Yelena>°.❁
trigger warning: divorce, partial homelessness, motel
1612 words
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Your daughter did not deserve that man being attached as a father figurine, yet it was forced repeatedly in his defense when first putting the divorce into existence.
Between still residing in the toxic hold, wore you out frequently to tears from the lack of support on your behalf, the dangling of keys when he approached inside your shared home for the night, in your chest now like trauma bells, having you trembling when unrelated objects sounded near you.
The two months felt worth it. If leaving desperate prints from your fingers in the muddy battle was worth it but freedom isn't easily accessed.
For Delphine, you wished the process held even a hinch more mercy.
Once the stem-clasping the unstablity of a branch, defining your grown relationship broke, Delphine rolled like a pebble when each held up the smiles and warm hugs to the greatly oblivious four-year-old. Your ex-husband having bar off his tolerance of you kept snuggly and extensive as if promising your daughter into his long-time custody.
He was more a fool for what thought process still remained. Your parents followed, chilled in his train, sitting blind, burning hot on the rail under towering lies and emotional decept, you were abandoned for him.
You escaped but to what?
You were abiding a roof forming a building into what once was a provided home by him. Now you were thrown in solitary with what was left true in your heart, your child. Still, the rain absorbed into your clothes, stinking it in the crappy motels you could sum. Over your own deceased body would your daughter be gone hungry or even slip a taste of your struggle, so you ate much less than she survived on, and you regretted nothing.
You were a week into whatever this 'release' was.
You scraped up what little money you got from keeping the hallways of this 'hole' what clean it could become, the old man of the building pitying you enough to hand you a small hustle, and you found yourself at a nearby gas station, wiping your moist hand from the 'bath' you attempted to get in the restroom stalls, consisting of wiping the most import parts with an embarrassing amount of wet tissue paper between you and your kid.
The bar for cleanliness was in the furthest parts of hell as the motel showers were defective so it this or letting the germs take over without putting up a fight.
You were purchasing a small pack of crackers and two bottled waters to ration, reminiscing on days when you could eat fresh nourishments again.
Maybe Delphine was better off with her father. I mean you couldn't even provide your own child with hot water or healthy food. Love could only hold a person up so much..
You were paying when the jing of the ornament shrug at the winding in of a customer entering, You rang, instinctively clutching your wrist on your antsy child. Your eyes on the small receipt you were given, hasty to exit the station. Walking your way back in the evening of the day, you felt the bristle in the thin fabric you wore, praising the wool comforter you salvaged, being worn by your infant.
Managing back to the dingy-lit parking lot, your dorm being on the first floor as it's all they had or would give you. The safety of the place was of the worst quality but at least you had a choice to lock the old motel doors than out to all the wandering perverts.
"Are we having biscuits again, Mama?" she perked as you switched the dull yellow light illuminations, flickering amongst the conjoin of a kitchen and living room with an old-fashioned antenna TV.
