Page 74 of House of Payne
Try as I might, I can’t seem to bring myself to do it when I know Mason is lurking in the shadows, watching and waiting.
Maybe he’s right about me.
Scowling, I give the table another good scrub and roll my shoulders. Then I reach under the cleaning cart for a fresh pair of sheets. I’m wrestling with the pillows when I spot Miss Deveroux through the crack in the open door. She backs up, gives me a knowing smile, and hurries off again before I can say anything.
I know what she, and everyone else, is thinking.
They all think it’s only a matter of time before I give in to Mason.
Maybe they’re right.
After I’m done with the bed, I storm into the bathroom and snap on a pair of latex gloves. I’m on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor when my phone buzzes again. Sighing, I fish it out of my pocket, peer at Noah’s message, and ignore the surge that rises within me. I pause for a long time,my fingers hovering over the keyboard, and then I shake my head.
Noah can wait until I know what to say.
The longer I spend in the room escaping my thoughts, the more I realize there aren’t enough words in the world to make things right.
Rather than facing Noah, I throw myself into work for the rest of the day.
Once I’m done, I duck into the locker room to change. Miss Deveroux smiles as I walk past, but I can’t return the gesture. Back at the housing complex, I lean outside my door and press my face to the wood for a minute to calm my pounding heart.
Slowly, I shove my key into the lock and twist the knob. A gust of cold wind blows past me, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I grope for the switch, and when the light comes on, it illuminates the room in a soft and yellow glow.
It’s the loneliest and most isolating room I’ve ever seen, and the paintings hung up on the yellow walls can’t change that.
I sit on the edge of the bed, link my fingers, and glance around.
I don’t know if I can do this for another ten months, but what’s the alternative?
I have no idea how much longer I can sit here, going through the scenario over and over in my head and hoping for an alternative.
By the time I force myself to my feet, I have a terrible headache. I try not to let my thoughts drift in the shower, focusing instead on scrubbing my skin raw. Steam follows me out of the bathroom and into the room as I throw open the closet doors and peer inside. I settle on a pair of jeans, a dark pullover, and a pair of ballet flats.
After tying back my hair, I glance at myself in the mirror.
I barely recognize my reflection.
Refusing to be alone with my thoughts, I force myself back outside and into the brusque night air. I stand there for a while, close my eyes and just enjoy the peace and quiet. It’s a stark contrast from the hell that isMercy.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out, hesitating when I see “Dad” on the caller ID. I quickly go back into my room and let it ring a few more times before I answer.
“Hello?”
“Sweetheart, hi. I was hoping to catch you.” My father’s voice is unusually light and cheery. “How’s your day?”
I run a hand over my face. “I’m not having the best day, but it’s better now. How’s your day been?”
“Those men from the other day came to visit—”
“They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“No, on the contrary. They were talking about extending my payment plan and giving me a few more months.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. I thought that—well, never mind. The important thing is you’re okay.”
“I’m not sure what made them change their mind, but the timing is strange, isn’t it?”
I swallow hard. “I don’t know. I’ve been making regular payments, so I guess they must want their money back.”
