Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“There has to be something. I refuse to believe there’s nothing you can do.” She jumps to her feet, biting her thumbnail as she starts to pace. “What if you change the locks on the door to the room?”
“I don’t think I can do that. It’s not really my property, right? I would have to clear it with the administration, at least, and I really doubt they would be cool with the idea.”
“You’re right.” She continues pacing and muttering to herself before snapping her fingers. “Fine. Then we just install another lock on the door. Like a deadbolt. It’s not that hard,” she insists when my mouth falls open. “I’ve seen my dad do it, and he is not what you’d call a handy sort of guy.”
This time, I have to laugh at the bizarre idea. “I’ve never used a power tool in my life, and I’m pretty sure you need them to do something like that.”
“Which is why YouTube videos exist,” she counters. “You can learn anything on the Internet. We’ll buy some tools, we’ll buy the lock, and we’ll install it on the door ourselves.”
The next thing I know, we’re at the hardware store, with all of my belongings in the back of my car while Maya and I walk up and down the aisles, looking for the items listed in the tutorial she found. “I’ve never bought tools before,” I muse, looking around, a little overwhelmed by all the choices. Who knew there were so many types of screwdrivers?
“Me, neither. There’s a first time for everything, right?” I swear, the girl is unshakable. Determined, too, almost marching from aisle to aisle, asking employees where she can find this or that. I’m fine with hanging back and letting her take the reins. She’s someone I trust, and I’m so tired of having to be on guard all the time. It’s exhausting.
Almost as exhausting as unloading the car and unpacking the suitcase and boxes once we arrive in my dorm room. Unpacking what was left of my things doesn’t take long—for once, I’m glad I don’t have very much. Soon we are standing in front of the door, playing and replaying the video, giving step-by-step instructions on how to install a deadbolt.
It’s confusing at first, but soon we get the hang of it, using a drill to make a new hole, installing the face plate, screwing the deadbolt on. At least it’s quiet on the floor. There aren’t many people hanging around to give us any shit over this. Right now, I’m not sure I would care if anyone did.
By the time we’re finished, we’re both a little sweaty and there’s sawdust all over the place. But we did it. The lock works and, for the first time in a while, I feel secure. “Let’s see you get a key for this lock, you dick,” I mutter to myself as we clean up.
“I’ve really got to go,” Maya confesses once everything’s back in place. “Are you sure you feel safe here by yourself?”
“A lot better than I did before we decided to learn how to drill a hole in a door.” I give her an impulsive hug, which she returns. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“No sweat. Give me a call later, when you’re settled in.” I promise her I will before closing the door and flipping the deadbolt into place. It feels good. I like the sound. I have a little bit of control again.
It doesn’t take long to finish unpacking. I can see myself working in here, especially since living with Buck got me used to all kinds of noise at random times. The noise from a bunch of college students can’t be worse than that.
I wish I could take a shower without remembering what Briggs did to me in here the last time we were together in this room. It’s so easy to forget everything I know when he does things to my body I never dreamed possible. It’s like I can’t think while he’s touching me.
The shame is the worst part. It’s the kind of shame I can’t wash away, no matter how much soap I use.
At least I’m no longer covered in sawdust by the time I step out and dry off, pulling on a pair of leggings and an oversized T-shirt. Almost like a normal college student. I have to laugh bitterly at the idea of Briggs, of all people, introducing me to the so-called college experience.
One thing about having shorter hair: it dries a lot quicker than it used to. It still isn’t easy for me to look at myself in the mirror and see the blunt cut. Now that I’m living here and not paying rent anymore, maybe I can afford to get it fixed up at a salon. At least it’s all the same length now after I snipped off the uneven bits, but there’s no shape to it, no layers or anything like that. I do my best with a round brush and the blow dryer before giving up and flopping down on the bed.