Chapter 2: The Bare Rules (Part 1)

Chapter 2: The Bare Rules

The rumble woke her.

Chloe's eyes opened to gray morning light and the sound of something heavy moving down the street. For a second she didn't know where she was. Then she felt the comforter against her bare skin---her shoulders, her back, the curve of her butt---and everything came rushing back.

The garbage truck.

She threw off the blanket and scrambled to the window. Cold air hit her naked body and she gasped---her nipples tightened instantly, hard and aching, and goosebumps erupted across her chest and arms and thighs. She pressed her palms against the cold glass and looked down.

The truck was two houses away. The mechanical arm reached out, grabbed Mrs. Patterson's bin, lifted it, tipped it. Bags tumbled into the truck's maw. The arm set the bin down and the truck rumbled forward.

Next house. Then ours.

She watched it happen. The neighbor's bin. Lift, tip, return. The truck rolled forward until it stopped right in front of her house, right at the curb, right at the green bin where her entire wardrobe was sitting in the dark.

The arm reached out. Grabbed the bin. Lifted it.

No. No no no---

The bin tipped. She couldn't see inside from this angle, but she could imagine it---her jeans, her sweaters, her underwear, her socks, all of it sliding out, falling into the truck with everyone else's garbage. The arm set the bin back down. The truck rumbled away.

Gone. They're gone. Everything is gone.

She stood at the window for a long time, her hands pressed against the cold glass, her breath fogging the pane. The street was quiet again. The sun was just starting to peek over the rooftops, painting everything in pale gold. A bird was singing somewhere. It was a beautiful Saturday morning.

I don't own a single piece of clothing. Not even a sock.

She turned away from the window and looked at her room. The empty closet, hangers still swinging slightly. The dresser drawers still hanging open, bare and hollow. The purple comforter on the bed---the only thing she could wrap around herself. She grabbed it and pulled it tight around her shoulders, clutching it to her chest.

Okay. Okay. I have to go to the bathroom. I have to leave this room. I can do this. Just go fast.

She peeked into the hallway. Empty. Silent. Her parents' door was closed. Ethan's door was closed, his "KEEP OUT" sign still taped to it.

She dropped the comforter on her bed and stepped into the hallway. The carpet was soft under her bare feet. She cupped her left hand firmly over her right breast, pressing her nipple flat against her palm, and trying to cover her left nipple with her arm. She wedged her right hand between her thighs, fingers covering her vulva, the heel of her hand pressed against her pubic hair. The dark hair peeked above her hand, but her nipples and labia were shielded. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Ten feet. Just ten feet.

She walked quickly, her bare feet silent on the carpet, her hands clamped in place. She was almost at the bathroom door when Ethan's door swung open.

He stepped out, still in his pajamas---an old t-shirt and flannel pants---rubbing his eyes. His hair was a mess. He yawned, blinked, and then saw her.

His eyes went wide. His mouth opened.

"Chloe? What the---"

"Don't!" She pressed herself against the wall, her hands still clamped over herself---one cupping her breasts, the other wedged between her legs. Her face was burning. "Don't look at me!"

"Why are you naked?" He was staring. His eyes dropped to her chest, to the hand cupped there, to the soft flesh that bulged around her fingers. Then lower, to the hand between her legs, to the dark hair visible above her hand. "Why are you---"

"Just---just go back in your room!" Her voice came out high and panicked. "Please, Ethan, just---"

"Mom!" Ethan yelled, not taking his eyes off her. "Mom! Chloe's naked in the hallway!"

Chloe didn't wait. She lunged for the bathroom door, yanked it open, slammed it shut behind her, and locked it. The click of the lock was the most beautiful sound in the world.

She stood there, shaking, her back pressed against the door, her hands still clamped over herself. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.

He saw me. He saw everything. My own brother saw my---

From somewhere downstairs, Victoria's voice floated up, calm and measured: "We'll discuss it at breakfast, Ethan. Leave your sister alone."

Breakfast. I have to go to breakfast. With Ethan. With everyone.

She used the toilet, washed her hands, splashed cold water on her face. Her reflection in the mirror was a mess---puffy eyes, tangled hair, skin pale. She cupped her breasts with both hands, covering herself, and stared at the girl in the mirror.

This is my life now.