“Your wages for the month,” Daudu said, sliding the envelope across the table to me.

Folded notes rested within it. Ten, Twenty . . . Twenty-seven . . . “It should be thirty,” I said, letting more emotion than I intended into my voice.

Daudu leaned back in his chair. It creaked beneath his weight, threatening to topple. Rings of different colors decorated each of his pudgy fingers, sparkling in the light. His office was quite like his mood, nasty and overbearing. There were few places to walk without running into clutter, and the bin in the corner spilled over with waste. In the place of windows, heavy shelves loomed, steeped in dust, and filled with rows of documents that saw little if any use.

“One thousand for tardiness,” Daudu said, looking bored. “Two thousand for the customer complaints.”

“It was raining,” I replied. “You know how difficult it is to get anywhere in that kind of weather. And I explained what happened with the customer. They came in here looking for trouble!”

Daudu shrugged. “Rules are rules. I apply them across board.”

“This isn't fair.”

“I decide what is fair here, Mr. Chetachi. Now, if you are done with your duties, you may leave. I have enough work on my table as it is.”

I suppressed the words that threatened to spill out my mouth and made for the exit, envelope crumpled in hand. Eden waited in the corridor.

“That didn't go well,” she said, looking at my face.

I made a strangled noise. “You think? Let's just get out of here. I've had enough for one day.”

We turned in our uniforms and left the pizzeria, bidding farewells to our friends on the evening shift. A jaunty signpost hung outside the building bearing a smiley face and the words: ‘Pizzamania!’ in red. The clock told a few minutes past three, but daylight had dimmed and dark clouds bordered the horizon.

Eden closed her eyes, breathing the wet monsoon wind. She stretched her arms out to her sides and pranced, ponytail fanning behind her.

“Stop acting weird,” I said.

“Or?” she replied, stressing the word. “You would join me?”

“It's embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing for you.”

I shook my head, noting the looks we garnered as we walked down the street. Eden always did that. Her short skirt rode just high enough to be decent on legs that went on for days. But those legs weren't her only draw. Where I had been called dour and reserved, Eden was bright and outgoing, all smiles, never hesitating to show teeth.

“What are you going to do when you get home?” she asked.

“Stuff.”

“Stuff, huh? You aren't going to study?”

I didn't reply.

Eden dropped her arms. “Hey, dude, come on. Don't do this. Federal Exams start in a few months. If you don't get into a university this time, it’s going to be another year stuck at home for you.”

“So?” I shrugged. “It's not bad. Lots of stuff I could do in the time.”

“Like flip pizzas while getting constant pay cuts, yeah?” Eden said dryly. Her expression softened. “Let's meet up after work tomorrow. The Library. We can study together.”

“I don't know about—”

“Oh, come on. You always blow me off.”

“Because you never take no for an answer.”

Eden narrowed her eyes and looked away.

I sighed. “I'll consider it.”

She pumped a fist. “Alright!”

“I only said I’d consider it.”

“And? It still makes me happy.”

The sky brightened a little.

“I'll wait here for my dad,” Eden said, as we arrived at the bus stop, a short walk from our workplace. “You sure you won't need a lift?”

“I won't.”

“But I don't even know where you live . . .”

“It's too far out. Can be a slog. Don't worry about it.”

The bus stop stood opposite a dual carriageway, connected to the other side by a pedestrian bridge.

Eden kept waving as we parted. “Don't forget your promise!” she called.

I cracked a smile at her antics and ascended the long steps up the bridge. I had barely walked five meters when the smile fell, and the terrible mood I'd been restraining surged up my chest.

Study? It’s not that I didn't want to. No one could enjoy working for a meager wage under someone like Daudu. Sure, people like Eden took part-time jobs because they wanted to. I took them because I had to, and it was a difference she has yet to realize.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

I shoved my hands into my pocket, doing what I could to avoid jostling other pedestrians. The bridge teemed with students from nearby schools, gibbering animatedly as they walked. Their bright eyes and wide smiles were quite like Eden's, and their cheer harried my mood. Had I been like that back in school? Happy, carefree, feeling as if the world was mine to conquer?

A persistent breeze picked up as I made it to the other end of the bridge. I hurried past the bus stop and parked taxis and took the road that forked off the service lane, down toward the housing units aptly named the Old Integrated Layout.

Potholes and gullies marred the streets here. Narrow roads were rendered even narrower by the plethora of street vendors. A few of those vendors rushed to gather their wares, even as the first drops of rain pattered the ground.

Gotta hurry.

I broke into a jog. Home stood twenty minutes away, fifteen if I made good time. For a half moment, it was just me and the wind rushing past my ears. The breeze uplifted me, lightening some of my troubles.

The runner’s high passed with the first crack of thunder. I didn't feel any better. The weight in my chest wasn't gone. Sure, it had eased some. It always did. But it eased the way a faulty car disappeared down the street. It left me full of exhaust fumes, nasty and persistent.

So persistent that years after I'd forgotten the cause of the initial discomfort, the fumes remained, piling up one layer at a time, until there was this burden shaped like an anchor pressed up against my back.

I hated it.

I arrived, panting hard, at our home: a small bungalow obscured behind a tall, red gate. I blinked the water out of my lashes, grimacing as some of it got into my eyes. Knocking was useless, but I did it anyway.

The house keys lay beneath the potted plant by the front door, and I let myself in, taking care to discard my shoes at the door. A dark house greeted me. Its curtains were drawn taut; power a thing of myth. An eerie quiet filled the house, discounting the rain beating against the roof.

