Disclaimer: I own only the characters of my imagination: Trinity, Dezaria, Destiny, Faith, and Scarlette. The rest, I’m sure you’ll recognize as the property of the Tolkien Estate.

The apartment shook violently from the screaming. Three women raised their voices in a bitter quarrel while the teenaged girl hid in the bathroom; backpack still heavy in her hands. What seemed like hours ago, young Dezaria and her aunt Destiny had stumbled in on this verbal war between Faith, Scarlette, and the near unbreakable Trinity. Just as her aunt had open the door, Scralette could be seen stumbling clumsily across the room and there was a moment of brief anticipated silence before she slammed an object down on the table with the promise of both conviction and hostility. Both emotions in Scarlette were foreign to Dezaria, and she found the look on Scarlette’s face especially frightening. The normally sunny and wide smile was gone, replaced instead by a large frown set with gritted teeth. Her Spanish accent was smothered in fury; eyes bloodshot from crying or drinking, Dezaria still did not know which.

Her aunt’s long time friend, Scarlette Rowe held an unspoken authority over each of her friends. She never seemed like one who held a lot of power, with her questionable upbringing and promiscuous nature, but it was she who had brought each of the women together. It was her that kept them from falling away, falling apart. Since Dezaria was a toddler, Scarlette had always been there, as a surrogate “auntie” whenever she had a question about more intimate concepts that she felt couldn’t possibly be discussed with Destiny. Indeed, the concept of sex was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable matter to her young aunt, and she’d admitted that the field would be better explored with Scarlette, whom she deemed an expert on the subject. The topic had been thoroughly discussed between Dezaria and Scarlette one night a few years ago, and Dezaria refused to talk about it any more. Even now, she referred to that night’s horror as “The Talk,” keeping the details of the conversation as vague as could be. Scarlette felt as though her place in life was a comedic one, making people smile and laugh was her oxygen. She did hold a certain charm for that, her smart comments and blunt nature made her a favorite among Dezaria’s few friends, and she also gave the impression that she was the type to sneak them alcohol when in her care. With closely cropped, impossibly dyed red hair and bright blue eyes, she looked appropriately mischievous, and her naturally tanned skin reminded the others of her Latina heritage. She was the type of woman who, though a few years over forty, acted twenty and lied about her age.

“You lied to me,” Scarlette had shouted at Trinity, who merely sat there with an unreadable expression, her brilliant green eyes void of any emotion.

For as long as Dezaria could remember, Trinity had been like that. Rarely did she laugh or smile or even show some kind of irritation. This cold ambivalence often made others weary of her; moreover, her lack of concern and morals made them uncomfortable, and they didn’t wish to be in her presence. Yet even with her typical coldness, she seemed to hold some ambiguity. With her all her ambivalence, she also radiated a quiet, subdued aggression, though it was never necessarily directed at any particular being. Her back hair was straight and long, perfectly parted, and framed her somber face and pale skin with an interestingly fluent contrast. Imperfection was perfection with her and there was the air was filled with envy whenever she walked into a room. Admittedly, Dezaria felt this jealousy occasionally, the way her nanny turned heads without any real intention to do so, even boys her age couldn’t help but stare. Trinity Night never wanted attention, but with her strikingly melancholy features and almost feline body, she had lived with the unwanted praise all her life. Words from her were rare, and those spoken out loud were mystifying and filled with a kind of ulterior meaning. Nevertheless, Dezaria’s mother, Margaret, put her full trust in Trinity, and deemed the strange woman nanny of her children.

Destiny had tried to push her niece away from the fight, tried to protect her from the impure emotion of anger scorching from Scarlette. Dezaria didn’t bother to resist, though a glimpse at the table told her that the object thrown so forcefully on it had been a syringe. She bit her lip, sucking in a breath, and ran into the bathroom. There she still remained, stifling her sobs, her gray were eyes rimmed red from her tears, and her strawberry blond ringlets slowly unwound themselves from her loose ponytail. Since she was a child, Trinity had taken care of her. Even when her mother committed suicide all those years ago, and she was sent to live with Destiny, Trinity still visited them daily. Helping her with difficult homework, giving helpful advice, and she had seemed the ideal nanny, perhaps even a mother. It was too much for Dezaria, knowing that the woman she once asked to be her mother was nothing more than a common junkie. No noise drifted to her from beyond her safe haven. The yelling had stopped. Slowly, cautiously, she opened the door and peered out from behind it.

