Page 13 of Envy

I push the door and run outside, not caring if I didn’t check out the book. It’s not like I could hand it to the girl sitting in the front, covered in his cum.

I finally make it to my dorm building with tears streaming down my face. When I reach the bathroom sink, I assess the mess on my hands and my sweater. It’s everywhere. He’s everywhere.

I scrub my hands and face raw, but it’s like he’s embedded in the pores of my skin. The musky scent of his cum mixed with cologne. He doesn’t smell like smelly sex or spit.

I’m repulsed with myself for not wanting to gag; for not finding it disgusting. I look up and catch my reflection in the mirror, my eyes are puffy from crying. My cheeks are red and splotchy. I hate myself for not running sooner, for not screaming for help when he caged me.

“I’m sick,” I tell myself.

How could I like the smell of his cum or his skin? Why do I still crave his kiss?

I scrub my skin raw,trying to erase Garret’s last words. A warning. A threat.

A reminder to stay away. The words replay in my mind like a catchy hook from a song.

I never showed up at his party. He wanted to scare me off. It worked.

After cleaning the library book as best I can, I sit cross-legged on my bed.

The dorm room is silent. I glance at my phone. 2:00 a.m.

I flip through the book. Sonnets. Plays. I try to read, but as always?—

I struggle.

The words blur together. I attempt to read aloud. But I sound horrible.

It reminds me of that day in high school. The teacher called on me to read.

I tried. I stumbled. She made a face and told me to stop. That was the day I realized I couldn’t read at the same level as the others. I couldn’t multiply or spell.

I was useless.

John wanted it that way. Dependent on him. A girl with no future. He ensured I would never escape.

I flip the page and try again. Tears pool in my eyes. The words won’t stick. I can’t read a full sentence without stumbling.

I slam the book shut. A sob rattles from my chest.

Knock. Knock.

I freeze. A slip of paper slides beneath my door.

I wipe my face. Heart pounding. I don’t move to open the door. What if it’s some creep?

I unfold the paper. The ink is delicate. The handwriting elegant. It looks like a poem.

I had stayed in my room all weekend, only going to the vending machine for snacks. John gave me twenty dollars a week on a loadable card, claiming it was for tampons and toiletries. It was minimal, but there was nothing I could do. Some people think that if you’re adopted by a wealthy family, you’re provided for, but not in my case.

John didn’t call me the whole weekend, and I was relieved. I hardly slept staring at my phone waiting for the unwanted text to pop up. Trepidation and fear running rapid in my mind.

Maybe he realized he went too far last time and that I needed time to recuperate. I received a text about an upcoming appointment at the campus health center this morning scheduled for 4:00 p.m.—two hours after my scheduled tutoring session with the mysterious person named A. I wouldn’t put it past John being behind it and there was no way I could ignore it.

I tried all weekend to improve my reading skills. My phone doesn’t have internet access, and I was afraid to walk into the library after the incident with Garret. I had never stolen anything before, and I was petrified. I didn’t know what to do, but I needed a tutor for math. Hopefully, no one noticed it was missing.

I walk in ten minutes before my scheduled appointment, relieved that there’s a guy at the front desk and that the redheadfrom last time is nowhere to be found. I tell him I have an appointment with Mr. A.

“He’s waiting in the back,” he says without looking up from whatever he’s reading.

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