If she’d thought she was cold before, she was now teeth-chatteringly freezing. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” she muttered softly to herself.
Luckily, a large plush towel was already provided. She grabbed it up, drying herself less thoroughly than usual in her attempt to get it wrapped around her as soon as possible.
A little later, dressed in warm wool socks, sweatpants, a T-shirt, and an old comfy sweatshirt she’d had since college, hair still wet because Bonnie insisted her hairdryer wouldn’t work here, she made her way down to the kitchen.
The problem was, regular Penelope would have explored things yesterday. She would have figured out how to have a warm shower, because it must be possible, or she really wasn’t going to last ten weeks. She would have explored the kitchen already, having discovered if they had coffee and how to makeit. She would have familiarized herself with the house instead of trying to figure it out the next morning while hungover.
“But no, Bonnie said let’s go out,” she grumbled to herself. “Bonnie said, let’s have a drink. And I was stupid enough to listen.”
The mention of Bonnie’s name caused her to look towards the ceiling and redouble her efforts towards adapting.
“I can do this,” she forced a cheerful tone through gritted teeth. “I just need coffee.”
As luck would have it, she spotted a very American-looking coffee maker sticking out amongst some of the other unfamiliar items on the counter. “Thank God,” she muttered with a breath of relief. Now, she just needed to find the coffee to go with it.
After a brief scrounge about, she not only found coffee in the cupboard but also other items someone must have stocked for them: crackers, chips, and bread. Even more delightful was the fridge filled with milk, cream, cheese, butter, and many other things she would have to explore more thoroughly later.
Once the coffee was gurgling away, and she’d taken another cold glass of water up to the still-unconscious Bonnie, drinking one herself as well, she felt much better about the day ahead. She pulled out her journal and one of the books she’d brought, reminding herself to explore the bookshelves in the library later. Then, she made herself some toast as it was the only readily available food she could find that sounded good to her unsettled stomach. Lastly, with a contented sigh, Penelope poured herself a mug of coffee, happily adding cream. She set herself up in the sunroom, which was anything but sunny, as the rain still gently pattered against the glass panes.
She’d managed to find some blankets in a chest next to the couch and made herself a nest of comfort, content to stay there for the day if allowed. As much as her head was still sore and her stomach only slightly better, she couldn’t deny that part of herwas loving this. The house was amazing. Curled up in a blanket with coffee beside her and a rainy day that seemed to insist she stay put felt heavenly.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself, “hold onto this.”
Picking up her journal, she opened it to the next blank page. But instead of reaching for her favorite mechanical pencil, she hesitated, finding herself flipping back, slowly making her way to the beginning.
She cringed as she looked over the sloppy writing of the tear-stained pages, telling herself she was no longer the person who had written them. Carson no longer had a hold on her. She would never let him hurt her again. Still, her fingers caressed the words gently, as if she could comfort that past self. She allowed herself to remember the pain without being pulled under by it.
Her therapist had advised writing it all down. But she never said she had to reread it. And she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to be that hurt girl anymore, didn’t want the cacophony of emotions that came with it: guilt, anger, shame, heartbreak, and depression. Yet she knew they weren’t completely gone. They might stay hidden, somewhere on the periphery, but it would be a lie to say she’d completely moved past it. She probably should have continued to see the therapist, but her parents were starting to ask questions about where she went every Wednesday. Their tones implied thoughts of a boyfriend, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. She thought she’d gotten enough help by then, that she’d be okay. If she was honest with herself, she knew she just didn’t want to think about it anymore.
It had been awful, packing up all her things in a rush, leaving before the graduation ceremony. She’d made up some stupid excuse to her parents and another one for Bonnie, relieved that they’d never compared notes on it. But she’d had to leave, had toget away. She never wanted to see those gray eyes staring down at her with derision and condescension again.
She shivered with revulsion as she remembered the feel of his touch, the way he had grabbed her.
Slamming the journal shut, she dropped it next to her, reaching for the book instead. If she was going to stay ahead of the panic, that wasn’t going to help. Everything was new and different here, but it didn’t have to be scary. Just because she had failed at making her way in the world once didn’t mean she would always fail. What she needed was something to get lost in, a world to get lost in and shut out everything else.
Every hour or so, she’d get up to check on Bonnie, who would sometimes move a little or groan. She drank the water left for her but refused further communication.
That didn’t worry Penny so much. This finally seemed like more appropriate behavior, considering what she’d lost. She’d seen drunk Bonnie before, and it generally included strong emotions. Although she’d never seen her throw a drink at anyone.
Stopping to think about it, there was a definite difference in her friend that she didn’t think had anything to do with their time apart. There was a freeness to her walk and the way she spoke—possibly a hint of an accent as well. Bonnie was always outgoing, but in comparison to the person she was seeing, Penelope realized she was also someone who was very much in control, knowing how to present herself and how her expression could affect those around her. Here, she seemed to be letting go of that, relaxing a little.
Or maybe she was reading too much into things. It was only day one, after all. Even so, she knew it was something she’d be watching for.
The day slipped away, gradually becoming duller in the sunroom as the rain continued to fall. Penelope looked up from the illuminated pages in front of her to find a darkened room beyond her lamplit area. She pulled herself from her cocooned state to wander back into the kitchen. Coffee was no longer an option. She could only handle three cups before she started getting shaky, and she’d had four. While the bread had made excellent toast, four pieces of it were not exactly filling. Her stomach growled, reminding her that the soup the day before was the only real meal she’d had.
Again, she looked towards the ceiling, for the first time that day with impatience.
Penelope was still scanning the shelves in the kitchen, trying to decide on something to eat, when she heard a knock. Her hand still holding a cupboard door, she froze. Was she supposed to answer it? It wasn’t exactly her house. Then again, for the next ten weeks, it kind of was. Who could possibly be knocking, she wondered. Looking down at herself, she took note of the clothes she was wearing. Her fingers travelled to her hair, which she still hadn’t managed to brush. She was in no way prepared for a visitor. She decided if she just stayed still, they’d probably go away.
The next knock was louder.
She knew she was being childish, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer it. It obviously wasn’t anyone she knew. And if it was someone Bonnie knew, wouldn’t it be better if they came back another time anyway?
To her horror, the next sound she heard was a key in the lock. Feeling it was worse to be caught ignoring the knock rather than being slow to answer, she forced her body into action, finally leaving the kitchen and coming into view of the door as it pushed open.
“Who the hell?” She heard from the top of the stairs.
Penny’s eyes skipped up to see a very disheveled Bonnie.
