AllFreeNovel
Share Us
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 those Someday, when I’m rich fantasies. 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.
Stepping out of the shower, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My long reddish hair is caked to my neck and shoulder. My green eyes are framed with pale lashes that can barely be seen unless I put mascara on. Just as I reach for a towel, the reflection in the shower stall catches my eye. The way I’m standing lets me get a good look at my back. I rarely look at the ugly scar I’m left with, mostly because I don’t need the reminder of it all.
“Come on, Leni, one more time.” Coach has been pushing me hard this week. “I know you can do this. You have to nail that landing.”
“You got this, babe!” my mom yells from the sideline.
Drowning out everything around me, I run toward the high bars. My mind is laser-focused, every muscle in my body taut as I use the small trampoline to jump up and grab the lower bar. Using my momentum, I swing around the low bar. I let go at just the right moment, launching into a full twist before catching the high bar. I continue my routine perfectly. Then go for the dismount. Knowing I have to let go at the perfect time to make a backflip with a one-and-a-half twist work. I spin around one last time, not knowing it would be my indefinite last time.
