Trapping Quincy (Caspian and Quincy)

Chapter II - Slippery Eyeballs

I lie down on my small bed, hugging Oliver. My stomach growls and my skin still crawls from the way Mr. Maddox touched me. I feel like taking a shower and scrub my skin off his touch and smell but I don't want to face mom or Caitlin Rose again tonight.

"I don't feel very social tonight," I explain to Oliver. "What am I going to do, Oliver?"

I miss my Nana. I miss my Nana's old house. I miss my Nana's cooking. Coming home from school, there was always the smell of food cooking on the stove or fresh bread baking in the oven as soon as I opened the front door.

I've lost quite a lot of weight since I moved to the pack's house. I'm constantly hungry. My cousin Jorden did say I'm such a pig when it comes to food. Well, at least I get to go on a diet here...though not voluntarily.

I've been in so many trouble since I've been here, I've lost count. I'm not very good at being sweet all the time and not fighting back when pushed into a corner and they can't seem to leave me alone. Fighting back is what lands me in trouble all the time, not to mention hungry.

The image of roast beef with gravy, mashed potatoes and Yorkshire pudding that I know they had for dinner tonight keep floating in my mind. I smelled them when they were having dinner. Now I could almost taste them in my mouth.

To stop myself from thinking about food, I pull out the letter of acceptance from West Virginia University from under my pillow. Every time I feel helpless or sad, I pull it out and it never ceases to make me feel excited. Nana and I decided on WV University because it's 3 hours drive away from here. We were planning to visit each other often.

Nana had some money saved up for my education since I was very little. I used to work in the evenings after school and full-time in the Summer to make some money to add to the fund. They're not much, but with the savings, the financial aids I'll be getting, and me working part-time, I think I'll get by.

My stomach makes a loud growling sound again. Oh, fight me! You're not the boss of me!

This is what I am reduced to...fighting with my own stomach. It's sorta hard to fall asleep when you're fighting with your stomach.

*****

It's ten in the morning and I've already cleaned 3 washrooms, I'm feeling very accomplished. Some people might argue that I'm very slow since I still have 8 more washrooms and 25 bathrooms to go but....whatever. There are 11 washrooms and 25 bathrooms in this pack house that I'm supposed to clean twice a week. That has been my job from the very first day I was moved here. I also do the laundry. They wanted to add the cooking...well, we all know how that went.

Come to think of it, I'm pretty crappy at cleaning the washrooms and doing the laundry too. Last week, a whole load of laundry turned purple. They're rather a pretty shade of lavender if you asked me. I don't know what the fuss is all about. Manly warriors turning up for practice in lovely lavender shirts? I dig that.

If I have to be honest, I have to admit that I'm not good at anything around here. I make the worst unpaid maid ever. Pretty close to being useless.

I groan and shudder involuntarily when I open the men's washroom on the main floor. Men here are such pigs. Why can't they aim properly? It's not like they don't have the chance to practice shooting the target every day! Ughh...I hate cleaning their washroom.

I'm not a fan of chores but I understand that I have to pull my weight since I'm staying here for free. My biggest nightmare is that I would be stuck as an unpaid maid in the pack house forever.

An unpaid maid. I decided to go with that word because it sounds prettier than the word slave.

"There you are," says Joelle. There's a satisfied smirk on her face as she stands by the door watching me on my knees, scrubbing the toilet bowl. "My father wants to see you."