Sarah
It’s warmer down here under the grow lights. Electricity hums through the air as I move from plant to plant, pruning, plucking, and watering. Outside the frosty windows, the Neutral Zone is every shade of silver in the unforgiving cold.
Someone passes bundled against the frigid, windy air. Their red hat disappears into a rush of snow being swept by the wind down the street.
I shiver despite the slight warmth in the air.
I’ve been cold for weeks. Cold, hungry, and stressed beyond belief.
The baby swaddled in a sling across my chest wriggles before falling back asleep, his cheek pressed against my breast.
I move to the utility sink in the storage room and wrench on the pump, but the water doesn’t start. The pipes are frozen solid.
“Shit,” I whisper, closing my eyes and trying to swallow past the lump in my throat.
Mr. Foxglove, my landlord, was supposed to be here this morning to fix the heat to the building. My one room apartment upstairs has been freezing cold since Tuesday last week, the day after my son was born. I’ve resorted to turning the oven on and letting it run empty to heat the space. Empty, because I have no money for food. Every single cent I have to my name is going toward my rent, which has doubled every month since the snow started to fall.
“I’m sorry,” I croak, tearfully, to my thirty, wilting plants. No water for them today again. My precious blooms of begonia and lily tremble in answer. My orchids are fried. I can’t bring those back from the dead, even if the water returns.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. A year ago, I rented this space and the apartment upstairs. I painted the walls and the exterior door my favorite color–pink. The most magnetic fuchsia the world has ever seen.
I got a contract to provide the florals for some of the balls at the summer mating festival. People came in droves to buy bouquets for their newly found mates in the weeks that followed.
But then the rebel threat brought Crescent Falls into war.
People stopped buying flowers.
The royal family stopped throwing balls and parties, as did the Alphas of the dozen or so packs that surrounded the city.
And Mr. Foxglove started raising my rent.
I sink onto the rickety stool behind the counter and stare out at the wind whipping the snow against the window.
The baby stirs again, letting out a frustrated grunt. I reach for my shirt, pulling it away enough to free my breast so he can nurse and wince, my eyes watering, at the sharp pain of it.
I’m so hungry. I’m so, so cold. The patchwork coat I’ve been stuffing with fluff from my mattress upstairs barely shields me from the cold, but it’s all I have.
I’ve sold everything. Every piece of furniture, every item of clothing, just to have a roof over my head.
All because I had a dream… and then got pregnant.
And the kingdom went to war.
And no one cares about flowers in the winter.
I bite back a sob and gently bounce the baby, trying to get him to settle. I know he’s hungry too. My milk is barely there, probably because I don’t eat very often.
The exterior door wrenches open sending a burst of freezing cold air into the shop.
“You said you’d be here this morning,” I say, trying my best not to send the words off my tongue in the snarl my landlord deserves.
Mr. Foxglove–a man of maybe fifty with black hair and devilishly green eyes–smirks at me, taking his time shutting the door. The cold air funnels around the room, ruffling the leaves of my already frail plants and blossoms. “You’re not my only tenant.”
“The heat has been out for over a week. Ms. Elosie upstairs has been burning newspaper in her wood stove to try to keep warm.” I clutch my baby tighter against my chest to fight the chill now creeping into my bones. “We’re freezing here. The pipes are frozen, and we have no water–”
“Well, if that’s the case, I doubt I’ll be able to get anything fixed today.” He checks his filthy nails, smiling at me. “At least it’s somewhat warm in here, right? With all the lights you have burning up your utility bill.”
The baby makes a grunting noise before he starts to whine.
Foxglove rolls his eyes, leaning his hip on the counter. “I’m not here to fix shit, Ms. Greenly. You owe me rent for this month.”
“I’m not paying you a single cent until the building has working heat and water!”
“Then get out,” he smiles, teeth flashing.
I look at the window again, at the raging wind storm outside. He’s still giving me a cool smile when I meet his gaze once more.
“Where,” he says slowly, tapping a finger on the counter, “is my money, Sarah?”
I reach into the pocket of my coat with trembling fingers and clutch the wad of cash resting there. I slam it onto the counter.
He picks it up, weighing it in his hands before counting. “Great start, but you’re short by at least half.”
“Wh-what?” I stammer? “No, it’s all there–”
“Nope. You’re short. If you want heat and water, you’d better come up with the rest by tomorrow–”
“You’ve tripled my rent over the last three months!” My voice edges on despair. That's all the money I have. It should have been more than enough. I should have a few dollars left over for food, but now…
He pockets the money and leans down so one of his elbows rests on the counter. He reaches for me, twisting a lock of my ashy blonde hair around his hairy, ring-laden pinky finger. “My offer still stands, you know. You want water, heat, and a roof over your head? It would only take a few minutes flat on your back to make that happen–”
I pull myself away and step back until I hit the wall, nostrils flaring with hatred and disgust as I fight to catch my breath.
