Page 86 of Satan's Spawn
Shoulders shake as I collapse to the floor, dropping the towel and covering my face with my hands.
I don’t even have my bag to call Hendrix or Archer since I forgot it by the pool. It’s just me, alone in this room, brought to my knees by the bullies that have occupied my life.
I thought I could be strong, fight back, but it seems I’ve been doing this all wrong. I can’t win by joining them, the only way to win is avoiding them completely.
Maybe even leaving Riverside completely.
No fucking way, Bex. Get the hell up and remember who your father is.
Dad would never want me to surrender my self respect. He’d tell me what he always used to when something bad happened…to keep my head held high and remember who I am. He’d want me to show these assholes they do not define me. No matter how hard they try to break me.
I am my father’s daughter, nobody can change that.
After kissing the cross around my neck, I dry my cheeks with the back of my hands, looking around Sampson’s large basketball themed bedroom. There are several trophies decorating the wood furniture, and at least five different NBA star posters on the wall surrounding his king sized bed. I stand, making my way across the room to his closet, and no matter how far I get from the pictures, I feel like they’re watching me.
Guess I’m giving out free titty shows to everyone today, even Labron and Curry.
Sampson’s closet is a large walk-in (surprise) and just as I expected, all of his t-shirts are hanging neatly in a row along the walls. I grab the first one that meets my eye, a black Jordan tee, and throw it over my head.
It’s more like a dress on me, falling below my thighs, but anything is better than the birthday suit I was previously wearing. I can smell the scent of cotton and freesia on Sampson’s shirt, and bunch the collar up in my hands to bring to my nose, taking a closer sniff.
I remember all the times I did laundry with Dad when Mom was working at the salon, and the detergent we used smelled so similar to this. It’s the only comfort I have being alone in this closet, so I sit myself down on the rug and continue to breathe in the past I miss so much.
Time passes as I sit here, growing comfortable being on my own. I don’t think about my bullies, my humiliation, my missing friends.
Not even the bag I’m pretty sure has been stolen by now.
I continue being alone, feeling as whole as I’ve felt since moving to this side of the country.
All I ever needed was my Dad, and even though he’s gone that still hasn’t changed.
I’ll stay here until the music dies down, the people go home, and Sampson comes looking for a change of clothes.
He’s a nice guy, he saw what happened and would understand my need to escape.
Not my need to rearrange his shirts into color coded sections, though. So I’ll need to bury the thought no matter how much this sacrilege offends me.
Obsessive compulsive Bex is about to win the argument when I begin to stand, but the sound of keys twisting the lock of Sampson’s bedroom door has my entire body freeze mid ass lift.
I quickly shut the closet door and cower into a corner, praying like hell it’s Sampson, or even my friends.
Of course, because the universe wants to retaliate for lying to it about Crayton, his gruff voice rises with the opening of the door.
“Did I give you permission to pull that shit?”
“Uhm, no. But you’ve pulled worse pranks, baby. What’s the big deal?”
Oh, great. The leader of the Twat Squad is with him.
Seriously, universe? A bit harsh.
There’s a small scuffle and the slam of a door before Crayton hisses, “I’m not your fucking baby.”
“Holy crap, what is your problem?” Alexis screeches. “You said it yourself, this girl needs to go. I’m trying to help make that happen.”
“Since when do I need your fucking help?”
“Since you’ve become more obsessed with keeping Felix away from the commoner skank than trying to keepheraway from Riverside Prep.” There’s a brief pause before Alexis adds, “Don’t think I didn’t hear about what you did to him in the recovery room yesterday.”
