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And maybe the...degenerates that Chuck kept company with wouldn't. But Ghost isn't like them. Ghost would never do that, not to me or anyone else.
No one's ever looked at me with more disgust than he just did.
No one's ever run from me.
I feel every handprint all of a sudden. Every tongue and finger, every yank of my hair or smack to my body. My skin tingles with the demons people left on me.
The demons they destroyed me with.
I'm not precious anymore. I guess I never was.
I shouldn't have lied to him.
I shouldn't have made him bring me here, but especially not knowing I'm…
Well. Destroyed.
My heartbeat is so loud in my ears it pushes black dots in front of my eyes, and I reach up to cover them before I collapse. The towel slips out of my shaking grip and falls with a wet thud at my feet.
"Shit," I whisper, squatting to pick it up. There's a ring on the floor now, around my stupid foot prints and a trail from my dripping hair. My heart lurches from my forehead into my throat and new, dumber tears fall. Wet wood warps, and these floors cost… I can't even imagine how much all this costs.
But I'm ruining it.
"Damn it, damn it." I retreat into the bathroom, the tile, more revolting guilt clawing up my stomach. I hadn't wiped down the mirror yet, or squeegeed the water drops from the shower. I didn't even put the soap away.
God, I'm a mess. No wonder he looked at me like that.
I tie my hair up in the towel and step back in the shower, wiping down the dew and drying off his soap. I set that back on the island and tend to the mirror.
The mere sight of my body makes my stomach hurt. Empty compliments echo in my mind, and I can't remember a single time someone said I was simply pretty. When I fight, when I flinch, when I cry… never just me.
Most of these are from Chuck. I don't remember why he was mad at me this time, but I think it was something about embarrassing him in front of some business partner who shouldn't have seen me. Or maybe he should've and I didn't… The reasons are vast and blurry.
But it doesn't matter. Ghost wanted the truth, so I told him. Some of these...the fingerprints around my hips, the red pinches on my chest...those weren't Chuck.
Those just took away whatever appeal I might've had.
Not that he could've ever liked someone like me, anyway. He’d have found out, eventually, even if he didn’t see me naked until every visible mark was healed. It was stupid to think his kindness meant anything at all.
Stupid, stupid, stupid little girl.
Clothes. I need clothes.
The dress is too nice for me, so I fold it up and place it gently back in the bag. I'll take all this back. Whatever he spent, it was too much. There's no reason someone like me should have—
Holy mother of…
The receipt falls out of the leggings, clearly tucked in by the sales associate. Not for my eyes. A short bill of three thousand dollars, the name on the top written in French, the signature on the bottom resembling an M more than G.
I slip over my own feet, landing hard on my hurt leg, and I don't even feel it. The whirring noise is back in my head, every drop of blood flooding south until I'm faint.
I'll take it back. I'll get his money back. I'll find the least expensive things in here and find a way to pay him back. Hell, I'll even buy him a new soap to replace what little I used.
God, I should've just left when he told me to. He doesn't deserve this at all.
Fresh sobs rip out of me like daggers as I skim the items. Leggings cost less than most everything else, so I slip into those and a graphic tee. A band I don't know. But it fits perfectly.
I'm wearing a month's worth of meals.
