it was a mess in her mind. There were times that Punk had to block herself from reading her mother’s mind. She had known, before she even asked, if her mother had enjoyed the night. Sometimes, she did, if she were high enough. Last night, spending the night with three men, she’d hated every minute. She wondered why she did it.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Punk looked up to see her mother standing over her.

  “Are you doing that thing? That thing where you listen to my head? You are, I can tell. I thought I told you to fucking never do that again! I don’t want to have to beat it out of you, but I’ll have none of that witchcraft, supernatural shit in my house! I’ll throw you out on that fucking street first, you hear me?”

  “I’m sorry, Mother, I’m sorry,” Punk pleaded. “I didn’t mean to. Sometimes, it just comes.”

  “That’s because you are a fucking monster. You came from a monster and that’s all you are! I can’t take this, not after the week I’ve had. I’m getting out of here today, I can’t look at you!”

  Mother hurried into her bedroom, slamming her door.

  Punk slid forward and dropped onto the floor, her head on her arms, tears sliding from her eyes as she silently wept. What was wrong with her? Why could she do these weird things? What she was, what she could do, made her something horrible, something her own mother hated.

  She wished she had never been born.

  Rena chased her own demons down the stairs from this latest abomination of an apartment. The place sucked, it rarely had heat, and it smelled like shit in a toaster. There had been a lot of lousy apartments over the years, but this one might have been the worst.

  Not that she could afford anything nicer. Fuck, her life sucked so much more than she could ever have imagined back 13 years ago before he came into her life.

  God! She’d been wild back then, a cute, no-brakes young woman with her entire life in front of her. It had never taken much to turn her on. In high school, she’d been voted the most likely to go down on a guy, and at the time, she’d admitte
d it had been fair, she really had been. It was just that she loved sexy men so much!

  That’s why when he showed up, she could never have turned him down. Never! In all of her years before, and all of her years since, she’d never met any man who could hold a fucking candle to that man. He was huge, and dripped sexual eroticism every moment she was with him. That cock, oh, hell, she’d never seen anything like it and he really knew what to do with it.

  That summer, Rena had thought she’d won the Golden Ring when it came to love. And that autumn, she’d learned that nothing was fair in this life and that monsters were real. Worse, they could breed, and that is exactly what he’d done on her…he’d put his demon seed into her body.

  The baby she’d borne, that child, that young girl in the apartment upstairs, was the sexy man’s spawn. She’d carried that thing in her belly for six months, trying to convince herself to end its life. But because of fear…fear of him, fear of God, fear of fate, whatever the hell it was, she hadn’t been able to do it. So now, all these years later, the child of the devil that bred itself on her, could do things that weren’t normal, weren’t human!

  Fuck, the girl messed her up. See, Rena didn’t think of herself as a bad person. Really, she wasn’t the bitch everyone thought that she was. It’s just, the kid was evil, she had to be. Her father was a monster!

  Oh, yeah, she was a pretty girl, and she looked normal, but that was all a ruse, a façade, a false face. Rena didn’t know what that kid was capable of, but it scared the shit out of her!

  No one understood. She hadn’t told anyone since that first month after she’d gotten away from him, hiding halfway around the world in Australia. She’d told two people there, a young man that she’d fucked just to get a ticket to get there, and an older woman who helped her find an apartment, who had been sorry for the pregnant American girl who was completely broke.