He clicks his tongue and shrugs. “Well, in that case, pay the fuck up, or you and your bastard will be out on the street come sunset tomorrow. Mark my words.”
He turns on his heel and leaves the shop, not bothering to close the door behind him.
Tears burn down my cheeks as I rush after him, shoving the door closed against the howling, bitter wind. My son wails in his sling as cold bits through my coat.
I lock the door and draw the blinds, whispering reassurances to the screaming baby before going through the side door leading to the stairwell. It’s dark, empty, and lifeless.
The dark steps blend with the peeling gray paint as I hurry up to my apartment holding back a torrent of tears.
I knock on my elderly neighbor’s door and yank it open, glancing inside. Ms. Eloise is curled up in a blanket on her bed like usual, her wood stove barely puffing enough heat into the room to keep frost from coating the windows.
I watch her chest rise and fall then slowly edge out of the room and turn toward my own door.
My apartment is a stark contrast to the bright florals of my shop below. The walls are gray with patches of wood and stone showing beneath the peeling paint and fraying drywall. The floor is old, faded wood that leaves splinters that bite into my feet if I ever walk barefoot.
A twin mattress rests on the floor. I sold the bed frame a few weeks ago. No art hangs on my walls any longer, only a few faded photos from a time in my life that feels like a lifetime ago.
I close the door behind me and rub my cold hands together before moving to the oven and turning it on. It’ll take a few minutes for the room to heat up, so I shrug off my coat and take my baby from his sling, and curl into a ball around him in bed while he nurses.
Silent tears fall down my cheeks and seep into the mattress as I stare at the pictures on the walls.
Me, only ten or so months ago, dressed to the nines in the center of a gaggle of young women my age. Me, a year ago, posing outside the pink door to my shop downstairs, beaming with pride.
Pictures of me with friends whose faces have blurred with time. Friends I shared apartments with, drank with, and gossiped about everything from boys to music to the royal family the tabloids always love to gossip about.
I cup my son’s head and close my eyes.
None of those friends have been around for months. Once I began to show… once I stopped going to the bars and clubs with them or out to brunch…
Everyone simply vanished.
But one face remains in the sea of lost memories.
Hadley comes through the door without needing a key. The lock has been broken for weeks.
Her dark brown curly hair pokes out beneath a pale blue hat, and the tip of her nose is bright red.
I rise up on an elbow, taking my coat and the raggedy quilt I found in the trash with me. “What are you doing here?”
“Goddess, Sarah, it’s freezing in here!” Her smile fades as she looks around. Her hazel eyes meet mine again, giving me that same pained look she always gives me. “I brought food.”
“You shouldn’t have. You’ll get in so much trouble for being out–”
“My brother can kiss my ass.” She tries to smile, but it falls flat. I sense the nerves in each word as she edges toward the row of countertops that act as my kitchen. She sets a paper bag of groceries on the counter, pulling out a carton of milk and a bag of oats. Butter, salt, six eggs…
“I got you some vitamins. My–my friend said these are the good ones.” She sets them down on the counter before turning around, but my heart is aching.
“Does he know you’re here?” I ask, sitting up and fixing my shirt. The baby is fast asleep beside me, his tiny fists under his chin.
Hadley shakes her head. “I can’t stay long. I have a shift at the bar, and you know how my brother gets about me being outside of our territory.” She looks around, her eyes glistening in the darkness. “I’m trying to get you out of here, okay?”
“I never asked–”
“You can’t stay here, Sarah!”
“My shop,” I tell her, fear and heartache twisting its way through my heart like a heated blade. “I can’t just leave everything I’ve worked for behind.” I flash her my best “I got this, seriously,” smile even though inside, I’m falling to pieces.
“Did you get the contract with the royal family? The upcoming ball?” Her eyes are full of so much hope.
I shake my head.
Providing the flowers for Queen Madeline’s upcoming party would have made it possible to get out of this hellhole. Now, I’m in too deep. I’m out of money. Foxglove has me backed into a corner, and I have a baby to think about.
But I’m packless. Hadley is my only support, and her brother has her under lock and key.
I can’t pull her into my drama, anyway. I can’t even think about it.
It’s better for everyone that I remain alone.
She shakes a smaller paper bag. “I got you a burger and fries,” she says softly.
But a distant, rhythmic thudding echoes up the stairwell.
“I think that might have been the shop,” I say, peeling myself out of bed carefully so as not to disturb the baby.
“I’ll stay with him,” Hadley says as I open the door and look down the stairs into the growing dark.
Another knock, but not from the private residents entrance that faces the alley.
A few seconds later, I’m standing in my shop squinting through the frosty windows at the wind-blown street.
A man walks away, his hands tucked in his pockets and his head bent against the wind.