Condemned

45 | Sam

I wish I could ignore my bladder all night. I can't sleep and it's obviously a contributing factor. Unfortunately, there's no way to get to the bathroom unless I pass by my stepfather's office.

Last time I checked, the light was still on in there, the door was still open. There was evidence of an active fireplace, flickering across every wall in my view.

An hour later, nothing has changed.

If he's working late or resorting to the couch because of a bad night with my mother, the door would be closed. It usually is closed and locked. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I'm under the radar enough to remain on the outside and can go about my business, quickly and quietly, without incident. But, for the times I've failed at that, I'm painfully aware of what an open door could mean.

It is late—after midnight—and the day prior was tense and strenuous, starting early and ending late, with a long drive in between. I wasn't found anywhere near Norfolk. Or Winchester, for that matter, either. I was by Virginia's southern border, just to throw everyone off, including me.

Overall, there's a fair chance Amos forgot to close the door or fell asleep waiting for something and didn't realize it.

Everyone else in the house is undoubtedly asleep by now. I don't know what he could possibly be "waiting for" other than me.

He's been uncharacteristically quiet ever since we left the hospital. Expecting a sermon, the whole way home, I took this as a good sign. Because of my injuries and the trauma of it all, I thought, maybe, I'd be spared the tirade and fury, at least for the night.

Maybe he's just patient, trying to catch me alone, knowing he's been blocking my passage to the bathroom for hours. I've been filled with fluids all damn day, to the point I'm almost bursting. I've been holding it since dinner. He's been in there since dinner.

Although I've certainly been in cruder circumstances, I'm not at a place where I'd relieve myself anywhere other than where I'm supposed to, but I'm almost at that place, and will be at that place if I don't move now.

Suck it up, bow to fate, grin and bear it, however you want to say take the chance and deal with the consequences...

The wood floor has been recently polished. With bandaged feet, regular socks, and wearing my sister's oversized flannel pajamas, I slip and slide down the hall, though I somehow manage to get to the hallway runner without falling or crashing into the wall.

To get to the bathroom, I'll have to span the whole rug. Amos's office is in the middle. I don't look in when I go by. And I feel like I surface from underwater when I get to the bathroom without hearing my name.

I lock the door and don't hurry when I'm inside. Maybe he's sleeping or preoccupied. Maybe he'll lose interest and forget he saw me.

I'm riding a little too high on that hope when I dart past on my return. Sure enough, as fast as I may be, I'm not more than a step beyond his view when that hope crashes and burns.

"Samantha..." He pauses for effect. "Please come in here."

I can't run—I'm not well enough yet. I can't hide—my room is sparsely furnished, and the door doesn't lock. My sister's room is the same way, and it's the only other room down here. I can't turn the other way and leave the house—I have no car, no phone, no clothes other than a few church dresses from high school and the borrowed pajamas I'm wearing. My friends all left. My acquaintances, if I could even find any, would probably be a bit too smug about the state I'm in, and too drunk to hide it at this hour. The closest neighbor is half a mile away and they never liked us for now obvious reasons.