I was halfway down the entryway when I collided with someone standing right in the middle of the path.

“Oof,” I grunted. “Nenye?”

Nenye didn't say a word. I could picture her looking up at me in the dark with those eyes of hers that always seemed too big for her face.

“What are you doing out here?” I asked, grabbing her hand. “Come on, let's go to the living room. I'm soaked, but I will cook something once I get cleaned up.”

She followed after me, her hand warm in mine. I led her to the couch and crossed to raise the curtains, letting the fading daylight into the living room. Nenye sat cross-legged on the floor, picking at a piece of thread on her dress.

“Rice?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Noodles?”

She didn't reply.

“Alright. Give me a minute.”

I left a lamp on in the living room and hurried to the lone bathroom in the house, shedding my wet clothes as I did. The water was cold but I would have been surprised if it were anything but. I showered in a rush, barely staying under the water. By the time I emerged, the rain was pouring in torrents, and the skies outside were devoid of light.

“I'm starting dinner now,” I called, toweling my hair off as I entered the kitchen. A vacant pot sat on the cooker so I filled it with water and lit the gas. The pantry was empty; I rifled through the cabinets instead. Nothing of note sat there, save a can of curry powder and two packets of noodles. Those packets would suffice for one person; the other would need to starve. It sucked, but hey, we'd handled worse.

“Mom's going to be late again today,” I said, laying a steaming plate of noodles on a stool in front of my sister. “You don't need to stay up waiting for her again and certainly not in the middle of the corridor. I can watch the door myself.”

I fastened a bib around her neck then wrapped her fingers around the plastic fork. She looked at me with one of those unreadable expressions of hers and turned towards her food. She was not quite where she could be on her best days, but at least she was cognizant. When I was certain she wouldn't be choking on her food, I walked to the fridge and grabbed a stale piece of bread.

“Wah-ah,” Nenye mumbled.

I scarfed down the bread and headed back to the living room. An empty cup sat next to a jug on the dining table. I filled it with warm water. She drank gingerly, eyes roving over my face.

“Chachi,” she said.

“Mmhmm.”

“Chachi,” she repeated. “Thank you.”

My voice came out in a broken tumble. “Y-yeah . . .”

Nenye clawed my face, almost getting her fingers in my eyes. “Thank you. Thank you.”

I chuckled. “Hey, hey, that's okay. Finish your meal.”

Her eyes returned to her plate, fork held aloft. Her eyebrows crinkled as she hoisted noodles up to her mouth, getting only a few strands each time. She seemed to be doing okay, so I withdrew my phone and slipped out of earshot.

Mom picked on the third ring. “Hello, Chetachi. Is something wrong?”

“No. Not really,” I replied, leaning against a wall. “Just wondering if you are going to be late again today?”

A door opened and shut on the other end of the line. “Oh,” mom said. “Probably by a couple of hours. Nothing major. We had an emergency with an in-patient about an hour ago but the worst seems to have passed.”

“Ah. Sounds great.”

“What about you? And Nenye? Had anything to eat?”

I glanced at my sister who was still battling with her food. “Yeah. She is eating right now.”

“Good. You don't need to save anything for me. I will grab a bite on the way home.”

“Yeah, but . . .” I mulled the words over in my head. “The pantry's kinda empty. I got paid today so I can probably handle it—”

“You would? Oh sweetie, thank you so much! I have two shifts tomorrow, so you'll need to go shopping after work. I promise to reimburse you. You know the chief doesn't pay us till the second week of each month.”

I thought of all the times mom had promised and failed to repay me. “Sure. I can do that.”

“That's my big man,” she said. “Oh, I need to go now. Doctor's calling. I have my keys so be sure to lock the doors in case you turn in early tonight.”

“Will do, mom. Goodbye and take care.”

“You too, son. Muah.”

I lowered the phone, glancing again at Nenye. She’d abandoned her fork and was now staring at the wall, eyes narrowed in focus.

“Guess you've had your fill for tonight, eh?” I said, ruffling her braided hair.

We spent the rest of the evening in each other's silent company. I thumbed through the headlines on my favorite news site, The Bastion.

‘Saver Saves the Day Again!’ one headline went. Then in smaller lettering: ‘Crisis at the Supreme Court Averted by the Timely Intervention of Supers.’

I rolled my eyes. Saver saves the day again. That line was old when I was eight, nine good years ago. The journalists loved their wordplay though and Saver was popular enough that content featuring him got lapped up regardless.

However, Saver hadn't been there when I’d needed him. He hadn't been there for Nenye or any of the teachers. Saver, more often than not, saved nothing. And that was a truth the journalists weren’t ready to admit.

Something stirred within me at the recollection of that piece of my childhood. It climbed up my throat, promising to claw out of my chest. I recognized it for what it was before it could succeed. The anchor of fumes.

My hands convulsed around my phone. I peered at them when—thump. Nenye crashed comically to the floor. I rose from the couch and shook her awake, and then we walked—one step at a time—to her bedroom, positioned between mom's and mine. She settled beneath the sheets. I ruffled her hair and returned to the living room, locking up for the night.

My hands kept trembling as I retired to my room. The latter was too dark to see beyond the bridge of my nose.

“Oww,” I hissed, stubbing my toe against a chair. I reached to clear it out of the way and it flew, shattering against the wall.

I stared at the spot where the chair had been. I blinked at the far wall where it had gone. The shaking in my hands came to a stop.

“Fuck.”