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But I felt… something.
I turn back around, and Sister Marjorie is standing only inches from me. I startle, jumping back, eyes wide. "Jesus!"
Her ruler slips from her sleeve, and she slaps the wood against my arm. "Language!"
"Ouch!" I step back from her, my hand going to the blooming red mark on my forearm. "Well, don't go sneaking up on people like that. You scared me half to death."
She smiles, her gray gums and thin teeth making an appearance. "Is that such a bad thing?"
My eyes widen. "What did you just say?"
She straightens, her fingers running down the wood of her ruler. "You seem to be causing trouble, Vera. Hazel is one of my better students, and you had her thoroughly distracted today."
Hazel hates everyone here just as much as I do.
But I don’t say that. I don’t rat her out and say she’s the one that was talking to me. I won’t throw her under the bus when her and her friends are the only people that’ve shown me any kindness since I got here.
"No more distractions, Vera. No more warnings either. Apparently, a few hours in The Room of Atonement wasn't enough for you."
My body tenses from head to toe, and I step back from her. I'll kill her and everyone else in this place before I let her bring me back to The Room of Atonement.
Her ruler extends down, and she uses it to brush against my bare thigh, scraping the edge along my skin. "The way you dress is an abomination. I don't want to see a skirt this short ever again. You will dress properly tomorrow, otherwise there will be consequences." She runs the ruler along the edge of my skirt, and I remember that I have no panties on.
I bat away her ruler, lifting my backpack from the ground and walking toward the door.
"Vera!" Sister Marjorie barks at me.
I flinch, stopping in the doorway and glancing over my shoulder. "Lose the piercing, too."
Fuck this bitch. Fuck her so hard.
After an uneventful lunch, I wave bye to the girls as I make my way to my locker. I’m over the day already. I don’t want to deal with anyone, and I don’t want to speak to a single soul the rest of the day. Making my way toward my locker, I don't pay attention, knocking into shoulders and walking between groups of people.
I don't care about anyone. None of them. They're meaningless.
This entire place is shit.
I slam my palm against the metal door of my locker, pissed and completely over this entire move. I'd much rather live in a homeless shelter, or go into foster care at this point, than deal with this shit.
And tonight, that's what I'm talking to my mom about.
I'm done with this. Emancipate me for all I care. I can't stay here another minute.
I open my locker, dropping my book to the bottom of it. It bangs and echoes against the thin metal walls, sounding so much noisier than it should.
I feel eyes heating the back of my head, and glancing over my shoulder, I come face to face with Barbie in the flesh. Blondish hair, a large set of tits, and enough makeup on her face that I'm almost positive if I pressed my palm against her skin, I could smear off at least five coats. And she'd still have too much makeup on.
"Um, can I help you?" I frown.
She looks at me like she hates me. She doesn't even know me, yet she already has the look that says she absolutely loathes me.
"You're the girl living with Malik?" She looks me up and down, like I’m the last person she'd assume was living with him. But, why? What did she expect? Some frail holy child?
She dresses like the rest of the girls here. Her shirt buttoned properly, her skirt brushing her pale knees. But I can see the whore beneath her clothes. A whore can't mask her dirtiness. And this girl screams filth from head to toe.
I turn around fully, letting my skirt inch up slightly. The toe of my boots bump against the toes of her flats. My boots are heavy, thick, and I imagine stepping on her toes, watching her scream in pain as I pin her to the ground.
She props her hand on her hip, sneering at me in disgust. "I didn't know he was housing prostitutes. Where'd you come from, anyway?"
