Something Like Shame (BWWM)

Chapter 4

...I could feel it, taste it from the start of the trip: the inevitable collision. Stifling such an tangible bliss wasn't worth the pain, but stopping just short of it would have changed everything... she'd never have been mine, even for that one moment...

Almost all of the rooms were on the same floor but separated in a way that made it hard to find the others but easy to keep track of the kids that tried to sneak out, making my job a lot easier. Coming off of the elevator, the paths forked off into three different corridors and merged into one at the end of the second hallway where The elevator was, in case the younger kids were to get lost, we'd easily be able to find him since he was on the floor above all of ours.

Every room was attached to another, meaning that I would have a room to myself with four other girls in one adjacent to mine connected by a door that only I could unlock. This would have been a welcome idea if it weren't for the paper thin walls. I could already hear them jumping on their beds and singing along badly to the music blaring out of their speakers.

I groaned and took a seat on the creaky wrought-iron bed. The room was decorated modestly with moldy floral print wallpaper that peeled at the corners and dingy white curtains. I pulled out my sketch pad and started a new drawing, hoping to capture this emotion, the grimiest part of feeling liberated. But still... the images of my Father's corpse hit me whenever my eyes closed. I couldn't blink it away.

I was smudging my fingers across the last shadowy bits of charcoal on the paper when I heard a knock at the door. It was Sam Li. Her long, dark hair fell down her back, straight as blades of grass. She chewed at a strand of it with a restless look on her face. I hadn't really talked to her outside of Physics class but, apparently, that meant nothing when you were forty-seven miles away from your hometown with nothing to do. And so there she stood, expecting me to step aside. I did.

She spoke sourly, "What are you up to, Henna?"

"Nothing." I moved aside, slightly intimidated by her stature, "You?"

"Just trying to find a little excitement before we go to that stuffy-ass exhibition." She cracked the windows open with a groan, "SO, what are your plans for this trip?"

"You first."

"Okay..." She pursed her lips, "I plan on finding an artist, becoming his or her muse, and having lots and lots of sex. Now, you."

"Um..." She was starting to make me feel uneasy, "I hope to teach these kids more about themselves."

"Bo-ring." She feigned a yawn, "I didn't ask for the generic as hell do-what-I-can-for-humankind answer. I want the Henna answer."

I sat for a moment on the edge of the bed, listening to the rhythm of the bass bumping through the walls. Why was I there? I looked up at her with all the defiance I could muster, "Do I need a reason?"

"Nope." She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a plastic bag, piece of paper, and a lighter, "But you do need a break."

"Put that away," I grabbed for the stuff, ready to throw it out the window, "I am not about to lose my chance at a scholarship for you."

"Damn. Who's gonna find out?" She rushed across the room and shut the door. With a finger to her lips, she said, "Lower your voice, Henna. I'm doing you a favor."

I hugged my knees to my chest, staring at the blue-green crumbs on the coffee table, "Please don't tell me you brought-"

"Ganja? Dank? Weed?" She raised a brow as she sprinkled the bits of herb onto the strip and rolled it into a blunt, "That is exactly what it is and we are most definitely going to smoke it."