When I get inside my house, I toss my phone on my bed and get into the shower.
While in the shower, I wash my body head to toe. I don't cry. I have no reason to. I just met him today. It was just a drunk fuck. Who cares?
When I get out, I brush my teeth and stare at myself in the mirror. I have bags under my eyes, my skin looks waxy. Do I always look like this?
I dry off and change into pajamas and fuzzy socks and lay in bed, and grab my phone.
Timotheé: whats ur problem anya?
Timotheé: why aren't u answering me?
Timotheé: are u fucking serious
Timotheé: cmon
Timotheé: never fucking mind then.
I read his messages and then close my phone, open my curtains, and fall asleep feeling sated.
I wake up in the morning feeling like absolute shit.
Why did I choose to party on a school night? My chest hurts when I think about last night. More importantly why did I let that happen?
I resolve to not talk to Timotheé at all today, and to put him out of my head. I can't bring myself to delete his number, though.
I want to see his messages when he misses me. The sun is shining through the blinds, and I know last night was a just a one time thing, and that today will be good.
I pull on some jeans and a long sleeve back t shirt, and then put my hair up and slide my glasses on. I head downstairs into the kitchen, and that's when I hear my mom stomping down stairs. Jesus. I ignore her as I pour a bowl of cereal, my back turned to her.
"Turn around." She snaps. I look up and stare out of the window above the kitchen sink. She cocks her head to the side and sticks her tongue in her cheek.
"What are those, Lilianya?" She points at my neck.
Shit. I remain silent.
She shakes her head. "You just open your legs for every fucking guy that smiles at you? Huh?" Her voice is getting louder, and her choice of words is disgusting.
"I think I can trust you," She throws her arms up. I feel word vomit coming. Don't do it, Anya. "And than you go out, and you get fucked."
My stomach hurts. I want to punch her in the fucking face.
"You're such a slut, Anya!" She yells. "You're so smart and yet, you're going to be knocked up by next month!"
I lose it.
"Shut the fuck up!" I scream as loud as I can. "I'm eighteen! A grown fucking woman! You think you have control over me?!" I feel tears coming to my eyes and I feel like I'm going to be sick, but my anger is intensifying. "Your words are fucking sick! You make me fucking sick! You make everybody fucking sick, and that's why you had to make dad leave, huh? Fuck you!" When I stop screaming my throat burns, and in the heat of it all, I grab my backpack and run out of the front door. My heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my temples.
When I get out and jump off my porch onto my sidewalk, I notice Timotheé's car. I can't do this right now. I try to take a sharp right towards my bus stop but he opens his car door.
"Hey, wait!" He runs after me and stops in front of me. When he see's my face, he looks puzzled. "Hey, what's wrong?"
I look up at him. "Now is not the time." I try to sound strong but my voice catches and I keep on walking. He catches up to me again and stands in front of me.
"Stop," He snaps. "Anya, I don't know what's wrong, but you seem really shaken up. Please ride to school with me."
I don't know what else I'm going to do. I can't burn my bridge with him yet. I'm most likely homeless now, and Avery's parents aren't lax enough to let a troublesome eighteen year old into their home. I might need Timotheé...
"Fine." I acquiesce and walk back towards his car, opening the front door, tossing my bag in the back seat, and sitting in the front seat. I bite my lip so hard to avoid crying that I wince.
Once Timotheé gets in the car, he stares at me.
"What's wrong?" He cocks his head to the side and chews the inside of his cheek. He looked that way yesterday, too.
"Timotheé! Can you fucking drive?! We're out front of my house. If my mom gets your plates she's going to call the fucking police or something!" I yell, my voice cracking. He looks alarmed, immediately starts the car and drives off.
My breathing is ragged, but slows down as we drive away from my house. All the adrenaline from the morning has left my body, and I feel tired. Really anxious. My hands shake.
"Anya," Timotheé doesn't look at me. "I'm sorry for what happened last night I think we were both just-"
"Drunk. Yeah, I got it." I cross my arms. "Nows not the fucking time to talk about it, Timotheé."
"There's obviously something wrong." He grabs me by my chin and forces me to look at him, glancing from my face to the road over and over.
I remove myself from his grasp.
"Don't worry about it." I grumble, looking out of the window. At least it's sunny.
"Who the fuck else are you going to tell?" He sounds exasperated. "I can help you."
I whip my head to look at him. "Help me with what?" I spit.
"If you tell me, I will know." He sounds gentle. My stomach turns. Maybe I should tell him. He truly is most likely the only person that could help me. I take a deep breath and squeeze my hands together.
"Me and my mom-" I bite my lip. "She saw the hickies that you so graciously left on my neck. She flipped the fuck out. Started calling me a slut and saying the most disgusting shit about me," I pause. "I get so angry and anxious- and I can't help the things that come out of my mouth. I screamed at her, and I know that when I come home today, my things will be out on the front lawn, I-I'm eighteen, she's not required to let me stay." I start sobbing at this point, not caring that Timotheé is there. I can't keep it in.
"Jesus," He says, more to himself than to me.
"Yeah." I reply, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
"If you're homeless," He pauses and runs his thumb across his bottom lip. "You-you can stay with me."
This is what I wanted. But I can't act like it.
"Are you serious?" I feign irritation, but it doesn't come across that way.
"I'm not going to have you sleeping outside. The human body isn't meant for that. Trust me, I know." He stares at the road, still biting his cheek, his fingers moving with no specific rhythm on the wheel.
I say nothing.
"We should leave school early," I suggest matter-of-factly. "My mom works and I want to get my things. I'm sorry if I cause issues for you and your parents. I hardly eat and I'm not a bother, I swear."
"I don't live with my parents," He says. "Last night, that was my bedroom we fucked in. I share the apartment with Adam."
I look at him in shock. How lucky does this boy get?
"Okay."
"But yes, we will leave school early, so you don't have to deal with your mom. I'm sorry about that." He sounds detached and distracted. I wave it off. At least I won't be homeless. Once we get to school, I get out of the car and start to walk towards the entrance of the school, but Timotheé grabs my arm and pulls me towards him, his head up, backing me against the car. Shivers roll down my spine. He has his hands on my wrists, practically pinning them to my sides.
He stares at me for a few seconds, and I stare back, waiting for something. He leans down and gives me a peck on my lips. "Everything will be okay." He whispers, lets go of my wrists, and walks towards the building. I stand, still leaning against his car, watching him walk away. He walks with confidence, his arms swinging, his long skinny legs almost shaking with every step he takes. A gust of cool spring wind blows, and it ripples through his hair, like waves.
I push myself off of his car and walk towards the building as well, rubbing my wrists.
I hope to God he wasn't lying.
