Cops and Robbers
eight
Hope.
I have my musty clothes tucked into my arms, and a determined look on my face as I rush to the laundry room. This is not what I want to be doing right now, I mean, my mom's fucking maid usually does my laundry. But I suck it up and push the laundry room door open with my arm as the other fumbles to keep my dirty clothes in grasp.
And then there he is, with no clothes on. What. The. Actual. Fuck.
I try to ignore him. I push past him to an empty washing machine and throw my clothes in. Then I lean against the washer, my feet sliding on the wet tile floor. I stabilize myself my planting my palms on the washer behind me. I try not to say anything, so I practice my breathing exercises as the boy scrambles for his towel and his face turns bright red.
"I am so sorry," this boys says, and I just stare.
"And you apologize now," I mutter.
"What?"
I clear my throat, "You didn't apologize earlier when you basically assaulted me."
"Actually," he scratches his head, the other hand clamped firmly to his towel which hangs loosely around his skinny hips. "Actually, I... did."
"Huh?" it comes out a little more harshly than I intended.
"I did. Apologize. Earlier. You just, uh.. left a little quickly. I don't think you heard," he stutters, and I almost feel bad for him. Almost.
"OK..."
I turn towards the door, catching my breath.
"Hey," he calls out. "I didn't get your name."
I don't turn around. I just keep walking back to our room, ready to start to get our things together so that we can leave.
But this boy is relentless.
"So, uh, were you with that kid before? The one outside that was smoking?"
I still don't turn, "Yeah, he's my brother..."
"Oh cool, when are you guys leaving?" he tries to be casual.
By this point I am about one hundred feet from the door to my room and I am not in the mood for small talk. I don't answer, hoping maybe he'd get the point. I stand with my hand on the sticky doorknob I stare at the wood grains on the door.
"Would it be totally out of line if I asked for a ride? I mean I know I just met you and all, but my car is shot, and I have no way to get home-"
I open the door, "Yes, it would be totally out of line. So it's good that you didn't."
I slip inside, leaving him standing there, face blank, hands clenched to that dirty fucking towel.
I have my musty clothes tucked into my arms, and a determined look on my face as I rush to the laundry room. This is not what I want to be doing right now, I mean, my mom's fucking maid usually does my laundry. But I suck it up and push the laundry room door open with my arm as the other fumbles to keep my dirty clothes in grasp.
And then there he is, with no clothes on. What. The. Actual. Fuck.
I try to ignore him. I push past him to an empty washing machine and throw my clothes in. Then I lean against the washer, my feet sliding on the wet tile floor. I stabilize myself my planting my palms on the washer behind me. I try not to say anything, so I practice my breathing exercises as the boy scrambles for his towel and his face turns bright red.
"I am so sorry," this boys says, and I just stare.
"And you apologize now," I mutter.
"What?"
I clear my throat, "You didn't apologize earlier when you basically assaulted me."
"Actually," he scratches his head, the other hand clamped firmly to his towel which hangs loosely around his skinny hips. "Actually, I... did."
"Huh?" it comes out a little more harshly than I intended.
"I did. Apologize. Earlier. You just, uh.. left a little quickly. I don't think you heard," he stutters, and I almost feel bad for him. Almost.
"OK..."
I turn towards the door, catching my breath.
"Hey," he calls out. "I didn't get your name."
I don't turn around. I just keep walking back to our room, ready to start to get our things together so that we can leave.
But this boy is relentless.
"So, uh, were you with that kid before? The one outside that was smoking?"
I still don't turn, "Yeah, he's my brother..."
"Oh cool, when are you guys leaving?" he tries to be casual.
By this point I am about one hundred feet from the door to my room and I am not in the mood for small talk. I don't answer, hoping maybe he'd get the point. I stand with my hand on the sticky doorknob I stare at the wood grains on the door.
"Would it be totally out of line if I asked for a ride? I mean I know I just met you and all, but my car is shot, and I have no way to get home-"
I open the door, "Yes, it would be totally out of line. So it's good that you didn't."
I slip inside, leaving him standing there, face blank, hands clenched to that dirty fucking towel.