Cost of Money

A story of a girl who was strong enough to survive in this ill, poor, shady world.

⁃ But how did you get to where you are now? - asked me the interviewer his last question. I was already tired and I really wanted to go home, take a shower and forget about all this journalistic false interest and my empty words that are said only to garante no attention to me.
⁃ Well. It was hard. I can proudly and a little sadly say that I tried everything in my life before I got this idea and created a successful and money-bringing business, - I answer with a smile. There's nothing in those words, no meaning, no real answer because no one would want to hear the real story. It's not something that people like to listen to. They like to hear that it was luck, fortune, money, connections, anything but not sleepless nights and hard, almost impossible, labor that is taking all of my time, my strength, and almost took my life. And maybe they don't want to hate me, maybe all they need are reasons not to hate themselves, not to envy me and especially not to work. Because who wants to work? So they tell themselves like a spell, a prayer how they will never reach my status, my luxurious life, they will never make as much money as I did because I was fortunate, I had rich parents, I was lucky while they are not.
Cameras were done shooting, I was brought to the dressing room, my make up was removed, dress carefully put back in a case and taken to my car. There I was without any filters in the mirror. Tired, old skin; huge bags under my eyes, stooped back, already some seen gray hairs, regular jeans and an old shirt. People usually think that I look good for my middle thirties but the truth is that I'm twenty three. And no one ever guessed right. Even with my make up on, even with the nicest and expensive dress that was made for me on, even with freshly dyed hair. Because there is just one thing that will never let me look young again. My eyes. My once bright and happy, now dull and tired brown eyes. My eyes were the best reflection of my soul: beaten, broken, hurt, stone-cold, ugly. I can't stand looking in them. They remind me too much pain and struggles I wish I could forget. Sometimes I wish I could redo my life but the sad thing is that I even if I did it wouldn't change anything. Mistakes I did weren't a thing I could skip. It was something I had to get over. Something I had to survive in order to become a new, stronger person. And sadly everything I went through was worth it.
I finally got to my car through those gray, similar, confusing hallways. It will be a long way home since my apartment is on the other side of New York. This interview was different from others. It wasn't about my life drama, my family, my parents death and how I'm getting over it since 15. It wasn't about my current status, location, car, house, jewelry. Wasn't about charity or good I bring to this world. It was strictly about my life path. And surprisingly I was actually never asked before how I got to this point of my life workwise. How I actually earned those money. And it brought too many memories, opened too many old wounds. Ever since my parents died in that terrible car crash I had to change my life completely. How a 15-year old, spoiled, rich girl could possibly survive the situation? I was a literal nothing then. What could a popular b***h in school with no real friends or any knowledge about life, money, or anything at all, that was studying in a private school and had nothing but a pretty face, hot body and lots of arrogance do? When the police came and separated me, my brother and my sister, putting us into children houses I wasn't ready for this. My younger brother and sister were completely broken. First their parents were taken away, then their siblings and our dog. How could a 7-year-old understand that? They were twins, they were inseparable and then suddenly everything they ever loved became just a painful memory. I think it was the first time I actually felt like I was responsible for my own life, for their lives.
My favorite aunt adopted us very soon after everything happened and became our guardian. She wasn't at all rich, she and her husband actually could hardly earn enough money to pay for their own lives in a small apartment in Boston. But it wasn't that bad or hard, it was actually a great opportunity for them. They moved to our three-floor house and got access to all the savings my parents left. And I realized it clearly but I couldn't be ungrateful for the responsibility they took, especially since she wasn't my favorite aunt for nothing. She payed for another year of our expensive school, helped us to get at least going on with our lives. But I knew the savings we have aren't going to last very long. That's when I changed. Broke up with my fuckboy that I, for no specific reason called my boyfriend, completely stopped hanging out with any of my "friends" and started actually doing very good at school. It turned out I was actually smart. But what was the most dramatic change was the fact that I went to work. First I was a waitress, then I worked at petshop, then I was a florist and I actually tried almost everything. I was also babysitting almost every day and writing short stories to send them to journals and publishers. I even sold them to already famous writers so they can pretend it wad theirs and made lots of money out of it. I was saving every cent, I wanted to start my own business. I forgot about sleep, about social life. School-work-siblings-homework was my everyday routine. And I got so tired at the end that I just couldn't take it anymore. That's when I saw this amazing job space where it was paid so much for only a few hours at night. I was seventeen at that time and it wasn't hard to fake an id or say I was 21, I definitely looked it. By that time my school already gave my brother and sister scholarships, and I didn't have to worry about them so much anymore. But I knew that money were running out and my aunt and uncle couldn't earn enough. I had so little left until I could create a business, idea for which I already had.
