He hasn’t moved or said anything, so I huff and start heading towards the door. Grabbing my caddy and dirty clothes while keeping the towel wrapped around my hair. He still doesn’t move or speak even after I leave the bathroom. Not until I get back to my room and am about to close the door does a hand stop it.
I glance behind me to see Callahan out of his shocked state. A hard edge lining his features that I can’t fully tell if it’s pointed at me or not.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts. Sounding calm but I can feel his blood rushing. It’s rushing so hard I can see the slight movement from his vein in his neck. “Can you just. . . can I just come in? I wanted – I needed to talk to you. I’ve been needing to for weeks.”
I raise a brow and peak behind him as if I’m looking for something. “You sure you have time? You kicked your friend out but I’m sure she’s waiting for you.”
Yeah. . . waiting to shove her tongue down your throat.
He glowers as I let him hear that thought and only that thought. Blocking him from my head so I can’t hear anything he tries to tell me through my mind.
He drags a hand down his face as he shakes his head. “I couldn’t care less about her. Now that you’re here though, I do need to talk to you. Please.”
He says that word like he means it. Like a plea he needs me to answer.
And I know I shouldn’t. I have a feeling if I shut him out he would stay out. But for some reason I hesitate. And then for some other unknown reason I open the door just a crack more so he can slip in.
He closes the door right behind him and I leave him where he is as I go to my side of the room and open my wardrobe. My uniform hangs neatly inside with the few clothes I’ve managed to procure. I haven’t been able to get a lot since most of my minimal wage goes to food, but it’s enough. I’m now saving up bit by bit so I can start getting proper school supplies.
Bending forward, I unwrap my hair and use the towel to scrunch out as much water as possible. Then I flip it over and throw the towel to my bed. Catching sight of Callahan, he hasn’t moved from his place by the door and is now looking over my room.
“Well?” I ask. I’m waiting for him to say whatever it is he wants to tell me.
He doesn’t look at me though. “Where’s all your stuff?”
Using my fingers to comb through my hair, I turn around and look at the room. The blackout shades still cover the windows so the only light is from the lamp on Jullia’s side thatI had turned on before I went to the showers. It illuminates enough though.
There are rugs and throw pillows and blankets all on Jullia’s side. Lamps and her desk is decorated with cute looking supplies and stacks of her romance books. She’s also hung up posters and pictures and fake ivy over her walls. So much personality.
Then you look at my side and it looks as if there isn’t anyone rooming with Jullia.
The bed has the same flat pillow, dingy sheet, and scratchy blanket it did when I got here. My desk is empty except for my tablet, music player, and necklaces. Other than that I just have my flats for my uniform by my bed and the few clothes I have are hung and folded away in my wardrobe.
I shrug. “I don’t get paid all that much and most of the money goes towards food for the weekends. It’s not like I need anything anyways. I was spoiled at the brothel, but it’s not like I had anything before that.”
He finally looks at me but I turn towards my wardrobe to grab my uniform so I can get dressed. Since he’s already seen everything I pull my top off and throw it over to my bed. Out of the corner of my eye I catch him whipping his head away.
“You didn’t tell Thorne about the rest of your scars and. . . marks. Made it seem like you didn’t want anyone to see your body.”
“So?”
I can hear him shift his weight. “So, why are you so open about it now?”
He doesn’t sound anything but curious. I’m sure anyone would be, but it’s not my body I care about.
“Modesty was never a luxury I ever had,” I start.
“Modesty isn’t a luxury, it’s a – “
“Luxury,” I interrupt while almost glowering at him. “Maybe not to you because you were born with wealth, power, and privileges no one else has, but for the real world it is a luxury. And it was one I never had.”
Buttoning only one of the buttons on my shirt, I then slide off the pajama pants and slide on my skirt. I’ll put my thigh high socks on when I actually have to leave. It hasn’t gotten cold enough outside for the suffocating fabric to not make my scars ache.
“And,” I continue, pulling all my hair back and twisting it around into a low bun, “it was never about my body. Not being allowed to have modesty meant my body never mattered, I just didn’t want anyone to see my scars. And not even because of any shame or embarrassment or anything else you’re thinking. I could care less about them, I’ve been learning to live with them since I was five, but it’s everyone else who always makes a big deal about them. I mean, look at how you just reacted, plus what happened when you saw the bitemark.”
Using a wooden hair stick, I secure my hair and grab my socks before closing my wardrobe. Then I open my mini fridge and pull out a premade breakfast shake. Tossing my socks to the bed, I open the bottle and go over to pull my chair out from my desk so he can sit.
Then I climb onto my bed and sit crisscross apple sauce.
