Alona woke to loud laughter in the room. It was dark, with only a faint orange light filtering through the crack under the door into the hallway. She opened her eyes just enough to see silhouettes: her mother sitting on the floor, her back against the couch, her head tilted back as she sipped from a glass. A man sat next to her. Alona couldn’t see him, only heard his deep, husky voice.
The girl closed her eyes and pulled the blanket up to her nose. She knew she couldn’t walk now. If her mother saw her, she would either yell at her to go back to sleep, or worse, burst into tears and hug her. Alona hated her mother’s drunken hugs more than anything else. They smelled sour and bitter, and she wanted to wash herself thoroughly, even her hair.
In the morning, her mother was asleep. Alena packed her backpack, found yesterday’s bread in her bread box, and ate it with tap water. Her mother’s room was locked. Alena stood in the doorway for a moment, listening to her snoring, and then left quietly. She knew she wouldn’t be back for a while that day.
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