“We could go clothes shopping this weekend,” my mom interjects. “Girls’ day?”
“Sure.” I force a smile. Anything to get away from these two assholes.
“Perfect! Do you want me to show you to your room?”
“We’re going up anyway,” Colt offers. “We’ll show you where your room is.”
“I’m sure I can find it myself.” Grabbing my backpack off the floor, I stand up, looking for a way to escape this place.
“It’s upstairs, the last one at the end of the hallway,” James explains.
He has barely finished giving me directions when I start speed walking out of the dining room and up the stairs without looking back.
Only when I’m on the second floor, and I don’t hear anyone coming after me, do I sigh in relief.
“Last one at the end of the hallway…”But he didn’t say which one. The staircase leads into a wall with hallways on either side. I try my luck on the left side.
As I walked down the hall, I count the doors, wondering whose room is behind each one. I pass five before I get to the sixth and last door. If I took the correct turn, this should be my room.
Lifting my hand, I reach for the doorknob. My index finger brushes over the cool brass, the small hairs on the back of my neck lift, and a shiver runs down my spine.
“Wrong room, love bug,” Nix whispers behind me.
I spin around so fast that I lose my footing and stumble backward until my back hits the wall. Nix takes one large step toward me, eating up the distance between us.
“Don’t call me that.” Love bug might seem like a cute pet name but knowing why he calls me that leaves a bitter taste on my tongue for simply hearing it. After my accident, I had to wear a bulky back brace. Someone had the bright idea to call me a stink bug since I had an outer shell, and in the summertime, I would smell like sweat, no matter how much I tried to cover it up with perfume. Nix and Colt turned stink bug into love bug at some point, but they say it with the same kind of disgust still.
“I’ll call you whatever I want. After all, you are in my house, and you’d do well to remember that. Don’t walk around and stay in your room. I don’t want you touching my stuff.”
“You think I want to be here? I didn’t even know about any of this until a few hours ago.” I try to push past him, but he places his hands on either side of me, caging me between him and the wall.
“I don’t care what you know or what you want. All I care about is getting rid of you. You and your gold-digging mom need to find some other guy to leech off.”
He dips his head low, leaning into my face until his nose brushes against my cheek. “You don’t belong here. Go back to your trailer park.”
“Trust me, I’d rather live in a run-down trailer than here with you.” I shove against his chest as hard as I can, taking him by surprise. Ducking under his arm, I take off down the hall, past the stairs to the other side of the floor.
When I get to the last door, I don’t hesitate to open it. I rush inside the room, slamming the door shut behind me. Dropping my backpack on the ground, I reach for the lock, only to find none.
What the hell?
Is this some kind of mistake? Instead of there being a latch on the doorknob I can turn to lock in place, the surface is smooth. I have no way of making sure there’s any privacy in this room.
Then my heart lurches, and I rush for the adjoining bathroom. I don’t even care what it looks like. I only want to examine the door. Sure enough, there’s no lock here, either, not on either side of the doorknob.
An icy chill runs through me, and I shiver, rubbing my arms as goose bumps cover them. This is wrong. This whole thing is wrong. Why would I not be allowed to lock my doors while living in a house with all these men? I would say something to Mom about it, but I’m sure she would laugh it off—if I got lucky. Otherwise, she’ll demand to know why I’m making her life so difficult. I don’t know what would be worse, being laughed at or blamed for something I’m not trying to do.
Another thing I’m not trying to do is take a shower without being able to lock the door. I feel so dirty after spending hours in those bus seats, sometimes falling asleep while my head rested against a window countless other people touched. The thought of it makes me wrinkle my nose. How am I supposed to clean up when I can’t trust Colt and Nix to stay out?
One of my new bedroom furnishings is a desk and a matching chair. It’s about the right size, so I pick the chair up and carry it to the bathroom, where I wedge it under the doorknob. At least now I can breathe a little easier, even if the idea of having to do this in what’s supposed to be my house disgusts me. Then again, there isn’t much about this situation that isn’t disgusting. Wrong.
I pull off my clothes and leave them in a pile on the tiled floor before hanging one of the stacked towels on a hook outside the shower door. My own bathroom. I wish I could be more enthusiastic about this because I've always dreamed of having my own bathroom. One of thoseSomeday, when I’m richfantasies. And compared to the tiny little bathroom back at the trailer, this is massive.
I wish I could enjoy it.
Still, the shower is nice, already stocked with all kinds of good-smelling soaps, shampoo, and all kinds of other items I always wanted to buy for myself but never had the money for. I take advantage of all of them, too, using sugar scrub to rid me of the feeling of being soiled and nasty before soaping up. Even the shampoo is better than any I’ve ever used, and I never thought it really made that much of a difference how much a person paid for it. Now I understand. By the time I’m finished rinsing out the thick suds, I think I could get used to living this way.
If only it wasn’t for my fear. Not to mention how strange this all feels and how sudden. Not that my mother is notorious for making the best choices, but this is over the top even for her. Is she this desperate to escape our old life? I guess so, and that’s my fault, too. I’m sure if I ever complained, she would throw that in my face.If it wasn’t for you getting hurt and everything that came afterward… I don’t even want to think about it.