Chapter 5
Quinnly
Walking back into the house I push the fridge back in place and head upstairs to shower. Blood and airports don’t seem like a match made in heaven.
Taking a toothbrush to my nails I scrub every inch and make sure nothing’s left behind.
I need to pack and get organized for the plane.
Unfortunately air travel restricts most of the fun things I like to travel with…
so I’ll improvise. Most poisons are undetectable, often mistaken for other liquids, and they’re easy to smuggle, however I prefer my scissors.
The two pairs Paps gave me when I started showing interest in bodily harm are made from carbon fiber, polished to a shiny silver.
The handles were fitted specifically for my hands, left and right, in case I’m feeling spicy.
Naomi always laughs when I bring them out, she says I treat them better than I would a baby.
The thought alone is so abhorrent it sends a shiver down my spine. Baby? No thank you.
Each pair has a leather case made so I can wear them attached to any part of my body. I oil the leather every month to keep it supple and smelling like new. Mostly because they usually have blood on them from when I get… inspired, and Paps would be horrified if I didn’t take pride in my weapons.
“Music.” I snap my fingers at the realization.
That’s what I need.
Patting my back pockets, I pucker my lips after I’ve gone over everywhere on my body and can’t find the stupid block of metal. I can never remember where I put my damn phone. Usually I can have someone call it and presto! Found.
But there’s no one here, Naomi’s gone to work and Paps hated phones so much we don’t even have a landline... So I take matters into my own hands and sing random lines from all the songs filtering through my head.
Loudly.
Pulling clothes off hangers and shoving them into my suitcase is easy, I love clothes and patterns and styles. I’m no fashion icon, but I think I’ve got something going for myself.
Example A; my outfit consists of black cargo pants that bunch around my ankles, a printed tank top that’s got smiley faces with X’s for eyes that hits my stomach right above my belly button, and a crocheted long sleeve top that alternates greens and browns.
It’s one of my favorite tops I’ve ever owned, but alas, I never wear the same thing twice, and will have to part with her at some point. Today however, is not that day.
My sneakers are piled up in the bottom of my closet. Of course I have a shoe rack, I just don’t have the time to actually use it. I know where everything is, despite the usual remarks from Naomi about my room’s constant haphazard state.
Watching Naomi nap after a long shift is always more interesting than television. She’s so exhausted that she talks, and sometimes I’ll answer. She doesn’t know it, or she doesn’t bring it up. Either way, I get to say whatever I want and she gets her rest.
“Stop!” She shouts and jerks upright.
She looks clammy, which means she was either having a night terror or a sexy dream. I go with my first thought, it’s usually the right one, and probably more… appropriate?
“Another nightmare?” I ask, while propping my foot up on the chair to get a better angle. Painting my toes is hard, much harder than it should be. I’m not defined, I don’t have an hourglass shape, and my boobs aren’t porn star worthy. I think that would have been too much power for me to wield.
My body type is more of a square, with minimal curves, a small tummy that gives my organs more cushion, and toned legs that get me where I need to go, and quick. Objectively speaking I’m pretty, and I know I’m a ten.
“As always,” she sighs shifting in the bed, “Were you watching me sleep while you paint your fucking toenails?”
“The TV was boring, and you talk in your sleep.” I shrug off her question. “Besides we know I’m not supposed to wake you from a night terror.” I’ve been accused of uncontrollable facial expressions before, and I know that’s what’s happening with my face right now when she rolls her eyes.
“I need coffee.”
I smile, excited that I’ve already done something for her and she’s only been awake for like two minutes. “Come on grumpy gills, I put on a fresh pot.”
She compliments my outfit, which I changed into before she got home.
I packed away my favorite shirt so I can save it for a special moment.
Now, I’ve decided on a new airport look.
A neon pink poofy skirt, corset top that’s got frills galore in black, and I threw my hair up into two cute space buns.
Eventually I’ll worry about shoes, but for now I’m happy to get in a few last minute words with my sister.
“I’m really going to fucking miss you, Q.” She says, looking at me with her bright green eyes, which she promptly rolls at my big cheesy grin.
“I’ll miss having you around Mi, but we’ll both be busy on our own adventures,” I wink, earning a smile from her.
“That we will.”