“We trusted you,” Scarlette’s whisper was low and hoarse, “All of us.”

“Scarlette, please,” Dezaria’s aunt began, “There must be some explanation for this. Don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions.”

Always, Destiny Motto was the most reasonable among her aunties. A Harvard graduate, she possessed a seemingly unchallengeable amount of knowledge in her slight form. She appeared deceivingly docile, with her small, thin body and pastel clothes. Violet eyes and long silver hair gave her the appearance of any hopeful beauty queen. Trained to be pleasant and quick with a smile, she was the kindest of all Dezaria’s aunties, and the only one related by blood, but somehow the hardest to talk with. Dezaria suspected that her own mother’s words might be responsible for that. Margaret’s mother never cared for her younger sibling; Destiny was the favorite between the two girls. Youthful, gifted, beautiful, she was everything the eldest couldn’t be. Margaret did her best to love her younger sister, but with each of her accomplishments, Margaret could not help but feel inferior. The hate, though not instant, was instilled through the years. She often told Dezaria that Destiny should be her role model, not her. But Destiny was not the heartless kind, and attempted to reach her older sister. No matter what she did, Destiny couldn’t please her, and gave up eventually. When Margaret took her own life, Dezaria was placed in her aunt’s care. At first, it was too awkward to bear, but over time, it grew easier. Destiny made it easier.

“There ain’t an explanation,” snapped Faith, who up until then had been uncharacteristically silent. Her Southern accent was filled with malice, “If there was, she would’a told us.”

Faith Evans was the type of woman who clung to her youth and demanded attention. Often, her vanity was the subject of ridicule between her friends, family, and co-workers alike. She claimed it to be on account of her work, the pressure to look good for the cameras. Certainly, there was some truth in this, acting and singing had always been highly publicized career paths, but Dezaria thought Faith took this to a new high. Her looks were typical, almost plain, with her wavy brown hair, chocolate eyes, and artificial smile that displayed blinding rows of bleached white teeth. She was in her earlier forties, but still looked twenty, thanks to excessive cosmetic surgery. Always, her face was painted with makeup; Dezaria had no idea what she actually looked like without the thick colors smeared on her lips and eyelids. Scarlette looked like that sometimes, but Destiny and Trinity never did. Maybe that was why Dezaria had always wished to be them. Faith was sociable enough, but her words and actions were so predictable that it was practically routine when she spoke to anyone about any subject. Her topics included herself, her job, and her husband, that was it. Any other concern was alien to her.

“You’re her nanny, Trinity!” Scarlette screamed suddenly.

Dezaria’s heart restricted in her chest.

“How could you do this to her? She depends on you, she loves you!”

Trinity looked past her, straight at Dezaria. And for an instant, Dezaria imagined that she saw a spark of pain cross her features. But then the mask, the indestructible ambivalence replaced the weak emotion. Her eyes stayed focused on her, the eyes Dezaria used to trust. Destiny followed Trinity’s gaze, sadness filled her face when she saw Dezaria.

“Dezzy, sweetie, why don’t you go do your homework, please?” She asked sweetly, resurrecting the childish nickname from the grave

Her niece shook her head, “No.” She never did care for that pet name.

The voice that spoke from her body was strong, not the shy tone Destiny was used to. All but Destiny ignored her easily.

“How could you do this to her?” Scarlette repeated, her eyes watery. “To us? Weren’t we enough?”

“What, can’t we be fun enough for ya, sweet pea?” Faith joined in. “Gotta have everything, don’t you? Don’t care about anything, do you?”

“Dezaria, please do your homework,” Destiny’s voice quivered, trying to summon parental authority.

“No. I want to stay.”

“Do your homework, baby.” Trinity’s voice startled them all. Her untraceable accent was soft, yet undeniable.

Dezaria’s lower lip trembled as she fought hard against tears and lost. With long strides, she ran to Scarlette’s room and slammed the door. She sank against the wood and sobbed. She knew she hurt Destiny, but didn’t her aunt realize that she wanted to be there? How long she cried, Dezaria didn’t know, but eventually pulled herself onto the clumsily made bed. Exhaustion overtook her, and she couldn’t fight the sleep. More than ever, she wished her life could start over. If only her family could have another chance!

In this present state of uneasy rest, she couldn’t have known that her prayers would be answered and she would wake in a strange place, without her aunties to protect her.