Whatever,I tell myself and take the oil and soap. I’ll just use the soap as shampoo. My hair is low-maintenance anyway.
Several more minutes pass until I manage to make the water fall from the round plate-like thing hanging above me. I don’t even have a name for some of the things that seem to be her reality.
“What happened to a good old showerhead?” I ask loudly when I step under the hot water.
If not for the water pelting down on me, I’d still question my sanity. If anyone ever finds out that I am doing certain…things…with Victoria Grace Fitzroy, I’m cooked.
I let my head fall back, and images flash through my mind. Filthy images.
I shudder.
The shower isn't doing what it's supposed to. On the contrary.
I rinse my hair, turn off the shower, wrap my hair and body in separate towels.
I quickly brush my teeth and then get back into the bedroom, only to realise I have no idea where my clothes are, probably still down in the library. But I can’t walk through the house in my towels.
Damn.
There I am, wrapped in towels and now what?
I check the closet.
Maybe I can take something out of it that might work?
Oh gods,I groan in my mind. I don’t want to sneak through anyone’s private closet. But walking through the mansion searching for my clothes in a towel? Hard no. She must have people attending to the house—what if they see me?
No, I can’t risk it.
I close my eyes and blow my cheeks as I struggle with the decision of what to do.
“Looking for these?” asks Victoria behind me, and I spin around.
She leans elegantly against the door frame, fully dressed in a colourful high-neck and wide-leg trousers, holding my underwear in her hands.
“Yes,” I say, flustered and aim to get them.
“Find something fitting in the closet,” she says and drops them to the floor. “Join me for breakfast afterwards. You need to eat,” she says and walks away.
I don’t know what to make of it. What a strange conversation. And maybe I’d expected the morning after to be—different.She was quite formal, wasn't she?I ask myself in my mind.
I stare at the open door. Something doesn’t sit right with me.
Oh gods, what if she thought I was horrible and can’t wait to get me back? My stomach drops with the thought, and I hold onto my towel as if it could protect me.
With crushing dread getting worse by the minute, I walk into the closet and search for something that might fit me. I do find some underpants, but no bra, so I grab mine from the floor and put them back on.
Afterwards, I try almost everything I can find in the closet, and while some things fit, most draw too much attention.
I am close to a mental breakdown when I look at the mess I made. Clothes are everywhere on the floor because I couldn’t see myself in them in the mirror, or I couldn’t stand the touch of them on my skin. Victoria must be waiting, and I am so stressed out that I sink to the ground at a wall with only my underwear on and hide my face in my hands.
I hate my body so much.
I hate myself right now for hating my body.
I should know better.
I tell the kids in my class every day that everybody is beautiful and not to judge someone by their looks—and here I am, judging myself every day.
