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I reach the maintenance room just as the maintenance guy comes out. Oh, thank god, I caught him in time.
“Hi, can you please come look at my shower? Something is wrong with it.” The words come out in a rush, and I look up at him. He’s tall, with a bulging gut and a bald head. His eyes roam over me in a way that makes my skin crawl.
“What’s your room number? I’ll add it to my list.”
“What do you mean, you’ll add it to your list? I need it done now. I can’t shower with the way it is, and I haven’t—”
He cuts me off, his voice booming and drawing the attention of other students. “I said I’ll add it to my list. Now, what’s your room number?”
I want to order him to fix it now, but I can’t. I’m a nobody, and he wouldn’t listen anyway, so why waste my breath? I tell him my room number, and walk back to my room.
I’m still hung up on taking a shower, but where else can I go? I guess I could ask Brittney, but she’s already done so much for me. I don’t want to burden her with more.
I slump down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Of course, my thoughts drift to Quinton. They always do, no matter how hard I try to think about something else… anything else.
Why he was here yesterday? It didn’t seem like he wanted anything since he left as soon as I walked in. Maybe he was just trying to scare me, keep me on my toes, or maybe he was working out and just passed through and dropped in.
It doesn’t matter, but in a way, it does because if he’s done with me like he said, then why was he in my room?
Out of nowhere, I remember that the dorm gym has a shower. I never use it, because why would I when I have an attached bathroom to my room, but it looks like there’s a first time for everything.
I grab a backpack from the floor and toss my soap, towel, and pajamas into the bag. Then I race out of the room, a smile on my face because I know I’m finally going to get the shower I’ve been dreaming about for the last six weeks.
It’s better than I thought it would be, better than I could’ve ever imagined. I stand under the hot spray for an eternity, relishing in the unlimited hot water. I’m not sure why I didn’t think to come to the gym showers sooner.
I take extra time washing my hair and body, and when I’m finished, I rinse off, shut the water off, and walk back into the locker room, where I left my clothes and towel.
Only as soon as I step into the locker room, an intense sense of dread consumes me, and at that exact moment, I know why. My towel, pjs, and even my dirty clothes are missing.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that when I open them that maybe I’m seeing things, but when I open my eyes again, none of my stuff is there.
“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.
