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My feet barely make a sound on the thick rug that extends out from under the bed, as I pad over to my bag, still sitting in front of the closet.
I was too tired last night to unpack my things, or take a shower, so I have to dig through the unorganized contents of the duffel until I’ve found my nice leggings and an oversized long sleeve tee.
I found the shirt years ago––and being a pastel purple, it’s not my usual neutral colors, but I thought it made my eyes look bluer––and it’s become my favorite item of clothing.
Carrying my bundle into the massive bathroom, I instantly second-guess the outfit I just choose.
This house is so fancy, so grand, I’m not sure how to act. Do people wear leggings in houses like this? Or do they wear pencil skirts and blouses?
Dropping everything onto the ten-foot-long vanity, I blow out a breath. It’s not like I own a pencil skirt. Or anything that would be referred to as a blouse… Nero is pretty much always in a suit, but maybe at home he’ll be more relaxed. And if not, there’s not really anything to do about it now anyways.
Resigned to my poorly dressed fate, I reach into the shower to turn on the water. Then I pause because there are several levers and knobs.
The marble shower stall is big enough for half a dozen people, and more showerheads for twice that many people sticking out of the walls.
“Okay.” The word comes out slowly.
First challenge of the day, figure out how to take a shower.
Picking a handle, I twist it, then jump back when my arm gets doused in a spray from above. So, a dozen and one showerheads, since I didn’t see the giant round one hanging down from the ceiling.
After too many tries, I finally have a normal amount of water jetting out of the front wall and at a temperature just below scalding.
Stripping my clothes off, I leave them on the floor and step into the steam.
And groan.
It’s not like I didn’t have hot water at my apartment, but it never got quite hot enough and never lasted long enough to take the long languid showers I craved.
So, with no shame at all, I stand under the water, not scrubbing or lathering or rinsing. Not doing anything at all except enjoying the water pressure.
The heat melts the aches in my muscles, and as my hair gets soaked through, the constant stress pressing against my temples begins to fade.
I know this shouldn’t be so easy. And I’m not delusional enough to think that there won’t be any more hard days in my life. But for once––for-fucking-once––fate has decided to gift me with something, rather than take something away. And I’m going to hold onto it with both hands.
Nero loves me.
My lungs squeeze.
Someone loves me.
My heart swells.
Someone chased me.
My knees buckle, and I brace a hand on the wall as I lower myself, until I’m sitting on the warm wet tile.
My greatest fear, since I ran away from home, was Arthur or my mother finding me. I checked every dark doorway. I slept with a knife next to my bed for years. I’d wake up crying, begging them not to take me back. I didn’t want them to come after me. I dreaded the possibility. But…
I tip my face down and suck in a breath, the water streaming over me.
But as bad as it would be for them to find me, it hurt that they never even seemed to try. It left me with a vast emptiness in my chest.
I would’ve taken my own life before I went back into that house. But to be so unwanted. So…disposable.
A true sob tears out of my chest.
Nero came for me.
