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“Keep your core tight the entire time, keep your arms locked and only use your stomach muscles,” he instructs.
I stay on this machine for a bit, and after, I do a few more. Quinton stays with me the whole time, helping me figure everything out. By the time we’re done, my muscles are exhausted, and I’m covered in sweat.
I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. “I’ve got to go and get ready for classes.”
“You’re gonna be pretty sore tomorrow. I should probably give you a full body massage.”
My entire body tingles at his words, knowing how good it would feel to have his hands all over me.
“Or I can just take a hot shower,” I say as we walk out of the gym.
“Not as good.” He shakes his head and turns away from me. “Enjoy your shower, maybe make yourself come while thinking of me.”
Shaking my head at him, I walk toward my room. I scan my keycard and go to turn the door handle but gasp and take a step back when the door opens from the other side. I press a hand to my chest to stop my heart from jumping out of my skin.
The bald maintenance guy from yesterday appears in front of me. A spark of excitement at my shower being fixed develops, but dissolves when he smiles at me. It’s not a friendly smile. More like an I’m-a-serial-killer-but-no-one-will-ever-find-out kind of smile.
“The shower is fixed,” he announces.
“Th—thanks…” I stumble over my words, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “You came here really early.” A bit too early. It can’t be later than six. Was he hoping I’d still be asleep when he walked in?
Ugh, I know he had to go in my room to fix the shower, but I don’t like the idea of him in my room at any time or under any circumstances.
It’s like I’m walking on eggshells everywhere I go. I shouldn’t be so freaked out or paranoid, but after the incident last night, I can’t help it.
Which leads me to wondering if Quinton might have asked the maintenance guy to do something to my shower, and that was why he was grinning at me when he saw me on the other side of the door.
The man slips past me and starts walking down the hall. I stand there, afraid to step inside my room. Afraid that he set a booby trap, and I’m going to step right in it.
Somehow, I build up the courage to go inside the room and close the door behind me. Everything looks to be where it was when I left, but I still peer around the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary. When I’m sure the room isn’t going to implode around me, I check out the shower.
I approach it like a wild animal and slowly turn the handles, listening as the pipes creak. A moment later, the spray of water comes out, and where it was a firehose before, it’s now a nice rain shower.
I’m so happy I could jump up and down. I strip out of my clothes and dash into the shower. There isn’t an unlimited amount of hot water like in the locker room, but at least I don’t have to worry about getting locked in or having my clothes taken.
* * *
I’m notsure what time it is, but I blink my eyes open and am assaulted by the smell of sewer. I sit up on the bed, and the mattress creaks beneath me. The rushing of water meets my ears, and I blink slowly, wondering if I’m fully awake. The smells ferment in the room, and my stomach churns.
“Oh god—” I start but don’t even finish my sentence.
I rush into the bathroom and find the floor covered with an inch of brown, murky water. My gaze moves to the ceiling, where I see the water spraying into the bathroom from what has to be a busted pipe.
I contemplate if I should try to stop the water, but the idea of getting covered in that nasty water makes me want to hurl. Right then, there is a loud creaking noise. I take a step back and just in time too, as a tsunami wave of water comes rushing into the room, splashing on me.
I gag, the smell and feel of the slimy water on my skin. All I can think is that I have to get out of here. I sprint back to the bedroom and grab some clothes, shoving them into my laundry bag, along with my blanket. I’m in the hallway when I realize I don’t know where the hell I’m going.
No one is going to let me stay with them, and I can’t sleep in the hall. Not if I want to live to see the next day. I stand there, my bag in my hand, my eyes on the ground.
Paranoia skates down my spine. I’m not sure if Quinton did this or if the maintenance guy fucked something up when he was fixing my showerhead, but the result is the same. I have nowhere to go at this time of night. Brittney is going to be at her place, and I don’t even know where that is.
With Brittney out of the question, there is really only one place I would be remotely safe.
I look down at the laundry bag and see Quinton’s room number written on the white cloth with a sharpie marker. My shoulders sag, and I let out a sigh. What’s the worst that can happen?
All he can do is send me away, I suppose.
The real question is, will he?
