The boxes in the hallway are hard to maneuver around in a towel.
I can tell you that much. My feet make a puddle on the floor that I know will drive my mother crazy when she sees it. I grin broadly at the puddle but the happiness instantly drains when I remember why there are boxes in the first place. I'm about to leave. I'm about to leave the only home I've ever lived in, and I'm leaving Jake, who means so very much to me. Mood dark, I storm into my room and look at the outfit my mother has laid out on my bed.
What. The. Fuck.
What does she think I am, a slut?
I stare down at the lacy pink pantie and bra set and then at the tight baby blue tank top and denim short shorts. No way.
No way in hell am I moving to another house looking like a whore.
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I did it.
I moved into a new house looking like a fucking tramp. And the man who is supposedly my mothers lover didn't say one word.
I ponder that as I look around the big room in the mansion they live in. Is this why my mom wants to live with this man? Because he's rich? My boxes are strewn across the floor in a pristine white bedroom. There's a king size bed with red and gold comforters and pillows, and a canopy overtop. The walls are white with red trim and the floors are a dark mahogany. I don't want to live here, despite how nice the room is. I turn and head to the door when my face smacks into something hard. I look up and rub my forehead and meet a pair of sparkling gem green eyes.
You've got to be kidding me.