Willing (The Un 1)

Either she allowed me to move in or she could find a place on her own.

With no job, and relying completely on her father’s money, naturally Charity agreed.

And she’s resented me ever since.

Lord knows, I’ve had worse roommates in the past, and worse living conditions, given how often I’ve been forced to move around.

But her constant animosity is really starting to wear me thin.

Holding the shirts out to her, I say as neutrally as possible, “I can’t wear these.”

Charity immediately scoffs and looks offended. “What? Why? Are my shirts not good enough for you now?”

Just like the innocent look she gave me a moment ago, the offense is obviously phony and overexaggerated.

She’ll never win an Oscar for best actress, but I’m tempted to award her a slap for her effort.

“It’s not that,” I grit out instead, clenching my jaw in irritation. “I’m working in the church today and these shirts are far from appropriate.”

Charity looks at the shirts I’m holding out in front of her face before she lets out a loud sigh and looks away.

Picking up her spoon, she says dismissively, “Sorry, that sucks. Those are the only two I have.”

I let my arm drop. “What happened to all the others?”

Charity takes a bite of her cereal and chews obnoxiously loud for a minute before she smiles. “I threw them in the wash.”

“What?” I gasp.

Charity takes yet another bite of her cereal, chews, and says cheerfully, “They’re in the wash.”

I shake my head in disbelief, wondering what I ever did to her to make her stoop so low.

“You know, you could always flip the shirts inside out,” she says between chews, as if she’s trying to be helpful.

I could do that… but both of the t-shirts happen to be white and made of a thin synthetic material. They’re not even cotton, and anyone who looks hard enough could probably figure out what they say.

She’s thoroughly set me up.

I can’t wear these shirts and I can’t wear a shirt that’s been washed. What I wear has to smell like someone else, otherwise I’d wear my own clothing.

“Or, if you don’t want to do that, you could stay home,” she adds, knowing full well that’s the last thing I want to do.

Evil witch.

I only get to leave the townhouse two days a week. Two.

I can leave one day to shop for the things I need, and I can leave one day to attend Mass.

Otherwise, I spend every other day trapped inside for my own protection.

Staring hard at her as she does her best to pretend like I’m something insignificant that doesn’t deserve her attention, I say, “Or I could wear the shirt you’re wearing.”

Having just taken another bite of her fruity cereal, Charity nearly chokes.

Coughing, she slams her spoon down and shakes her head.

“No way,” she wheezes.

“Why not?” I ask, throwing her own phony innocence right back at her. “These two are inappropriate, and all the others are in the wash…”

“Because this is Chanel!” she screeches before coughing up a storm.

Treating her the same way she treated me, I show no concern for her as she coughs and coughs.

Ignoring her flushed face and the tears streaming down her cheeks, I say, “So? It’s not like I’m not going to give it back as soon as I get home.”

Shaking her head again, Charity throws her arm out and nearly knocks over her glass of orange juice in her haste to pick it up.

She takes a few gulps to get her coughing under control then gives me a nasty glare. “Because you ruin everything.”

I open my mouth, intending to promise not to ruin her precious Chanel shirt, but then the true meaning of her words hit me.

Feeling a pang of guilt, I press my lips together, and consider dropping the whole thing.

I could stay home and stare at my walls, watching the paint peel for the umpteenth time.

But if I give in now, she’ll just keep doing this.

“Okay,” I say, and let out a long sigh.

Charity must take my sigh as me giving up because her eyes gleam with victory and her shoulders start to relax.

“I can’t wear the shirt you’re wearing, and the others are in the wash…” I purposely draw out, watching her nod head sharply in agreement.

Then I smile. “I guess I’ll just have to give Father McCall a call and let him know why I won’t be at Mass today.”

“What?” Charity asks as I turn away from her.

“I’m sure he’ll understand when I explain the entire situation. No doubt he wouldn’t want me to show up in the inappropriate shirts, either.”

Charity makes a scoffing sound.

I glance over my shoulder. “Though he’ll probably wonder why you don’t have enough clothes for me to wear. Maybe he’ll reach out to your father and ask him to provide you an adequate wardrobe.”

Charity sucks in a shrill gasp as I start to walk away from her.