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One by one I check every piece of clothing. Every single one has something written on it, something horrible, and offensive, and something that doesn’t represent me as a person at all. But the person who wrote these hateful words wouldn’t know that, because they believe only what they want to.
Angry with the world I stuff all the clothes into the basket and slam the dryer door shut. The sound so loud it echoes through the vacant space. My hands are shaking as I grab the basket and place it against my hip to carry it. I will myself not to cry, but the tears well in my eyes anyway. College wasn’t supposed to be this bad, high school totally, but college? People were supposed to act like adults, be mature, make good choices, and stick up for others. I guess I never expected the brothers to follow me. That threw a wrench into my perfect future.
They wanted revenge, well, they had gotten it and the next time I see them I was going to tell them that. I’m going to let them see how broken I am. I deserved the pain, the hate, the anger the first time around, but this? No. Enough is enough. My parents showing up wasn’t my fault, someone set me up, just like with the boat, and if they would’ve listened maybe things would be different.
With my laundry basket of destroyed clothes in hand, I speed walk back to my dorm. My vision is blurry with unshed tears that I try to blink away. There’s a tingling on the back of my neck, it’s the same feeling I got earlier.
Someone is watching me. What if it’s the same person who shoved me off the boat? Panic claws at me and I take the corner a smidge too fast, catching the edge of the basket on the wall. The impact sends the basket to the ground knocking it out of my hands. Clothes spill out on the sidewalk and into a big pile of textiles.
Fuck my life.
I’m tempted to just leave them and run back to my room but decide not to give someone the satisfaction of seeing them sprawled out across the concrete. The last thing I need is my panties strung up like lights across campus. Angrily I bend down to grab the last shirt off the concrete, my fingers brush against the fabric when I get this strange feeling in my gut, like something bad is about to happen. I have this sudden urge to scream, and so I do.
A blood curdling scream rips from my throat just as a large figure appears next to me. I scramble backwards, landing on my ass, pain flaring across both cheeks as the figure crouches down next to me. His large hand reaches for me and if I hadn’t recognized the face attached to that hand, I would have probably suffered from a heart attack.
“Calm down,” Oliver’s deep voice pricks my ears, his eyes scanning my face. Can he see the tears, the sadness in my eyes? “What’s wrong with you? You look like someone kicked your dog and pissed in your cheerios.”
“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? Actually, what’s wrong with all of you? Have you been watching me, again? I can feel eyes on me.”
“Stop, no one has been watching you.” He says it like I’m crazy for thinking it, and hell, maybe I am, maybe it’s all in my head.
Picking up the basket and its content, I get back up onto my feet. Oliver reaches for something on the ground and to my embarrassment it turns out to be a pair of my panties. Sadness overrules my anger and humiliation. I’m sad because having Oliver this close after everything is hard. So hard. I hate not being able to fall into his embrace and feel protected. Instead, he’s standing there holding my panties that have the word CUNT written on them.
I try my very best not to cry, but my best is not good enough today, my only hope is that the light from the building is not efficient enough to show my tears. Snatching the piece of cotton from his hands I start walking away from him, but to my utter surprise he grabs my wrist and pulls me back towards him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks again, his voice softer and I can’t help but burst into laughter. It’s not a ‘ha ha that’s funny laugh’, it’s a humorless, sad laugh with a sob in between.
“Did you seriously just ask me that?” I’m surprised by the question, but I’m even more surprised when he takes his hands and cups my cheeks, he drags his thumb over the delicate skin under my eyes and wipes the last few escaping tears away.
And like a river with overflowing banks the words flow freely past my lips.
