Chapter Text
It was me and my dusty leather wallet against the world.
There was nothing in that wallet, to be frank. I had bought for 3€ from some random guy off the street who was selling obvious knockoffs of luxury goods. I had always thought those rich-people brands were tacky, but hey, cargo pants can only hold so much.
I was turning seventeen years old in less than a week. Or somewhere around then. I’d been alone for so long that some years I forgot my own birthday- not to mention the watch I had was seven years old and consistently two hours and thirty minutes behind. Inconvenient, I know. But hey, I’ve been living on less than five euros a day for over a decade. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.
My life wasn’t always like this. I was born into a pretty well-off family– my mom, my dad, and my two brothers. My dad had some job in international relations, so he was barely around…if he was even in the country. I saw him on and off for four and a half years, and that’s when my parents decided to get a divorce.
Soon after the divorce, my brothers left the country. My oldest brother secretly married his girlfriend from secondary school, and now they’re in America or somewhere. My other brother soon followed (I don’t know where he ended up, but it certainly wasn’t anywhere near Spain), and I have a vague memory of him leaving me a half-assed “Love you, see you in a few years!” note on my bed.
I guess my mom couldn’t live with only having one child- much less a girl. My memory of anything before the age of six years old was a little fuzzy, but I do remember my mother staring dead into my eyes and saying “I could never live with a daughter like you.”
I was a child- on the verge of starting school. I was five years old when my mother dumped me on the streets, driving off as fast as she could.
I was seven when I taught myself how to read, mainly by navigating the street signs I saw every single day, though I got my first book from the library when I was eight. I was twelve when I started picking up odd jobs, trash pickup, waitressing, some random man even lent me his kitchen so I could make cookies and sell them on the street.
Around my sixteenth birthday, I had saved enough money to buy a car that was older than I was, even though I had no idea how I would get myself a license. That car was my old reliable for a few months…that was until I accidentally dropped the keys. I had realized my mistake too late, by the time I went back to where my car was parked, it was gone.
I didn’t care about being rich. I just wanted to survive, I wanted to make it to adulthood. I only had a year left until I turned 18, I could make it. If I used my head, I could make it. I was smart, but that was because I had to be. I knew I was athletic, I’ve had to learn how to walk around the streets of Madrid without getting myself jumped…or worse.
I sighed, leaning against a streetpole and getting the dirt out of my hair. My legs were sore from all the steps I’ve taken today, but I was used to the soreness. I rubbed my eyes, carefully taking my glasses off so I didn’t break them. I’ve had the same frames since I was about ten years old- I was lucky that I could still see out of them to some extent.
I was used to these bustling streets, the people staring at me like I had five heads. Part of me reveled in the feeling- as much as I hated this, this was home.
Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t hate Madrid. I hated this shitty situation I had ended up in. And that’s why the other part of me ached to get out of here. I wasn’t picky when it came to places I would like to go- I would be happy if I could camp out just fifteen minutes down the road from where I was.
Or…I would be happy somewhere far away from here. Across the world, even. I had nothing to lose, nobody knew me here, and the only family I really had was God knows where. It’s not like I’d be leaving anything behind if I just played hooky on my home country.
It was like my brain was playing a major tug-of-war regarding what I wanted to do with my life. Frankly, my life was pathetic as it was- although I was a hugely sentimental person.
I dug into the left pocket of my cargo pants, pulling out the dirty piece of paper and pencil that’s been in there for as long as I can remember.
My bucket list.
Dye my hair pink
Go to no-shit ballet school
I need a hug.
Get a sister or brother
Get a room I can decorate however I want
Learn how to play an instrument
Go skydiving
See the ruins of Pompeii
I need a goddamn hug.
Go on an airplane
Learn how to speak a different language (besides Spanish and English)
Play a sport. Like with a team and uniforms and stuff
Get a boyfriend (who would EVER love me?)
Can I just have a normal life?
I sighed, thinking of what else I could add to my bucket list, but my mind kept drawing blanks. I had added everything I wanted to- everything that would give me some form of normalcy. If I was going to stay in Spain, I would need to make a name for myself. I didn’t want to spend my entire life doing random odd jobs, and I would love to settle in one place for more than two and a half days at a time.
My name is Tuscany. I sure as hell didn’t get out of Spain for a while, but at sixteen years old, I finally managed to get off the street. And I know that I certainly would never be a normal teenage girl, but hey, I’ll take what I can get.