“You’re going to lose privileges,” my roommate tells me as we head back to our room. I’ll face consequences in the morning.
“It was worth it.” Seriously, I can handle no TV or even no group activities. I probably will lose access to the horses too, but that’s okay. I feel lighter than I have in … I don’t know how long. That punch—that one fucking punch—opened a window inside me and let the sun in. It’s almost poetic.
“What if it messes up you going home?” Sarah asks once we’re in our room.
I glance over my shoulder at her. “What?”
“Will that punch be worth it if it fucks up your chances of being able to live with your aunt?”
I don’t have to think about it. “No.”
The other girl shakes her head. “You gotta be more careful, Lex. You act out like that again, and they’re liable to send you to a facility—a real one. Not a nice one like this.”
From the tone of her voice, I know that she’s been in one of those “facilities” before. I don’t know what to say.
“Yeah, thought that might shut you up,” she remarks, but there isn’t any meanness in her voice. “Next time you want to hit something, there’s a punching bag in the basement.”
“There is?”
Sarah’s expression is pure exasperation. “Yeah, where all the gym equipment is?”
Heat fills my cheeks. “I haven’t been down there since orientation.”
“Pfft. Bitch.”
She means because I haven’t put on weight. Well, I have, but I’m still skinnier than I probably should be. My hip bones stick out, and I can feel my ribs just under my skin. Mitch liked us thin. Said we photographed better, so we looked sexier when he put our pictures up online.
I think he liked us frail and weak. Unable to run. How can I know how awful he is and still miss him sometimes? To me, that’s real weakness.
If there is a God, I hope he makes me not feel that way someday. As for the rest of it …
I turn to Sarah. “Show me that punching bag.”
* * *
After several brief visits, I go to Krys and Jamal’s for an actual weekend. In another couple of weeks—if Sparrow Brook thinks I’m ready to leave—I’ll be living with them. After punching Treena, I’ve been on good behavior. Turns out breaking her nose really wasn’t worth the punishment. I was bored stupid, and after a while, looking at her swollen, bruised face wasn’t even satisfying.
Jamal takes my bag into my room. I follow him but only so far. He sets the bag near the closet. “I’ll let you get settled,” he says, and leaves me there alone.
The room is the same as it was when I first saw it, except the bed set I liked and wanted that day at the mall is on the bed. Krys went back and got it.
My hand trembles a little when I touch the quilt. It’s so pretty. I blink as the pattern blurs before my stinging eyes. None of that shit. It’s just a bed.
“Do you like it?” My aunt’s voice comes from the doorway. “I think it really makes the room.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“Here. This is for you.” She comes into the room and hands me a small box.
I frown. “Aunt Krys, you really don’t—”
“I wanted to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Lex. I just … I just want to give you everything you deserve.”
I swallow, try to think of the right words. “He bought me a lot of gifts.” I can’t say his name in front of her. Not yet.
Her face blanches, leaving nothing but freckles and horrified eyes. “Oh, sweetie.”
“I know it’s not the same, but … it’s overwhelming.”
For a second, I think she might cry. She shakes her head slightly. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sorry. Do you want me to save it for another time?”
I glance down at the box in my hand. It would be a rejection if I said yes, and she looked so excited when she gave it to me. “No. I want it.”
She watches me as I open the lid. Inside, on the fluff, is a gold wire bracelet with a couple of flat disk charms hanging from it. One says, YOU DESERVE TO BE LOVED, and the other reads, YOU ARE BRAVER THAN YOU BELIEVE, STRONGER THAN YOU SEEM, AND SMARTER THAN YOU THINK.
I run my finger over that charm. “Why does this sound familiar?”
“Winnie the Pooh,” my aunt replies. “I used to tell you that when you were little. You used to get me to read the books to you, remember?”
I don’t, but there’s hope in her voice I can’t bring myself to squash. “Thank you,” I whisper, and I slip my hand through the bracelet. Mitch bought me a lot of things, but never something as thoughtful as this. Mom never bought me anything so nice.
I turn to my aunt. I feel awkward and disjointed. A light touch on her shoulders, a brief nearing of my body to hers. Her hand gently touches my back, and I know she understands. How can she understand?
“Jill tells me you’ve discovered a love of kickboxing,” Krys says, lightening the mood.
“Yeah?” God, she knows about Treena, doesn’t she? She must, but she hasn’t mentioned it. I lost privileges for it, had it written up. They had to have told her.
“I like it too. I have a Wavemaster in the basement if you want to use it, but I thought maybe we’d take some classes together—if you want.”
Another nod. I can’t handle all of this, I don’t think.
“Hey.”
I look up, meet her gaze.
“You’re going to be okay.” She says it with a confident smile.
“How do you know?” I challenge. A pulse behind my right eye is making my lid twitch.
“There’s an old saying: That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. Have you heard that before?”
I nod. “I don’t feel very strong.”
“Honey, you’re here. Sometimes that’s all the strength you need.” She smiles again. “Why don’t you unpack? I was thinking tacos for dinner. You like those?”
“Yeah. I can help.”
“Unpack first. Take a few minutes to yourself.”
And then I’m alone. I glance around the room. How is this real? At our old apartment, my room was half this size. My bed was a twin that sagged in the middle and had a spring that poked me in the side if I didn’t position myself just right. The walls had been stained by cigarette smoke and age, and forget having a desk. I’d been lucky to have a dresser with drawers that stuck.
Was it any wonder Mitch had been able to seduce me away? That’s what my therapist, Dr. Lisa, said he’d done. He’d seduced me. It’s a nice way of saying I let him buy me. How else was he going to justify selling me?
Krys and Jamal aren’t trying to buy me, I remind myself. There are good people in the world. I have to believe that, otherwise I’m as bad as the rest of them.
There are velvet hangers in the closet—so my shirts don’t slide off—and special hangers for pants and skirts. The drawers on the dresser move smoothly and are lined with cream-colored paper. In the bathroom, I set my small makeup bag on the counter along with my skin care products. My own freaking bathroom.