Page 28 of Demons and Debts
While the water heats up, I undress, taking off my jacket and my ruined uniform. I toss it in the trash. Won’t be needing that again.
There are different bottles lined up on a shelf, so I choose one and smell it, wrinkling my nose. Too sickly sweet. I pick up another, which is neroli and something I’ve never heard of, and I find it’s subtle enough not to mess with my nose. It’s one of those manly, everything-in-one soaps since wasting time getting clean with multiple products is apparently not a masculine thing to do.
I lather my hair and body as I read the other labels, hoping for conditioner because otherwise my hair won’t feel right and will be hard to brush.
I find one and am stupidly relieved. I know it’s a small thing to care about, especially considering the circumstances. I know it’s dumb too, but I can’t turn it off. I used to think that everyone was this way, and it took a long time to realize that they aren’t, that tiny things like this don’t bother everyone to the extent they upset me. Well, time and someone caring enough about me to take me to a doctor who referred me to a psychiatrist, who referred me to a child psychologist who diagnosed me as Autistic.
I smile a little at the memory as I wash away the soap and massage the conditioner into my hair. Angie was the third foster I was placed with. All the others pegged me as too difficult from the outset, but not Angie. She was pretty much the only one who ever cared after dad disappeared. She paid out of her own pocket to make sure she found someone who could help me. She’d talked about adopting me, even started the process. That was the dream of so many kids in foster care, so I knew it was a big deal even though I hoped my dad would come back.
Then, the first note came, telling me to leave if I knew what was good for me. I thought it was one of the asshole kids at school messing with me because they did that, so I ignored it.
And Angie, the only mother I’d ever known, was … taken away from me.
I wash the conditioner out of my hair, my mood circling the drain like the water that has just sluiced down my skin with thoughts of her. I was fourteen when that had happened. Over ten years of running, a decade of never settling anywhere, of trying not to let myself make friends to keep people around me safe. No wonder I’m exhausted.
I turn off the water and grab one of the plush, fluffy towels that match the bathroom exactlyof course. It’s like a fucking hotel here. Well, except for my demonic roommates.
I put my long hair in a small towel and wrap what I think is called ‘a bath sheet’ loosely around my body.
When I leave the bathroom, Theo’s room is still empty, but there’s a small pile of clothes on the bed. Some leggings that aren’t dissimilar to the ones I was wearing, a thong which I wrinkle my nose at (yes, I prefer cotton granny panties, but I have worn a thong before and I know Icanwithout it making me crazy so long as it isn’t too lacy), and a thigh-length shift dress that feels like rayon. It’ll do. At least it’s not polyester or wool. I’ll end up scratching my skin raw and I’ve hurt myself enough since I’ve been here.
I throw on the ass-floss underwear and the leggings before I grab my old bra from the bathroom floor and put on the dress. I noticed a full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door earlier and I finally get a good look at the bruises mottling my breasts and torso as I hold the dress up just under my bra.
‘Fucking Stacker,’ I mumble as I stare at myself.
‘There’s a painkiller by the bed if you need it,’ Theo says from just behind me and I gasp, whirling around and dropping the hem of the dress.
When did he come in?
‘Who’s Stacker?’
‘Just one of the guys from last night.’ I reply a little breathlessly.
‘He was the one that did that to you?’
I nod.
‘You said he and his buddies were customers at the diner. You pour them a shitty cup of coffee or something?’ he asks, taking my injured wrist and turning it this way and that before dabbing some Neosporin on the places where the skin’s broken.
I give him a lopsided grin that I think surprises him. ‘I was sick of their bullshit, and I was gonna leave town anyway, so I stole Stacker’s money clip out of his pocket.’
He chuckles. ‘What kind of a chump carries a money clip?’ he asks, producing a bandage and wrapping my wrist up neatly.
‘I know, right?’
I look at Theo’s handywork. I don’t usually like people I don’t know touching me. I always shy away from it. But his hands felt … kinda nice.
Incubus voodoo. I need out of here!
‘Thanks,’ I say, hoping he hasn’t noticed that I’m onto him. ‘Anyway, Stacker noticed quicker than I thought he would.’ I shrug. ‘He got most of it back.’
Plus the last money I’d got from the dinerthis weekso I’m flat broke.
At least I was able to give some of it to Sharlene. Something good came out of last night.
Theo gestures to the painkiller in front of me. ‘The pill should last a while but let me know if you need any more.’
He backs away and I slide the little blue tablet off the table, swallowing it down with a gulp from the glass of water next to it. Maybe I should be more suspicious, but there was plenty they could have done to me last night and they didn’t. I’d rather just feel better so I can start planning my escape.
