They’re Still Here

Anka has no shame. For two months now she’s been living in our house and eating our food and not once has she said thank you. For two months my squatmate Simon has given up his room and slept on the couch so that her and her children could have a bed. And how does she repay him? Well, at the moment Simon’s bedroom is filled with rotting food, dirty clothes, and crusty plates. In my mother’s words, “It looks like a bomb hit it.” Seriously, it smells so bad in there you can barely walk past it without holding your breath. How nice of her?!

Also, Anka refuses to send Stefan and Pirvu to school. She says she doesn’t approve of the British school system and prefers to home school her children. Okay, that’s fine. But then teach them something you fucking psycho! All the poor kids know how to do is make gross hard bred and watch daytime TV. And because they don’t go to school and Anka doesn’t work, it means they never leave the house, meaning we NEVER have a moment free of them. It’s exhausting to say the least.

I know I probably sound like a bitch, but the woman is mad. Having to deal with her every day is making me want to kill myself. And don’t get me wrong, I do feel bad for her kids. I mean, their lives are pretty fucked up. From what I have gathered from the oldest son, Stefan, they move around a lot. Since he can remember the three of them have lived in Romania, Holland, Portugal, Spain, and England—being homeless on and off. When they converse they speak in a weird amalgamation of multiple different languages. Anka and Stefan seem to be able to distinguish between them all, but I swear Pirvu doesn’t know one from the other. All of them wear clothes that look like they’ve never been washed. I’ve never know any of them to take a shower (not that anyone in this house showers, but whatever). I want to do something for them but I just don’t know what. Recently I’ve started sneakily buying the kids food, as most of the dinners Anka prepares for them look more like gross slime than actual meals. The other day I bought them both home chicken sandwiches. They ate them in the bathroom so their mom wouldn’t find out.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to kick them out onto the street, but living with that woman is driving me insane. This house isn’t big enough for fourteen people. Someone has to go. It’s us or them.