So I asked one of those dangerous guys from school to give me a fake id and went to that club and got the job. It wasn't that bad to be a stripper after all. My family was very surprised when I started getting home right after school. I had so much time since I learned how to do homework in an hour in last two years and had no work now. My stories started getting better and better, I got very deep into math that turned out to be my strength. Everything was great except for the fact that I sneaked every night out of my window, went to the club and danced until I couldn't feel my body anymore. At first I suffered, I felt disgusted of myself and people around me, I was ashamed and fearful. Then I started liking it. I made friends there that weren't s***s but just like me had no other way. Their situations sometimes were even worse. I realized after a month that it stopped hurting. That the touches of random people weren't burning anymore but oppositely took away the pain of my past. The death of my parents, the pain in my siblings' eyes, the empty house and never ending stress, tiredness and rush for money were slowly dissolved in those touches. And it was like an addiction. I was getting more and more into it. I thought it was helping me. It wasn't. It made a great black hole in my chest that sucked in all the emotions, my pain and my pleasure. And the little things that used to make me happy didn't make my heart look forward for them anymore. Nothing could make me feel anything and I simply didn't realize it. I was too deep inside that hole to understand that there were other ways to live.
And yet I was stronger than I ever thought. As soon as I got enough money I left that place. And, even though, I felt breakage because it really was an addiction, I didn't let myself even think about going back. I had a very clear plan that I had to complete. It was already summer and I started creating my business without giving myself any time to recover. It was a big mistake for my soul but one of the greatest choices for my business. It was my senior year and my school wasn't hard anymore. My aunt quit her job and started helping me. Even my ten year old siblings were doing something. First it wasn't going well, even though we worked days and nights, we were getting nothing in return. And every time I thought it's not working, every time I couldn't take failure after failure anymore my aunt convinced me into going back and working even harder. She knew just the right words and just the right time. As I found out later she tried to make her own business when she was my age but quit too fast. She never asked me where the money were from. I think she knew. I was sure she saw me sneaking out, saw my ripped, dirty clothes and just simply added those things together. But she never said anything. I guess she just understood that sadly there was no other way. It was dirty money but it was still money. I was struggling for three more years with my new, self-made job. For three more years I didn't sleep. For three more years I didn't quit even when I wanted to do so badly. Then it became easier. It worked out. I started raising money. It was a success. I went to the Ivy League University, I paid for the best life I could ever wish for.
But it wasn't over. I aunt passed away two years ago. Another loss, another failure. She was shot because our company had a debt that I forgot to pay. And I couldn't give myself any time to recover from this pain since almost the whole company was on her. Now I had to take too much responsibility again, that I just couldn't take anymore. But yet I did and I made it all work again. I made my uncle a huge part of it and he helped me a lot. But he needed support not more responsibility. He needed strength not poisonous position in my business. And I missed that moment when my joyful, creative, funny, kind uncle stopped laughing. I missed the moment that I should have never missed and was so surprised to find him hanging from the ceiling in several months.
Now we were finally alone. Completely. I sighed all the legal papers and adopted my brother and sister. I started a distant education program in my college and worked so much I barely slept. Sometimes I just had no time to sleep for three days in a row. Soon I was taken to the hospital. I was almost in a coma, I slept for a week straight waking up only to eat and drink. My siblings were living alone for two weeks until I was proven viable. I wasn't healthy. Just viable. That was fair enough. After getting home I worked less but harder. I took no breaks at all, typed faster, solved more problems at a time. And I made it work again. I felt like I was trapped in an never ending circle or failure and renewal. Or maybe I just didn't want to find an exit.
All the money I have are sweaty and bloody. They are dirty, built on lies, deaths and hard, unbearable work. I lost all of my positive traits earning them, my ability to laugh, to forgive, to help. And no matter what I do I will never get rid of the smell that your dishonesty gives you, no matter how much good I do I will never become clean again. And all the people who sees me on tv now and thinks that I'm inspiring, strong, kind or even rich, are wrong. I am an embarrassment, an ugly villain in a cheap movie, a psychopath with nothing good inside me. All the money in the world won't save me. I'm poor. I'm empty.
My driver stops near me house. I thank him and wish him a good night lightly smiling. I can't find my keys in the darkness of the night and almost get annoyed when the door opens and my sleepy brother hugs me. He doesn't seem to care how tired, ugly, upset I am. And suddenly it all just disappears. My sister comes from the corner with sparkling eyes.
⁃ Hi, loves, - I say quietly trying to sound angry, - Why aren't u guys in beds? It's like 2 am.
⁃ We're 14 and there's no school tomorrow. So it's legal today. We were just finish Monopoly, wanna play? - my brother said with this sense of fake arrogance.
⁃ I actually baked a cake and made some tea. So sorry, I don't care how tired you are, you just simply have no choice, - my sister added going to the kitchen. I smile to myself while I'm following her. I love her cakes. I love playing Monopoly. I'm not at all tired, not for them. And all those things I want to say but what for if I already know the answer? They'll just say: "We know". There are a lot of things I don't have to say to them. They know.
And if right now anyone asked me if my painful path was worth it, I would have no hesitation with my answer. "I don't know if it was worth it, but I would live it over again only for this moment" - I would have said.

Author's Note

Thank you for reading, I would like to hear absolutely everything you think about my piece and how you feel about it. I can take criticism on every form and I need it to improve, so write everything what's on your mind.