LAURA
My long brown hair covers my face from all the prying eyes. I focus on the heels of Mrs. Rose’s shoes. They are the sensible type of shoes, good for standing in. I focus on the trim around the heel, the crisscross of each stitch, it’s my anchor. Laughter from a table we pass sends a shiver through me. But I don’t dare look up.
One. Two. Three ... I count each step. It takes fifty-four steps to leave the large room. Another thirty-one and we stop. The legs of an old table, one you might find in a school, keeps my focus now. I focus on the scratches, the chipped, blue paint, anything other than the world around me.
“Laura, take a seat,” I don’t look up at Rose as she speaks. Shuffling to the chair, I keep the table leg in focus. Once seated, I focus on the jug of water that sits on a small, plain table beside Rose. Her hands face upwards, open. I smile at the illusion of safety she is trying to create.
“Do you want to tell me why you are smiling?” Rose dips her head, trying to see me through my sheet of hair. I’m not smiling now. I count to thirty, take a deep breath and push my hair away from my face.
“Your hands,” I swallow, my throat burning.
Rose doesn’t speak right away, she just pours me a glass of water before placing it on the table in front of me. I thank her before drinking the full glass. She refills it and sits back. “My hands made you smile?” Rose questions, a soft smile on her lips now.
“You held them face up to give me the sense of safety, honesty, and openness.” I take another drink.
“Yes I did, Laura. You are safe now,” Rose tilts her head, giving me another smile, also meant to offer safety.
She’s wrong. I will never be safe, but I just smile back. “Thank you, Mrs Rose,” I tuck strands of hair behind my ear, before running my hands across the thighs of my black trousers.
“Would you like to talk about it?” The chair squeaks under her as she sits back fully, a sign that someone is getting ready for a long sit-in.
“Not right now.” My answer doesn’t please her as she moves forward in her chair. “I am not hiding from it or burying it. I know I have to deal with it sooner or later. But right now, I don’t want to.”
She soaks up my words before standing. “Thank you, Laura, for being honest and trusting me.” I stand too, knowing it’s the correct thing to do. My hands itch to pull the sleeves of my black sweater down over my fingers, but I remain still.
“I’ll take you to your room.” Rose pauses, her hand on the doorknob. Whatever she is going to say, she doesn’t, she just opens the door. I let my hair cover my face and focus on her heels again. It takes us seventy-nine steps; we pass twenty-one doors and three other people.
“This is only for a few nights until you get settled, then you will be sharing.” My stomach tightens at the thought of sharing with another person. But I nod. Rose lingers for a few more seconds. Once I push my hair away from my face, she seems more satisfied and departs, leaving me with four walls and an unmade bed. The steel locker is tall and thin. It won’t hold much in terms of clothes, but that’s okay. I don’t have any clothes with me anyway, only the ones I wore and my bag is at reception where it has to be checked. Once they search it and find nothing harmful, then it will be returned.
I sit on the side of the bed, counting three stains on the beige carpet. My black and beige sneakers become my sole focus. They also have stains on them. I swallow the lump in my throat before unlacing them, making sure not to touch the stains. The green door that has been partially closed opens fully. I throw my shoes under the bed before looking up slowly.
“Hi, we wanted to say, ‘welcome’.” A girl close to my age gives a little wave, she holds her arm against the side of her body while waving her hand; the movement looks odd. I count five fingers. Each nail painted a different color.
Fun, is the word I think of while looking at her.
“I’m Michelle,” she moves towards me, offering me her hand. The gesture is unusual to see in someone so young. Mostly older people go with a hand shake when meeting you. I take her hand anyway, and she turns my hand over. “What color are your nails?”
I hesitate with my answer.
“I’m color blind.”
My cheeks heat at her confession. “Red.”
“Like blood.” I added unnecessarily.
“I don’t like blood,” the other girl speaks, moving towards Michelle. She links her arm with Michelle’s, who in turn releases my hand. “I’m Maria.”
