“Fuck!” Panic grips me by the throat. I have no clothes and no towel. How am I going to get back to the dorms? There’s the option of walking back naked, but I like that idea the least.
I tiptoe around the locker room to see if the clothes were moved somewhere else but find nothing. I’m vulnerable without clothing. My teeth clack together, and I shiver.
I have to get out of here. I’m cold, tired, and soon to be humiliated. Who would steal my clothes, and why? I don’t know why I’m even asking myself that question. I know who did this. The only person who hates me more than any other person in this awful university does.
Quinton.It has to be him, or at least, one of his friends. Yeah, everyone hates me here, but none of them hate me enough to go out of their way to make my life miserable. I understood what it meant when he said he was done with me, but I didn’t think he would turn on me. I didn’t think he would try and humiliate me.
I guess I was wrong to think we were past this.
I cross my arms over my chest to abate some of the chill. It doesn’t help, but it makes me feel less vulnerable. My teeth grit together when I think of him and his stupid friends doing this. Hell, I bet they’re probably waiting outside the door. Waiting for me to pop my head out so they can see my tear-streaked face.Assholes.Jokes on them.
I’m not crying over this trivial shit anymore.
Anger replaces my previous fear, and I’m burning with the intensity of the sun as I march toward the door to confront them. Only when I wrap my hand around the cold metal and tug on the door it doesn’t budge, not even a little bit.
They… they locked the door? I’m trapped in here. Trapped in the locker room, naked and alone. I take a wobbly step backward and sit my bare ass against the wooden bench.
I shiver at the thought of someone coming into the bathroom while I was showering, but they did. Someone did, and that someone is going to pay. I’m not sure how long I sit there stewing in my rage, waiting for someone to unlock the door, all while knowing no one is going to be coming, at least not until tomorrow morning.
Tears form in my eyes, and I clench my hands into tight fists. The urge to punch something, to hurt someone like I’m hurt right now, is consuming me, but the only person to hurt is myself, and the people around me have done far enough of that.
Tucking my feet into my body, I wrap my arms around my middle and stare at the door defiantly. If it doesn’t open soon, I’m going to scream. My frustration mounts with every passing second.
Why did he do this to me?
Why does he still hate me so much?
I thought we were past this.
All the questions pile up on top of each other, suffocating me. My chest heaves, and a single tear slips from my eye.
There’s a commotion on the other side of the door, and I swipe the tear away with the back of my hand. The lock disengages, and I wait, ready to attack when the door is pushed open.
Quinton steps into the bathroom, his hulking frame taking up most of the doorway. I hate how handsome he looks, how he stands there staring at me like he doesn’t know what happened when this is his fault.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” I grit out, jumping up off the bench. I toss my hands in the air, uncaring that my body is on display to him.
He doesn’t seem affected as his gaze remains on mine. It’s piercing and cold, and I want to make him feel the way I feel. I want to hurt him.
“Where are your clothes? Why was the door locked?” His tone turns accusatory, and my lip curls.
“Do you think I would just lock myself in this locker room for fun? Or misplace my own clothes?”
He’s playing stupid, but I’ve seen through it. Quinton and I will always be enemies.
“I don’t know, Aspen. But it sure seems to be that way.”
“You,” I growl, finally losing my composure.
My blonde hair clings to my skin, and I take a step toward him. Every part of me says, do not engage, do not piss off this man, but deep down, I know I have to do this. I have to let him know that I’m onto his games and that this won’t be happening again.
His lip turns up at the side. “Me?”
“Yes, you. You did this! You snuck in here, took my clothes, and locked me in here so that you and your stupid fucking friends could humiliate me and laugh about how I had to beg you for my clothes back. Maybe take a video and show it to your friends?”
Quinton doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even blink, and that only makes me angrier. He doesn’t deny anything because I probably got it right, and that’s when it happens. All my built-up anger, pain, and resentment boils over, and I snap.