Deviant Read Online Free PDF Page B

whammy.” They rattled off the next three words in unison: “Measles, Mumps, Rubella.” Abigail laughed. “So, Romania must not be all that different from Scotland.” She pictured a rainy, downtrodden city. She pictured infant Camelia, sobbing as she was administered shots by a stranger. She pictured present-day Camelia, wandering back to a foster home alone, dripping wet, after her tetanus booster.
    “Every place is the same,” Camelia murmured. “But in my world, girls with lips like yours wear gloss!” Concentrating hard, she applied thick goo to Abigail’s lips. No one had ever done this for her before. She had to admit, it felt wonderful. “Go mwah! Like this.”
    Abigail held up the mirror again and made the kissing noise requested.
    Camelia laughed again. “Are you loving yourself?”
    Abigail had to laugh, too. Not the phrase she would have used. But on the plus side, she no longer looked like Abigail Thom, orphan of the No Life Hostel. It was a start.
    “Now, we have to make you ugly and old.” Camelia was gentle as she worked her magic: using mascara, eyeliner, too much (green!) eye shadow, bright pink lipstick, three more coats of foundation, and blush.
    “Now look!”
    Blimey
. Abigail checked herself one last time. She was old and ugly … just like the woman in the photo. She resisted the urge to jump up and hug her roommate.
    It was nearly 6 P.M . Time to get going.
    The hall was empty and all the doors were closed, so no one would see her go.
    Thank God for small favors
.
    That was one of Nieve’s favorite phrases. Abigail paused at the whiteboard in the hall. It was littered with photocopied pages of house rules, health and safety information, helpline numbers, leaflets about leaving care, employment agencies, immunizations, and drug counseling. She found the only clear spot, two inches by two inches, and wrote in tiny writing with the black marker:
I’ve gone to America. Keep safe. Abigail. x
    “Ready?” she said to Camelia.
    Luggage in hand, they hurried through the empty hall and out the door. A taxi was waiting just outside. It was the first bit of good luck they’d had. Thank God for small favors, indeed.
    “I WANT YOU TO take this.” Abigail counted out £20,000 of the money her mother had left her in the backseat. After all, she still had another £25,000 for her sister, if she even existed.
    Camelia didn’t respond. She blinked at the pile of cash several times, then turned her head back to the window. “No. I can’t.”
    “Take it,” Abigail insisted.
    “Why?”
    “I don’t want it. Save your mum’s life. And your own. Use it to be happy and free, whatever that means.”
    Camelia shook her head. Abigail didn’t prod. Finally, Camelia tore her gaze back to the worn leather upholstery and ran her finger along the top bundle of money. Looking up at Abigail, she smiled. “Thank you,” she choked out. She reached to place her hand on Abigail’s hand. “Thank you so—”
    Abigail withdrew on instinct. She couldn’t hug this girl. There was no point. Swallowing, she turned and opened her own window. She stuck her head out as the taxi made its way along the overpass that cut the grey city in half. She felt the Scottish wind on her face—for the last time, she hoped. She sighed at the River Clyde and the new monstrosities that had been built alongside it, designed to rejuvenate, but just adding to the city’s blemishes. Glasgow was just like Billy. Unhealthy, angry, unhappy, scarred with wounds from lip to ear.
    She breathed in the stale air as they hurtled along the motorway, passing nothing notable along the way, lots and lots and lots more of non-notable nothing.
    “Good riddance, Glasgow!” Abigail yelled from her taxi window. “Good riddance, shitehole of the world! Good fucking riddance!”

Abigail had never been inside an airport before. It felt like a hospital, but for happy, healthy people. A holding zone somewhere in between the real world and