Jasmin part 2

JASMIN

I open the door to my dark shed, sighing into the darkness. I’m exhausted after a long day of work, but still have plenty of cleaning and cooking to do. It’s odd, living alone. There’s so much silence. I’m aware of every little sound I hear.

I pull my work pants off, and feel something crumble in the pocket. I dig in and sit on my single wobbling chair to read Myra’s letter. Who is this mystery man? She didn’t mention a single thing about him, other than the fate of the matching program is in his hands.

The few dragons I met on Le’vris were kind and playful. Errol wasn’t cruel, but that was the only thing I gathered. There was nothing else in his cold, bored gaze. I’m grateful for the experience of meeting him, but it killed me to feel like a burden.

I’m curious about this dragon that’s wreaking havoc to the point that Myra is reaching out to someone as powerless as me. What is he like? Why would he risk ending the matching program when it’s so important to his people? The Le’vris birthrate is critically low, and pairing with humans offers the only flame for survival.

My stomach is in knots with guilt. Myra has worked endlessly to keep the program afloat. The portal transports food and medicine to Earth, offers women new homes, and helps the endangered Le’vris. Without the portal, it will be like returning to the dark ages.

Now Myra is envisioning me as a seductress who could bash her eyelashes, wrap the titan around her little finger, and save both planets. It’s an absurd notion. At best, my attempts at seduction could amuse the dragon until he comes around and cooperates with Myra.

I drag the broom onto the dirty floor harshly, kicking up dust. I don’t have a hair strand of my mother’s charm. Myra would just be wasting her time with me. Surely, she’ll find a girl that actually stands a chance at convincing that man.

– • –

The next morning, I roll over and pick up the cracked wristwatch I keep beside my bed. My bed is a collection of mismatching blankets on the floor, but I’m grateful I don’t share my shed with rats.

I blink lazily at the watch, only to realize I’m running late. There’s no time for breakfast, so I roll the last bit of toothpaste onto my toothbrush, wash my face on the water basin, and change into my last clean pants. After work, I’ll have to stop by the lake to do laundry.

I bind the rope around the handles of the door and run through the busy streets, my flip-flops kicking up bits of rocks. I make another mental note to buy an actual lock for the door. Maybe by the end of this week, I’ll have enough saved to stop by the blacksmith.

“Girl!” my boss scolds me when I barrel into the back of the restaurant.

“Sorry. It won’t happen again!”

“Start unloading!”

I join the three men that are on the morning shift. They’re tall and strong beside my pale, frail frame. Women never get labor-intensive jobs, but I think the boss’ wife took pity on me and hired me before her husband found out.

I keep my eyes low, and I lift boxes from the back of the truck and into the storage room. Two of my coworkers leer at me, glancing at my body shamelessly. They remind me of the men at the brothel who my mother kept in line. I don’t have that protection anymore. Only one set of lungs that I hope will be strong enough for when the time to scream comes.

I spend the next three hours checking inventory. This will be the only delivery the boss gets for the month, so everything has to be accounted for.

As soon as I’m done, Myra slips into my mind. Guilt nags at me. She was kind to me and dedicated her life to the program, but I have nothing to offer her. There is nothing greater in my future than stacking and counting boxes.

“The milk boy is here!”

I rush outside to collect our most important delivery of the day. I turn a sharp corner and slam into an unexpected wall. I feel the milk splash on me first. Then the terrible sound of the glasses shattering comes, and I cringe in horror.

My boss runs outside. “Stupid bitch!” he hollers.

I cover my mouth and taste milk. Ten bottles lie cracked around me.

“Do you know how much fucking money you just lost me?” he looks like he wants to throttle me, but one worker holds him back.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry!”

“You goddamn good for nothing woman! I should have never let you stay, you worthless weak bitch. Get the hell out of here! Get! Go get railed brothel, since that’s all you’d be good for!”

It’s the last part that hurt, because that’s what my mother feared I would end up as. A prostitute. Now this man is proving her right.

I stand and jump over the shattered glass, my flip-flops making a squeaking sound with every rushed step I take. People turn to look at me, but at least they can’t see my tears because they mix with the milk.

I lock myself in my shed, rubbing my face roughly, beckoning the tears to stop.

Maybe he’s right. I’m worthless.

I didn’t make it far without my mother, because I’ve always been sheltered. I’m not made to survive in the real world. I can’t even help my friend.

For hours, I sulk, but then I get up and I change out of my wet clothes. There is a lot of work to do, and crying all day won’t feed me.

I go to the lake, scrub my clothes down with a bar of soap, and then I wash myself. The heavy basket of clothing keeps me busy. My mind runs as I think of where I could look for work next.

Maybe I could do a delivery, or maybe serve at a diner.

As I realize I’ll spend the next few years doing repetitive and unstable work, despair fills me. I want to help people. I want to be a nurse, but although I’ve read dozens of medical books, I’m queasy about needles and don’t have any experience. No hospital would hire me.

Worthless.

No. I won’t accept that. I can do great things like my friends and the heroines I read in stories. I can be meaningful.

I find Myra’s letter, and I read it one more time. How great would it be if I convinced this man to cooperate? Maybe I should try.

I fold the letter and look around my shed. I have to pack and head to the nearest embassy, so I can tell Myra that I’m coming to Le’vris.

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