Page 13 of Moved
With little to do, I checked my classes for new work, which filled most of my morning and afternoon with studying. One had a paper that would be due so I put extra effort into that as well. My first Saturday on my own passed with plodding eventuality as did Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday. By Wednesday, I’d finished most of the work including the paper.
Closing the laptop, I leaned back on the couch. Just a few more weeks of classes, and they would be done. Then what? I turned my head to look out the window. Although Racer had been nicer over the weekend, he hadn’t made an appearance since.
Sighing, I reached for my phone. Dad had called each night since moving me here. But, he wasn’t much of a conversationalist. When he’d moved me, he had told me not to contact any friends. I looked at the phone in my hand. It would be so easy to call Stephanie, one of my closest friends since grade school and chat with her for an hour. An hour of entertainment. But Dad’s edict wasn’t to torture me. He’d said it to protect me. Contact with someone else increased the chances that Chuck could find me. However, I wasn’t here because I was afraid of Chuck. Besides, if I didn’t say where I was, what could it really hurt to call Stephanie? I called Dad with this phone.
I dialed Stephanie. She picked up on the first ring. As expected, she started grilling me for details about where I was. I bluntly told her that wasn’t something I could share. Instead, I just wanted to catch up on the latest gossip. I didn’t really care about that, of course. I just wanted to talk to someone for more than a few minutes. She had me laughing in ten.
The phone buzzed indicating another call. It took me by surprise. No one called except Dad, and he never called until after dinner. I asked Stephanie to hold and looked at the number. Dad. Worried, I told Stephanie I’d call her back later and switched calls.
“Dad, are you okay?”
“Gillian, we had a deal. That phone is for incoming calls only. Who did you call?”
My mouth dropped open. How had he known?
“Are you monitoring the cell activity online or something? It was just Stephanie. I didn’t say anything about where I was. I was bored and asked her to tell me the latest gossip just to hear someone’s voice.”
“After we’re done talking, you’ll give your phone to Racer. You’ve lost my trust.”
Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “My trust? Dad, I’ve done everything else you’ve asked of me without a word. You stuck me in the middle of nowhere. I do my homework and when that’s done, I have four days of nothing. I pace around my apartment, listening to my own footsteps. If I go outside, Racer follows me around like I’m a prisoner needing close supervision. Trust? I’ve lost my trust in you. You said the move was to keep me safe and that we’d get a car when we got up here. That I’d still have my independence. Where’s the car? Where’s my independence? I’m eighteen, and I’ve never been more dependent in my life. I don’t have curtains on my windows, I’m running out of food, and I can’t do anything about it. The only person I can talk to or beg a favor from obviously doesn’t want me here.” And I wasn’t even getting the answers I wanted.
A sob escaped, and tears ran down my cheeks. How did they get there? I pulled myself together enough to finish the call.
“I’ll give Racer the phone. Don’t bother calling to check up on me again.”
“Gillian—”
I hung up. Tears streaming, I stared at the phone. The move wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to protect me, yes, but not confine me. To be fair, he’d been straightforward about the rules. I’d broken one. But should ten minutes of fun conversation have caused a fight between us? What had it really harmed? By placing me here with very little to keep me occupied, he had to know I’d get lonely. Didn’t he care? I knew he did. He’d sounded deeply upset when he’d said my name. I’d never yelled at him like that before. But then, he’d never gone this far before.
Using my sleeve, I wiped off my face and opened the kitchen door. This was the last order I’d take from him. No more. I would stay in this place for nine months as we’d agreed. After that, somehow, I’d be gone. I’d find answers on my own. And if Chuck was still an issue, I’d get the police involved.
Tromping down the stairs, I wasn’t surprised to see Racer standing in his open doorway. This time, he didn’t lean casually to the side. He watched me closely, his face impassive. Before I reached the bottom step, I tossed the phone to him. He caught it, never breaking eye contact. Something in his gaze had my eyes watering again. It almost looked like he felt sorry for me. Without a word, I turned and ran back upstairs, closing the door firmly.
I wanted to be angry; but, instead, I felt empty and alone. Needing to stop thinking, I cranked the radio and headed toward the bathroom for a melting shower. Too much, or rather too little, had happened; and I couldn’t do anything about it. I stayed under the scalding spray until it faded from hot to warm.
Gathering a new resigned acceptance around me, I toweled off and went to my room. I touched the jewelry box, thought of my mother, and wished she was still with me. Turning the jewelry box over, I peeled away the tacky felt bottom and removed the letter she’d hidden away for me. I didn’t read it. There was no need. I’d read it so many times since my dad had given the jewelry box to me that I’d memorized the whole thing. Life was so confusing, but she was right about one thing. My dad loved me so much he would do anything to keep me safe. I put the letter back and crawled into bed. Light still shone brightly through the windows. It didn’t matter. I slept anyway.
I woke again when the windows reflected black nothingness. Staying in my warm cocoon, I felt my resignation slip a bit. Why couldn’t I try sneaking away? Racer had to sleep at some point. Closing my eyes, I willed myself to not care. Nine months.
The next time I woke, my head hurt. I got up and took something for it. It probably hurt because I slept too much. Standing in the kitchen with the empty glass in my hand, I unenthusiastically surveyed my tiny world. Nothing in it appealed to me. Except maybe the bed. I recalled the last time I’d slept too much and looked at the door. I would stash some of my blankets in the closet just in case.
My stomach growled again after the sunset. It persisted until I got out of bed and fed it cereal. The last of the milk went in the bowl. Seeing the empty carton depressed me all over again. Sniffling, I rinsed my bowl and went back to my room, turning off the lights. I’d slept so much I wasn’t tired. But it didn’t matter which room I went to, there wasn’t anything to do in any of them. As I lay there, I calculated the date for nine months forward. January! My luck I’d get snowed in.
Eventually, I fell back to sleep.
When I woke, before I even opened my eyes, I knew something was off. There was light, but not enough of it. Thinking I’d see rain or snow out the window, or at the very least, a cloudy sky, I was surprised to see blinds. Cream-colored accordion blinds covered both windows.
Sitting up, I looked around the room. My bedroom door wasn’t fully open. I swung my legs from the bed and moved to check the guest room. Still no blinds. The living room now sported floor length, beige and brown, light-blocking curtains while the kitchen had a blind similar to the bedroom.
I seriously needed a lock.
On the kitchen table, lay a note.Your dad’s worried. He’d like you to give him a call when you’re up. Knock anytime. ~R
I had nothing but time. What did it matter when I called him? I crumpled up the note and made to toss it in the garbage then hesitated. I was looking at this all wrong. As a kid, I entertained myself for hours on my own. Why was I having such a hard time now? Because I was trying to look at this as an adult. Why not have some fun? What did I used to do? Paint, draw, and play with dolls as a child. Well, most of that was out because I didn’t have any of the right materials. The point was that I used my imagination when I was younger. I just needed to get creative. Maybe that was my answer to getting around Racer. At the very least, it might be entertaining.
Not bothering to change out of my pajamas, I ran my fingers through my tangled hair as I ambled down the steps. As seemed to be his habit, he stood at the door waiting for me before I reached the bottom. He had the phone in his hand with Dad’s number ready for dialing.
“No, thanks. Do you have some milk? I’m out.” I didn’t really care about milk. I wasn’t hungry yet.
