Fill the Belly 🐺

It's nice here. I guess. Clean anyhow. Not like that hostel. Got no weirdos tryina climb in my bed or put hands on me. That's good. There's food. Can be a bit dull and stodgy-like sometimes. The old lady doesn't know what spices are, I don't think. I've gone hungry enough times not to mind that so much. Food's food.

She's kinda shrivelled. Got a mouth on her like she's sucking on a lemon or something. I say old, she's prolly not even as old as my Ma. But she just looks it, with her dull brown clothes and beady little eyes. Some people were just born grannies and thats her.

It's her hair I like. It's awful but I can't stop staring at it. She puts it in a bun, right, and it just looks weird. I can't describe it. Like... like lego. Like its all one solid lump that could detach from her head. Know what I mean? Like, never a hair out of place, OK, but not in a good way. You know?

Anyway, the thing is, she don't charge. Not for the room, not for the food, neither.

As long as you follow the rules, she says in that scratchy granny voice, you can stay.

~*~*~ The Rules ~*~*~

Number one, no guests. No boys, specially. What she means is no sex. I don't know why she cares. Why any old lady gives half a shit what us girls do with our own bodies, I don't know. Prolly just jealous I reckon. Anyway. I'm done with men at the moment. After what happened. At the hostel. Ugh.

Number two, no snooping. There's a locked bedroom at the back, and I'm sure there's someone in there. I think it's a man. I wonder why he never comes out. If she ever goes in. But no. It's not my business. I think of the regular plates and the bed to myself and push it to the back of my mind.

Number three, no mess. That woman is so anal, and not in the good way. I swear she thinks toast crumbs will give her cancer or some shit. It's better just to let her make the food. She brings it to me on a tray, and when I'm done, she takes it away. Top service really, except I don't get to pick. On my first morning, she brought it me in bed. Porridge with sugar. Hot coffee, too. After... Everything... It was heaven. Then she just... Kept doing it. It was scrambled eggs the next day, and orange juice. I'd have put some salt on them, or ketchup, but they were hot and fresh and it just felt good to fill my belly.

Number four, no drink or drugs. The mad old bat made an exception for coffee! Like that even counts. But (get this) only before 9am. Free room though. And the food! Regular hot food.

Number five, no scandal. What she really means is, no getting knocked up. It's sorta tied to the first rule, really, except she doesn't want me fucking anywhere else either. She makes sure, too. That's the rent for the room, really. Pee on a stick. Can you believe that?! Well I got plenty of pee, and the twisted old baggage can have it if that's what she wants.

There's other rules, but not ones said out loud. These are the most important. The ones you gotta figger out on your own.

First off, there's no privacy. She just barges in my room and makes my bed the second I start to the bedroom door. If I make it myself, she just does it again. OK, so I spose I do make it a bit sloppy, and by the time she's done, it's so smooth and the corners so sharp, it looks like it's been carved out of one piece of wood. So I shrug. Whatever makes her happy, right? I think of scrambled egg and porridge and hot coffee.

She watches me. Like a hawk. Really like a hawk, it feels like she's perched, hunched over and glaring at me even when she's in another room. She's always aware of me, but fair's fair, I'm always aware of her, too.

Another weird thing, she's kind of obsessed with health. Mine. Hers. I dunno. Shes stingy with sugar, after that first bowl of porridge. Says she doesn't normally have it in the house. I can have as much fruit as I want, though. The porridge is ok with some fruit cut up in it. She squints at me, comments on whether I'm too thin or if I look more "filled out". Asks after my sleep. Every day. Offers me a pill. If I'm struggling. I always say no. Don't like the idea of sleeping pills for some reason.

She asks after my periods as well. It started because she wanted to know if I needed any Sanitary Products, which ones I preferred, when I thought I might need them. That was a normal thing to ask about, right? She was just being a considerate host. It's not like I have any money to buy my own. Last month I managed to get free ones from the supermarket. They have a scheme for people like me. So I guess I could manage. But Arabella has thought of everything.

The main thing is, I can't leave. She wants to let the room, see. Says she needs the money, now her poor ole husband's dead. Can't believe she ever got married. Can you imagine?

I'm not locked in here or anything. I mean, there's a lock on the door to my room, but she says the key got lost ages ago. It's just, if I leave, she'll not let me back. Mean old cow. So I guess I'll stay here a bit, and then when I've had enough, I'll bail. No big.

But see, it's warm here. Clean. There's food. A bed to myself. You rough it long enough and there's a lot you'll let slide for those things.

So. I eat the food, I pee on the stick. I figger, I'll just stay here a little while.

Rich and Sweet

Last night she brought me a hot chocolate - so hot and rich! It tasted a bit too sweet, actually, a bit weird. Guess my taste has adjusted to not having much sugar? She said it's just the thing at bedtime. Helps you sleep. She was right, too. I was out like a light. Before my head even hit the pillow, I reckon.

In fact, I don't even remember getting into bed. I don't think I even cleaned my teeth, and I only half-put my pyjamas on. I must have been too sleepy to manage the bottoms.

