Chapter 8 (Beggar)

I'm in a hotel room and I just had a hot shower. It's AMAZING.

Christmas and New Year might have come 21 years too late, but it sure as hell came early this year.

My two weeks in the system didn’t mean I had a hot shower. I had a warm one a few times. Being the new kid meant I had to shower last and by then the water was bordering on Lukewarm on a good day.

And cold most of the other times.

Today I got the shower first and the stinging of the water on my back and hair was sensational.

I scrubbed myself with the bar of soap over and over again. I used all the shampoo on my hair, getting as many knots out as I could.

When I got out of the shower my skin was shriveled up. The steam was everywhere, even in the mirror.

I laughed, and it felt good.

Storm knocked on the door asking what was so funny, my answer was,

“I could get used to this.”

He was quiet for a good few moments, then he banged on the door.

“Hurry your ass up in there, I gotta take a leak.”

Now, my hair is dripping on the floor while I'm rummaging through Storm’s bag for a t-shirt, mindful of the condoms I keep touching.

Storm just slipped into the bathroom we’re sharing. He got us a double room, with two single beds.

After his girlfriend dumped him, the two of us took a slow walk to our room. He told me that Wisps ‘temper tantrum’ was bound to happen.

Apparently, Wisp and he weren't actually dating, Texas and he were sharing her.

But he still spent time talking about the reason for Wisp’s behavior, A girl named, Kylie Bray.

She’s related to one of the brothers, the guy's sister.

Storm met her a few months back and only recently she agreed to go on a date with him.

Storm showed me pictures of Kylie from his phone. She’s the perfect image of the rich and privileged. Her skin and teeth are all flawless with a smile so big you swear she's a celebrity without needing any confirmation.

When I voiced my opinion, Storm told me she was anything but and he’ll introduce me to her.

Storm is cool and I enjoy his easiness.

All his talking relaxed me earlier when I was close to kicking it and saying goodbye to my future plans after I heard I’ll be sharing a room with the man.

But the guy is very hooked on his girl, Kylie Bray and honestly, I don't think someone like him would ever be seen dating a homeless girl. And that bit of knowledge makes things a hell of a lot easier.

I grab the plain white t-shirt ‘cause I don't think he has another color and frankly, I'm tired of touching the man’s condoms. The side lamp next to my bed is dim, and the orange walls make the room darker.

I don't see my nipples showing, well as long as we stay in this set up I won't. Decision made; the towel drops as I slip the shirt over my head. It falls to the top of my thighs.

I guess he forgot that I'm tall.

Screw it.

I've been dressed in less.

I pull my wet hair to the front of my face, squeezing it on the chocolate-colored hardwood floor.

Once I got my hair as dry as I'm going to get it, with my foot on the now wet towel I wipe the mess up.

I spot the scissors on the tv cabinet next to the door and the thought hits me; I should cut my hair.

The last time I cut it was when I was younger and had gotten lice. My teacher took me to the change rooms after school and cut it like a boy. She also washed it plenty of times and told me that if she ever found my hair dirty like that again, she'd make sure I never saw my mother again.

Over the years, I guess I could've cut it, but a silent fuck you to Ms Coldridge was in order.

After my mother died and I left the only foster home I had, my hair became my shelter, my way to hide from the world. I always went down to the river to wash it out, so I haven't had lice since second grade.

Years went on and I just never bothered with cutting it. The comb I found in the dumpster six years ago keeps it knot free.

Combing my hair helps when the cold is unbearable and I’m starving. I normally pull my hair out and start with small sections at a time as I work out the knots. Hours go by and for that time, I forget the hunger pangs.

I know my hair is well over my butt and beyond the length for a homeless 21-year-old.

Storm said, “Nice hair,” when I opened the bathroom door.

That's the first honest compliment a guy has ever given me. I have my mother's hair, it's black with loose curls only on the ends. I like my hair, it's the one thing I got of hers.

Hair cut forgotten I jump and flop on the bed just as a knock on the door comes. It's an angry hammering, shit.

“Calm down,” I say to myself.

The door has a peephole and Storm is in the bathroom. He didn't lock the door.

The pounding is insistent. I slowly creep off the bed, grabbing the brass candle holder next to the phone and go to the door.

“Storm, get your ass outa there, gotta talk to the girl.”

I stumble at the sound of the voice, and grab the door handle to steady myself.

The door swings open from the pressure I'm putting on the handle, at the same time Storm comes out of the bathroom like a man on a mission, but I manage to right myself just in time.

I twist my head to face Storm, who's got a towel wrapped around his waist. His hard muscles straining and dripping from the shower. His eyes cloud in anger and I follow his direction and look at the man standing at the door, Zero.

His depths rake up my body slowly, too slowly. I start to say something but before I can get a word out, Storm is in front of me, forcing me to stand behind his back.

Not sure why but I'm scared of Zero so I don't even fight Storm.

But standing behind Storm, I see a very muscular back, with a tattoo covering every inch of it with the words ‘The Satan Sniper’s Motorcycle Club’ branded below and around the tattoo.