Page 23 of Baby Girl
Emery
Opening my eyes first thing in the morning—ever since Tray bounced my head off the brick wall—is always a gamble. The pain meds from the night before have worn off, not to mention the nausea that can still catch me by surprise.
Lying perfectly still, I concentrate on my body, on feeling each individual toe and then rolling my ankles. I slowly work my wayup from my legs to my lower back and torso, down my non-braced arm to my fingers, then back up to my chest, neck, and jaw, all the way to the top of my head. Then, and only then, do I open my eyes.
My room is pretty dark, so I’m not one-hundred-percent sure of the time, and I can’t trust my body clock to give me an idea if I’ve had enough sleep, because it never feels like I’ve had enough. Stretching my arm out, I reach for my phone and tap the screen.
Tuesday, nine-twenty-two a.m.
It takes a second to work out what that actually means and where I should be, which is in my economics analysis class. I let my eyes flutter shut, waiting to see if that tiny bit of light caused a headache, but no stab of pain comes. Not even a dull thud. Just a lot of fog.
Maybe I’ve turned the corner?
I must doze off again because the next time I check the time, it’s after eleven and there is very much no headache. The room, while less dark, is still dim, but I force myself to sit and stack pillows behind my back to make it somewhat comfortable.
When I reach for my phone, I spy several things that aren’t the way I left them before I went to bed last night.
One. The DHDX bracelet is back on my wrist after I took it off and left it on my bedside table.
Two. A glass of water and my medication sit on the nightstand.
Three. My desk chair is now right next to my bed, and it has my laptop and my white bear with the heart nose—Blue—sitting on it.
Four. Next to Blue is a flat white gift box adorned with a pale peach bow with white polka dots.
Five. The yellow fucking envelope Derek gave me yesterday is propped up on top.
Six. There is a container on my desk with a little piece of paper folded over to make a sign that saysBreakfastin a handwriting I don’t recognize, which means it’s not from Oakley.
Xavier?
Eyes darting around the room, I search, but there is no sign of him. Which is good, because if there was, I would have had to yell at him for ignoring the hard line in the sand I drew about him being in my room.
Well, it was more about him not sleeping in here with me, but I felt it was pretty fucking obvious I didn’t want him in my personal space. I’d even asked Oakley for help getting his things out of my room while he’d been in the bathroom.
Sneaking in to set this up for me was a gray area, and if the man was a color, it would be fucking charcoal.
Groaning, I jam my fingers into my closed eyes and rub. Hard.
What did Derek say yesterday?
All four of us are still here, and we are going to wait for as long as you need us to. We aren’t ready to let you go. Yes, we are going to give you space, but we are going to be here for you in whatever capacity you allow.
Whatever capacity I allow. Fuck off. Seriously. Fuck that noise and all the drama that comes with it. I have very clearly articulated what I want from them, and that is exactly nothing.
I was a little too shell-shocked at seeing Derek in the waiting area to deal with him the way my hindsight wishes I had, but now I’m fucking mad. I saidred. I asked Oakley to tell them that I didn’t want them at the hospital.
Why can’t they leave me alone?
Confrontation is not my favorite. I can do it when I really have to, but I prefer to avoid it. It’s probably what made it so easy for Tray to keep me in line the way he did. To be honest, not until I started applying for college did I realize he’d been using me.
Before that, I was just thankful that he had stepped in as my protector.
But that was all fake. The same way a pimp pretends to give a shit about his girls, until they start stepping out of line. Then the real asshole shows his face.
Can I keep ignoring this? Them? If they are only going to take whatever scraps of access I give them, can I not give them any and wait for their interest to fade?
That might work for the other three, because I have a feeling their understanding of what is socially acceptable and what is not will overwhelm them eventually. But Xavier? The man has no concept of boundaries. At least, not that I’ve seen. He continuously pushes at the line until it moves the way he wants it to.
