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She shuts the door, leaving me alone on the floor in my room.
I raise my middle finger, wanting to shove my black nail straight into her eye socket. I'd love to paint my own nails red, only this time with her blood. She's betrayed me many times, and this time was the last.
I push myself up, rubbing my ear once more that still has a lingering thump. I'm sure if I looked in the mirror, it'd be bright red.
I ignore the plate of food on my bedside table. I'm not eating. Not tonight, anyway. I've lost my appetite. I ate enough to not get nauseous from my pills, and that’s all I care about.
Walking to my door, I open it up slowly and peek around the corner. Both directions are empty, dark, and silent. No noise. No echoes from downstairs. Wherever my mom and Samuel are, it isn't anywhere near here.
I slip into the hall, closing my door behind me, then walk into the bathroom. I slowly glide the door closed, keeping the knob turned to keep it as silent as possible. I don't want another run-in with my mom tonight. Not for my safety, but for hers.
She took my cigarettes?She took my fucking cigarettes!
Holy shit, I am going to kill her.
I pull my shirt over my head, my heavy breathing the only sound in the bathroom. I turn toward the mirror, pulling my black hair aside and glancing at my ear.
Just as I expected, the tip is flaming red. I scowl at it, like my ear is the one to blame for this. It's not.
It's my mom.
I reach behind my back, unsnapping my black bra and dropping it to the floor. I stare at my small chest, hating the deep, dark scar that sits from just below my collar bone all the way down my torso, directly between my breasts. My fingers trail along the puckered skin, hating the reminder. Hating the memories.
With a shake of my head, I drop my arm, hooking my thumbs beneath my shorts and underwear and sliding them down my legs. I step out of them, walking into the stone shower. Turning the knob, I finally let my shoulders drop and the tension drains from my body as the steaming water pelts my skin.
I tip my head back, letting the water wash over my face and hair. It's hot, and I let each drop of water beat into my muscles until they ache. It feels so good I press my hands against the stones and lean forward, letting the water dig into the knots in my neck.
Fuck, that feels good.
Opening my eyes, I lift an eyebrow when I see my shampoos and soaps sitting on the ledges. I don't know exactly what is in the movers' job description, but I have a feeling putting away my personal belongings goes a little above and beyond.
A little weird.
I grab my bottle of shampoo, tipping a generous dollop onto my palm and massaging it into my scalp. My black-and-white hair falls to the middle of my back. I should have bought some dye before I left because my roots are already starting to peek through. I'm going to have to find a store near here that I can pick some up. I'm thinking of dying half of my hair purple next time. Or a dark blue. Dark like Castle Pointe. My hair should match my mood, and I don't think anyone that lives in this town could ever be bubbly.
The thought makes me laugh.
I rinse the shampoo from my hair, repeating the same step with my conditioner, then lather my body with soap. I'm a little rough as I scrub at my skin, my nails digging in as aggravation hits me.
I mean, seriously, my mom wants me to go to a Catholic school? Does she know who her daughter is? Because I seriously think I'd rather go live on the streets than attend any kind of school that requires a uniform.Are the people there weird as hell? Like as weird as this town?
That thought makes me think about the MIA stepbrother. I imagined someone older, maybe a little rugged and moody. If he goes to a Catholic school, is he going to walk in with glasses and a tie? Tell me that he'll help me study or lend me his Bible?
I mean, come the fuck on.
I laugh, my voice echoing in the bathroom as I rinse my body.
My mind is so preoccupied that I don’t notice the dark figure step into the bathroom until suddenly, arms wrap around my waist, lifting me into the air. I let out a scream, but a large hand slaps over my mouth. I attempt to grapple against the hands as my eyes fly open, coming face to face with a tall, shadowed man.
Anangryman.
He sets me down by the sink, my feet digging into the rug beneath me.
My hands curl over my chest, covering the scar, my eyes wide, annoyed, shocked, slightly nervous. "What are you doing?"
He stares at me, the running shower making the air thick and foggy with steam. The man's face quickly becomes damp with perspiration. "I shower at night."
My mouth drops open, my lips curling up and showing my teeth. "Not tonight, asshole. Obviously, I'm taking a shower." I go to walk past him, but he steps in my way.
