Let My Hands Do the Talking (Completed)

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She went to the Shell gas station she's been washing up in since she left her parents house.

The guy at the counter, Ray, recognized her face when she came in. Ironically he lives next door to her parents and has technically known her for a while. This is the first time they've had any real interaction.

He's about forty and really quiet. His wife works in the back. He's really handsome for his age and has a gorgeous family.

She suspects that he knows that she's now homeless but he's to respectful to say anything.

He handed her the bathroom key before she even had to ask him. This has became sort of a regular routine. Well it is. She comes in here every day twice for the same thing. How embarrassing.

"Good morning," she greeted.

He smiled politely at her. That's his common response. A nod here and there and sometimes a smile.

She went into the small one stall bathroom. It was extremely cold in here.

She can't remember the last time she let her bare feet touch warm ground. She doesn't even know the last time she washed her feet.

In no way is she a fan of taking a chance on letting an inch of one of hers toes feel a piece of the floor. The bathroom is dimly lit and the floor is old and warn out. Every thing in here is. No matter how many times it is cleaned, it will still look dirty. And the toilet! She doesn't even want to describe it because it's just that nasty. If someone asks her how'd her legs get so strong she'd have to tell them it's from all the squats she been hitting over the toilet.

Her appearance frightened her. Usually she'd never leave the house looking like this.

Messy blonde hair was stuffed under a sleeping cap. She looked like a popcorn head.

Tiredness was written all over her face. Her light brown eyes seemed to dull even more in the dimly lit room. All the genuine joy has deflated out of her body. Slowly it has been trying to rebuild itself during the hard month she spent to herself trying to reevaluate her life. Only time will tell if it has been successful.

Her body was stiff. At 5'6 her body can't really stretch out all the way in her car. The pleasure of wearing comfortable night clothes has also been taken away. She was forced to minimize the amount of clothes of clothes she washes at the end of each week. She hasn't had any good sleep for a while.

Better days shall come.

Her appearance used to mean every thing to her. She was so confident in her looks. She could steal all the attention in a room with just the flip of her hair. If her old self could see her new self, there would probably be a big cat fight between the two. She doesn't like how much she's changed. She's miserable.

This is not how she planned on living so she wasn't planning on letting things continue to stay as it is much longer.

This is complete humiliation. Poor and alone. And homeless.

The pink book bag fell carelessly from her shoulders. 'Its wash up time in the freezing Antarctica again.'

She removed her dirty clothes, placing them in her other bag. The wash up was quick and successful.

She put on her some clean underwear and then her clothes. Usually she wouldn't wear such tight leg wear but lately she has.

Looser clothes tend to make the clothing wrinkles more revealing where as tight ones kind of concealed them.

The overbearingly big blue shirt just let it all show. She put it on and it swallowed her whole.

She looks like a hot pickle. The shirt fits more like a dress.