Maria doesn’t offer her hand. I’m glad. Her long, black gloves give me the impression that she doesn’t like to be touched. She wears them with a white t-shirt and red tracksuit bottoms. A red sweater is tied around her waist. The overall combination is confusing.
“Laura,” I introduce myself. Michelle unlinks herself from Maria and takes a wander around my tiny and empty room as Maria continues to stare at me. I shift awkwardly on the bed. “You’re really pretty.” Maria folds her arms and looks away. Michelle sniggers.
“Don’t be a sour puss, Maria. You’re pretty, too.” Michelle still holds laughter in her voice. After the inspection of my room, she sits down beside me. The bed dips. Michelle smells like old people. She has to be about twenty, but that’s what she smells like.
“Are you a cutter? I pegged you for a cutter.”
“Jesus Michelle, you don’t just ask,” Maria widens her eyes at Michelle, who bumps shoulders with me playfully. I can’t answer, as I am too focused on Maria’s eyeshadow. The blue goes all the way up to her eyebrows.
“We are all thinking it. Some may even take bets.”
“Michelle, I’m going to tell,” Maria shakes her head, but there, in her eyes, I can see she wants to know too. Like Michelle says, they are all thinking it.
I swallow before answering. “No, I’m not a cutter.” This conversation is bizarre, and making me uncomfortable.
“Damn,” she clicks her fingers.
“She lost her stash of m&m’s for that.” Maria’s eyes narrow further, making them impossible to see. Widening them now, she holds her arm over her head while tilting her head to the side and sticking her tongue out. “DIY kind of girl?” she asks.
“No,” is the only answer I can give. This is bizarre. Is she really asking me if I’d try to hang myself?
“Okay, don’t tell us then. But I knew you hadn’t tried to hang yourself. No marks on your neck.” Michelle bumps shoulders with me again. I shift away from her and the old person smell.
“When you’re ready, we’re here.” Maria moves from side to side, an innocent look on her face. I can only nod.
The mattress moves up and down as Michelle starts to bounce. “Oh, we have to warn you about Craig,” Michelle seems excited.
“He is the devil,” Maria adds, while crossing her arms over her large chest. “He smashed my mirror.”
“Seven years of bad luck for him,” Michelle sings back before pulling on my arm. “Anyway, he is like gorgeous. Green eyes that you will fall into…” Michelle actually fans herself.
Maria rolls her eyes. “Once he cut a hole in all my tops,” she pointed at her chest, “Right between my breasts. The pervert.”
Michelle snorts. “He is like panty dropping good-looking. Tattoos, piercings. Real bad boy.”
“Jesus Michelle, you sound like you’re trying to sell him. I thought you wanted to warn her?” Maria taps her foot. This was almost comical. It would have been, if I wasn’t already so emotionally drained. A muffled voice passes my door, but with Maria and Michelle talking, I can’t hear what is being said.
“Give me a second, Maria. I’m getting to it. You don’t have to take the fun out of everything.” Michelle looks annoyed now. I glance at her, a little afraid of what she might do.
Looking at me seems to settle her, she smiles. “Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted,” she cuts Maria a look before turning back to me. “He is a womanizer, cruel, and honestly, if you have a heart, you need to keep it away from him. Basically, like Maria said, he’s the devil,” Maria seems pleased to be back in Michelle’s good graces, and smiles.
“Thanks for the warning,” I say. I want nothing more than to be alone, so I try and give them a hint to leave without being rude. The last thing I want to do is get on anyone’s bad side, “I better make my bed.” I take the rolled-up duvet and piece of cloth that is meant to be my pillow and stand up.
“Oh yeah, sure.” Michelle sounds disappointed.
“Thanks again for the warning,” I tell them both while clutching my bedding, hoping they’ll go away.
“No problem,” Maria is the first out the door. Michelle follows, but she pauses at the door. “He’s going to hit on you,” she says, sounding almost jealous.
“Who?” I ask.
“Craig,” she moves around the corner and out of sight. I sit back down with my belongings. I don’t’ care about Craig or what he did, or whoever he is. All I want is to sleep one night without the fear of being awakened.
I shiver.