The Victim (Book #1)

Chapter 21

When I woke up, I got the basket from my room and went downstairs to the laundry room. At first, Charlotte had assured me that she would love to wash my clothes for me like she did for the boys, but I told her it was alright. Doing my own laundry had always been one of my favorite things. It was the time when I got to be alone, and independent in a way.

Once I had gotten used to her fancy shiny machines, it was much the same as it was at my old house.

I sang Disney songs while I worked, and methodically filled the washing machine before flicking off the lights and heading out. I set a timer on my laptop and left it open on my bed, then walked over to my bathroom.

I pulled open the white painted cabinet and pulled out the cleaning supplies I would need. Within minutes, the bathroom smelled lemony fresh and I had almost finished scrubbing the baseboards. I was bent completely over beside the toilet when I heard a voice behind me.

"You know, I could handle that for you." Charlotte's voice said with a tremor of a laugh.

I jumped in shock and then rolled my eyes facing away from her and continued to scrub.

"This isn't a hotel." I told her seriously. "I'm your guest!"

"And guests aren't normally required to do so much." she replied.

I thought about that for a second. "Oh... well I'll admit I've never been a guest before, but I enjoy cleaning."

And it was true. An organized room made my head feel organized, and my life was messy enough without the added complications.

"Can I help you then?" she asked. I looked up to see her blue eyes soften in my direction. I frowned and pointed a yellow-gloved hand at her.

"No! My bathroom, my work!"

She let out a laugh at that and said "Can I sit with you at least? You know you have a beautiful singing voice."

I blushed bright pink at that but made a motion allowing her to sit, ignoring the compliment. She must be used to hearing the boys sing. That's why she thought my voice was nice.

"You always seem to clean on the same days." She noted gently. I tried to keep my arms moving and not stiffen up at that. She was so observant sometimes that it scared me. She didn't want to know everything about me, no matter what she thought.

"I like routine." I admitted. "There is a certain relief that comes with knowing exactly what will happen, at an exact time of the day."

"What chores did you do at your old house, Maya?" she asked.

I finished scrubbing and pulled off my gloves, grabbing a spray bottle from beside the toilet.

"Haven't you asked me this already?" I asked, although I was certain she had.

"Yes."

She and I both knew there was more I wasn't telling her. We waited a tense minute while I covered the shower in blue liquid and then I faced her again.

"I did laundry, I made our breakfast, and my lunch for school. I got dressed. Sometimes I had to help him get cleaned up and dressed for work as well." I answered truthfully. I was determined to stay in reality, so I kept my eyes fixated on a green speck of fuzz on her white shirt.

"Cleaned up?"

"He had some rough nights. The weekends were a special challenge, the older I got." I said.

"He drank?" she specified in a statement sort of way, as if she already knew the answer.

"Only beer, occasionally. Not often enough to provide an excuse for his behavior." I spat out harshly.

I immediately felt a twinge of pain in my heart.

"I don't mean that." I added, looking into her eyes.

"I think you do." She said, no ounce of maliciousness in her voice.

"Unless he didn't do anything wrong." I stated, looking in her eyes and giving her the opportunity to be truthful. If she only admitted that it was my fault and I deserved it, we could both find some peace with the subject. She seemed determined, however.

"Is that what you believe?" she asked, twisting so her head rested on the wall as we talked.

I shrugged noncommittally.

"It would make more sense." I replied at long last. "On one hand we have a girl in a good world being hurt because she is bad, on the other we have a bad world with bad people, hurting an innocent girl for no reason. Which is easier to believe?"

Her lips twisted into a little frown and I felt bad, like I had hurt her. The guilt was going to kill me someday, I swear.

"What if both are wrong?" she asked. Her foot began tapping a relentless pace against the tile like a train picking up steam.

"How so?" I demanded.

"What if the world wasn't good or bad, but was all the shades in between? And what if people weren't good or bad either, but got the choice to be one or the other? What if a man chose bad and a girl chose good, and she got hurt for no reason at all, except for his choice?" she asked. I thought about it, although it felt the weight of the idea might actually give me a concussion.

"I don't know." I answered. "It's still scary." My voice grew quieter with this small statement of truth. She reached over and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Why is it scary?" she asked.

I shook my head. I don't know, I don't know. It was hard to swallow, but at least I stayed rooted in the present.

"Because then..." Charlotte began. "You don't know who to trust ever. If everyone gets to choose good or bad whenever they want, you can never be safe."

I looked up into her eyes with all the vulnerability of a flower petal and nodded.

"I just don't get it." I stated, shaking my head.

She chuckled and I looked up, like I was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. The dark cloud that had been resting over the conversation dissipated as she spoke.

"You're not even 18 yet, Maya. But let me clue you in on something. Nobody gets it." She said.

"Not even you?" I asked childishly. Charlotte Anders was the coolest person I knew, and I wanted to be every bit like her when I grew older. I couldn't think of a better reason why than her humble admittance that she knew absolutely nothing.

"Yep." She confirmed with a grin. "But I'm figuring it out. And I have you and the boys to help me." She pulled her hand away from my shoulder and stood up just as the alarm on my laptop went off.

"Laundry ready?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow up.

I stood and smiled, impressed.

"Wow. You've really got me figured out, Charlotte." I said.

"No, Maya. But I don't need to have you figured out to know that I care about you."

She brushed one final hand down my sleeve, pausing to grab my hand and squeeze it, and then left my room.

I paused for just a moment... then I washed the blue spray from the sides of my shower and got back to work.