Trapped In His Cruel Six Year Contract

Essie survived the endless subway commute. She dragged her feet up the rotting wooden stairs of the Queens apartment building. Every step made the old wood groan.

She took the keys out of the pocket of her expensive wool coat. Her fingers were stiff and blue from the biting cold.

She shoved the key into the rusty lock, turned it twice, and pushed the heavy metal door open. The hinges shrieked in protest.

Essie stepped into the cramped, dimly lit living room and pushed the door shut behind her.

She walked over to the wobbly dining table and set down the brown paper bag containing bagels and hot coffee she had bought from the corner deli.

The heavy, rhythmic sound of wheelchair tires rolling over rough wood planks echoed from the hallway.

Essie turned her head. Her younger brother, Charles, pushed his wheelchair into the doorway of his bedroom.

Charles's eyes were like daggers. They locked instantly onto the incredibly expensive cashmere coat Essie was wearing-a coat Kieran had forced on her months ago.

His gaze slowly moved up, taking in Essie's messy hair and the smudged makeup at the corners of her eyes.

Charles's hands gripped the armrests of his wheelchair. The veins on the backs of his hands bulged against his pale skin.

He gritted his teeth. "Where the hell were you all night?" he forced the words out of his throat.

Essie's eyes darted away. She stared at the scuffed floorboards. "The ER was short-staffed. I had to pull an overnight shift," she lied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Charles snatched an empty plastic pill bottle off the small cabinet next to him and hurled it at the wall.

The bottle smacked against the peeling wallpaper with a loud crack and bounced off. Essie flinched, taking a step back.

Charles's eyes were red. "Bullshit!" he yelled. "The ER doesn't let you show up to work dressed like a damn runway model!"

His voice dripped with pure venom. "You're just a gold digger selling yourself for cash."

Charles screamed at her, his chest heaving. "You have zero self-respect! You make me sick!"

Essie's chest heaved. Her heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible fist. The pain radiating through her ribs made it impossible to breathe.

She choked back the tears burning her eyes. She walked forward, picking up the hot paper cup of coffee, and held it out to him. "Charles, please, just calm down-"

Charles swung his arm violently. His hand smacked hard against the paper cup.

The lid popped off. Scalding hot coffee splashed directly onto the back of Essie's hand.

The skin turned a furious, angry red instantly.

The cup hit the floor, brown liquid rapidly spreading across the warped wood.

Essie sucked in a sharp breath of cold air. She grabbed her burned hand, cradling it against her chest. The tears finally pooled in her eyes.

Charles stared at the mess on the floor. His chest rose and fell rapidly. "I would rather die than use the dirty money you make spreading your legs!" he roared.

He grabbed the wheels of his chair and spun it around violently. The rubber tires rolled right through the puddle of spilled coffee.

Charles shoved his way back into his bedroom and slammed the door shut. The impact shook a layer of dust loose from the doorframe.

Essie stood completely alone in the middle of the wrecked living room. Her entire body shook uncontrollably.

She slowly crouched down. She grabbed a handful of cheap paper towels and began wiping the coffee off the floor. Her movements were robotic, completely numb.

When the floor was dry, she dragged herself to the tiny kitchen sink. She turned on the faucet and held her bright red, throbbing hand under the freezing water.

She lifted her head and stared at her pale, exhausted face in the cracked mirror above the sink.

Essie took a deep, shuddering breath. She turned off the water, walked to her room, and pulled out her blue scrubs to get ready for the hospital.