Page 61 of Trailer Park Princess

ELLIE

I'm fine. Just need to be closer to home right now.

HEATHER

Okayyy. But seriously, text me if you need anything. And if Josh asks about you again, I guess I'm telling him you joined a convent.

Despite everything, I smile.

ELLIE

Make it a nunnery. WAY more dramatic.

I pocket the phone and grab my duffel bag from the trunk. It’s all I need tonight, but I didn’t bring much more.

Three hours to pack up a life, and I only needed one. Turns out you don't accumulate much shit when you're too busy surviving to actually live. Clothes, toiletries, my laptop, and the wooden bird Tank carved me that I've kept hidden in my desk drawer for four years.

The bracelet Kade made is in my jewelry bag because I'm not going to let him know I wear it more often than not, even though I get shit for it being 'tacky'. I might have signed my body over to them, but I'd like to keep my pride.

The collar sits against my throat as I walk up the porch steps and I resist the urge to touch it. To make sure it's real. That this is all actually happening and not some fucked-up stress dream brought on by too many pills and not enough sleep.

The front door's already unlocked.

They're expecting me.

I step inside and the first thing that hits me is the smell. It's… a clean smell. Wood polish and maybe even fresh paint.

What was I expecting? That homey, warm scent of mildew and weed like the RV? Dollar store vanilla candles sweetening the cigarette smoke?

The entryway opens into a living room that's surprisingly not decorated like a bachelor pad. There's actual furniture. A newer leather couch with throws on the back, chairs that match, a coffee table without cigarette burns. The walls are painted a soft gray, and there's art hanging that isn't ripped from magazines or spray-painted onto stolen signs.

The normalcy is almost more disturbing than if it were a torture dungeon like I've been half expecting. And considering the throne room, that wasn't an unfair assumption at all.

"Hello?" My voice echoes in the space.

No answer.

I wander deeper into the house, duffel bag still clutched in my hand like a security blanket. The kitchen is outfitted with stainless steel and granite countertops, the kind of space Mom used to fantasize about when we were heating ramen on a hot plate. There's a dining room with an oak table that looks homemade.

The stairs creak under my feet as I climb to the second floor. More doors, more rooms, each one a little piece of the life they built while I was gone. I peek into one that's clearly Tank's based on the reinforced California king bed and the set of massiveweights in the corner. Another must be Kade's, decorated in dark colors and minimally furnished.

Then I find it.

A room painted pink.

Not the soft, tasteful salmon that decorators use. Not the subtle rose gold I streak through my hair.Thispink is soft and pastel. The exact shade of pink I used to paint everything when we were kids.

Myfavoritepink.

My feet carry me inside before my brain can even process what I'm seeing. There's a queen bed covered in white linens that look soft as clouds. A desk by the window. A solid white dresser with clawed feet, the kind I'd always wanted, not busted particle board slats.

The walls are decorated with...fuck.

Polaroids. Dozens of them hanging in rows from string lights. Pictures of us from before.

Me and Jinx making faces at the camera, sticking our tongues out and middle fingers up.

Tank carrying me on his shoulders, his eyes crinkling with a smile even though he hated having his picture taken unless I was in it.