I did get myself to bed alright, didn't I? Don't want the old woman seeing my.... Look I know we're all girls together and whatever but we have not got the "same stuff". Pretty sure whatever dried up cobwebbed mess she's got going on is nothing like... Anyway!

Just a little longer

I said I'd only stay a little while, but I dunno, man. It's way too easy to get used to regular hot meals and a soft bed. I'll just stay a bit longer.

The stuff that seemed weird at first is basicly normal now. I wake up to her standing over my bed with a tray. Sometimes with a boiled egg and a glass of milk. Other times muesli or hot buttered toast. I'd prefer the yolk runny, but it feels cheeky to say so. It's not like I'm paying.

She scoops up dirty laundry and leaves without saying a word about it. Ma would have been on my case about it, that's for sure. Arabella has some strange values. Real strict and old fashioned in some ways and super chill in others. Can't shag, can't mess up her kitchen, but dirty knickers on the floor is fine. Weird.

I've barely finished dressing and she comes back in for the breakfast tray, and always stops to make the bed, or strip the dirty sheets off. The duvet only gets changed once a week, but she does the sheets and pillow cases two or three times, and I get why. It feels glorious sliding in between clean sheets. At night I lie there and remember my smelly old sleeping bag, that crowded hostel, the creeps and junkies... That draughty shop doorway we used to fight over when the hostel was full and the bridge we huddled under when we lost. The lumpy sofas I stayed on in return for a blow job. And worse. I shudder and I think, just a little longer.

Mind reader

Last week, I started thinking, yunno, maybe it was time to move on. It's been a fair few weeks now, and she's never once mentioned me moving out, or getting a job so I can pay her rent. She did say that was her plan for the room, eventually. This was only meant to be short-term. While I got back on my feet. I feel uneasy about. Guilty. But it's November, and I'm addicted to being warm and dry.

The very next morning, my breakfast tray contained a hot bacon roll, drenched in ketchup. And! a cappuccino with it! I'm amazed she knew cappuccinos existed. There was a heap of brown sugar sachets next to it, and I could add as much as I wanted. Those little granules of happiness glowed in my belly and blood all day.

A few days later, I was having those thoughts again. About moving out. Arabella sniffed them out, the thoughts, and brought home a huge portion of fish and chips with all the sides. It was greasy and vinegary, and somehow just what I'd been craving. I even ate the mushy peas.

The next day, Arabella peered at me. Said I looked "peaky". Been spending too long indoors. Marched me out of the house and round the neighbourhood like I was a dog who needed a walk.

Every so often, there's the silky rich hot chocolate, and the very heavy night's sleep... I'm telling you, for someone who is all about health and no sugar and all that, she makes an incredible hot chocolate.

"Flakes," she tells me. "Never powder. Proper flakes of good quality chocolate, whole fat milk and good cream, warmed slowly in a pan..." I'm surprised she doesn't have a heart attack just describing the recipe to me.

Fucked

Well, it's all fucked isn't it? This morning, the rent was due. And by "rent" I mean, there was a little stick on the breakfast tray for me to pee on. I rolled my eyes when I saw it, because seriously, when does the crazy witch think I've had a chance to get laid? I push past her to the bathroom, test in hand. She ignores my rudeness, and waits outside the door. Once I'm done, I thrust it at her without looking at it. I don't need to. I know it will be negative. I'm washing my hands at the sink, and she says,

"What's this?"

"What's what?" I say, a bit annoyed.

"This," she says, waving the pissy bit of plastic under my nose. Close and fast so I can barely make out the little blue "+" sign.

When I was little, before dad left, we went on a boat. A big one. A ferry. We went outside and watched the waves, and the deck rolled under my feet. That's how this felt. I was shocked. Of course. I suppose lots of women are when they see that little cross, but it hits different when you haven't had sex for literally months. I thought I might pass out. I actually honestly literally don't know how this happened. I think I say that out loud.

"Don't fuss," Arabella says, warmer and kinder than I expected, given her Views. "I'll look after you. It'll be alright."

"I'll sort this out," I say. "I'll move out. I'll call the clinic."

"Never mind that now," she says. "You look like you're going into shock. Here. Sit-" She takes me by the arm and steers me back to the bed. "Head between your knees. That's it. Now. You just take a moment. Deep breaths. Then you're going to have this hot sweet tea. You'll feel better. Eat your breakfast. Rest. Later, we'll figure this out."

There's chocolate spread on the toast today, and a bowl of yoghurt and chopped fruit. I pull it towards me and eat like a robot. Chew, swallow, chew, swallow. All those times I stayed with men, all the things they did, the stuff I let them and the stuff I didn't... And this never happened before. And now, I make a good choice. I find a nice kind granny and stay with her, where I was meant to be safe...

She's getting up. Moving away. Gone. The door clicks shut. Then another click, and I can't eat another bite because a cold stone just dropped into my belly.

I knew she was lying about that key. I knew it.

Thank you for reading!

If you'd like to read the connected stories:

This works as an entry to my current dollar challenge:

CW: unwanted/coerced pregnancy