Page 24 of With Spite

But the problem was, Bernice never, ever stuck up for herself.

She’d take all kinds of shit that my mother would shovel her way and not say a word.

It was disheartening.

And it sucked to watch.

Speaking of watching, she finished folding her clothes and then put everything away neatly in her dresser and closet.

She was very neat.

I never saw one single thing out of place.

She came inside and stripped every night, and she’d throw her dirty clothes into the hamper.

No discarding clothing on the floor.

No accidentally dropping and not picking up.

It was a little bit overkill, if you asked me.

When she was done putting her clothes away, she walked into the bathroom out of sight.

I grumbled darkly when I saw steam start to billow out of her bathroom door.

I hated that I couldn’t see her in there.

I was also disappointed in myself that I couldn’t stop watching.

I was a sick motherfucker.

But I continued to watch. Mostly because when she came back out long minutes later, she had nothing but a towel wrapped around her. And I finally got to see her without seven layers of clothes wrapped around herself.

She had supple breasts, long legs, and the longest hair I’d ever seen.

I loved watching her brush it out.

Sometimes her towel slipped and…

A nipple.

Today I got to see her nipple.

Score.

Week Six

I was in my easy chair again, watching her through her window.

Today she was having a bad day.

She’d had two asthma attacks at The Mercantile, and I’d forced my mother to let her go home early with pay.

The only way that she would allow it, though, was for me to work in her place.

Not wanting to see her suffer, I’d done just that.

And it sucked.