Anya Gibson
When I entered the room it was ten times worse than I could imagine. She was pretty, thin, had a visible separation of her ankles from her calves, one chin, two separate eyebrows and normal sized arms. She had a pixie haircut, spiking out in all directions, it was black at the roots and purple at the ends. Her nose and eyebrows had one metal stud in both and her ears had about five on each. Her eyes were surrounded by a thick layer of eyeliner. She had on a tight tee shirt and skinny jeans.
She must be new here too, I thought. Even after almost two months of being pregnant I was barely showing, I just looked like I was bloated all the time.
She was sitting on her bed reading. When I came in her head perked up, like a prairie dog in the wild reacting to a sound in the distance. Once her eyes rested on me, she rolled them and sighed.
“Be nice, Anya,” the woman beside me said.
“When I said I wanted a new roommate I guess I should have specified,” Anya grumbled.
“Maybe you should have, but for now you’re rooming with Isabelle,” the woman said. The woman dropped my suitcases on the vacant bed and left.
“Can you please turn down that music?” I asked.
“No, I like it this loud,” she said with an aggravated tone.
“Well I’d like to be able to hear when I’m thirty,” I retorted walking towards the stereo and turning off the music.
“Hey!” she exclaimed, jumping off her bed. “Okay let’s get this straight, I was here before you, so I have music privileges. I also get to say when we turn off the lights at night, and I am not going to be your alarm clock in the morning.”
“Okay fine, then let’s get this straight. I don’t like loud annoying music where you can’t understand any of the words, so unless you have something we can agree on, there will be no music. You are welcome to listen to it with headphones but not out loud,” I said. Her face turned into an annoyed grimace then she sat back down on her bed.
I smiled in victory and started unpacking my stuff. The room had two twin sized beds- Anya’s was covered in a black tapestry with a white hand making the ‘rock on’ sign and mine was bare- two dressers, and a bookcase. On the bookcase Anya had a large collection of books, CDs and the infamous stereo that started this all. The walls were bleach white, along with the floor and ceiling. The furniture was a pale yellow wood, matching the wood in the front office, and on the wall there was a small clock.
As I was putting away all my clothes I noticed Anya watching me.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked, mid stride. I had a cashmere sweater in one hand and a clothes hanger in the other.
“Your clothes are ridiculous,” she said.
“How are they ridiculous?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious; I had spent a lot of time looking for these clothes and spent a lot of money on them.
“I bet you just bought them because they have a designer label, you know I’ve seen that sweater at a thrift store for like ten bucks.”
“Well I wouldn’t want to wear something someone else has, and gave away because they didn’t like it,” I explained.
“You’re pathetic,” she said. Then she lay down and continued reading her book.
I went back into the normal rhythm of hanging up my clothes. I had finished and was moving onto my hair and beauty supplies when she interrupted me again.
“What did you say your name is again?” she asked without looking up from her book.
“Why do you care?” I retorted.
“Well when my friend comes to visit me I want to be able to make fun of you knowing your name.”
“Is that supposed to motivate me?”
“Just tell me your damn name!” she said, obviously aggravated.
“It’s Isabelle Bailey,” I said with an exasperated sigh
“Bailey? As in Governor Bailey?”
“Yes,” I sighed with an eye roll.
“Ugh, I hate that guy! He’s such an ass,” she said without thinking, then a shocked look came to her face, and her head shot up, “I’m so sorry, he’s your dad right?”
“Don’t worry the feeling about him is mutual,” I said with a wry laugh. She looked relieved and fixed her gaze on her book again.
“Oh, okay. We’ll I’m Anya Gibson. My father is no one spectacular.”
I didn’t respond. I started arranging my mascaras, lipsticks, foundations, and eyeliners on a shelf in my dresser. Then I leaned my small mirror against the back of the shelf and I was unpacked.
“In the bottom drawer you’ll find a set of sheets, a pillow and a quilt for your bed. When someone comes to visit you, you can ask them to bring a blanket that you like,” Anya said, still not looking up from her book.
“Thanks,” I quietly said. I put the sheets quilt on my bed then flopped down on it. I closed my eyes, trying to think about happy things, but Carl’s face flashed in front of my eyes. I heard Anya shift on her bead.
“So, what’s your story?” she asked. I looked to her, she was propped up on her elbow and her book was finally closed.
“What do you mean?”
“Who got you pregnant? Was it you’re charming boyfriend? Or one of your daddy’s rich friends?” she sarcastically asked.
“No one did,” I stupidly replied.
“Okay, I know there are Catholic services here, but I don’t believe in the Immaculate Conception, so who donated their man juice to you?”
“That is my own business,” I snapped.
“Okay first of all, no matter how hard you try and hide it everyone’s going to find out. I’ve only been here for a month and I know everyone’s story. It’s kind of like our own little orientation process.”
“Who says I want to be oriented?” I asked, trying to provide a solid argument.
“Have you ever even used a dictionary before?” she asked.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ll tell you my story,” she offered, ignoring my question with a simple eye roll. She went into hers without me accepting “It was about one and a half months ago, with my boyfriend, Brent. Totally consensual, you know? Only he couldn’t find a condom, but you know when you want it you want it, so we did it and uh-oh I guess he’s more of a man than we thought,” she said.
“You seem fine with it,” I said.
“Well, I’m just glad it wasn’t with some douche bag, you know? If I was carrying an asshole’s baby I would probably get an abortion,” she said.
“It’s not as easy as it sounds,” I laughed without humor.
“Oh, so you’re having an asshole’s baby. Come on tell me your story, that’s the first thing all the girls here do,” she pleaded.
“Fine, but you can’t reveal this to anyone,” I said. She reached over the small space between our beds and extended a pinky. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“You look like the type of girl who still pinky promises, sorry,” she said, still holding out her finger.
I intertwined mine and took a deep breath. “Okay his name’s Carl, I was raped.” My throat burned when I said the word. I conveniently left out the cousin part.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she asked, a satisfied grin on her face.
“No,” I snapped. She aggravated me; she was so arrogant and just annoying as hell.
“Okay, okay, no need to get snippy,” she mumbled. She moved her position so she was on her back again and she continued reading. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers into my sockets, watching the colors form. I ignored the pain as I watched a string of lime green dance. Carl’s face didn’t appear again.
I sighed when the pain became too much and opened my eyes, waiting for my vision to become clear. I decided to review the map and schedule so I could memorize it. There was no need for me to look like a dork with the papers in front of my face all the time.
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Thanks for reading!
~Dommy
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