She even told me that this was the same room my Mother had grown up in. ?What kind of clothes are these,? she asked me as she opened my suitcase? ...?They’re my clothes,?I snapped at her defensively, slamming my beaten up suitcase shut, narrowly missing catching her frail hand in it. Not sure of what she meant. ?But these are all boy’s clothes,? she explained patiently, lifting the top of the suitcase again, patiently. ?Don’t you have any girl’s clothes?? ?No,? I replied quietly,. She turned. Fuck, the back door was wide open. Maybe the wind had banged the door against the frame… She sighed in relief. She took a step towards the door, reaching out for the knob. The next thing she knew, she felt a blow to her head and everything went black. Some time later, she opened her eyes to a throbbing pain in her skull. Had she gotten drunk and passed out? Was she hung over? She tried to lift her hands to rub her eyes– tried being the key word. Her wrists were tied down. She took. More

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