Chapter 36 Before #2
I draw the water. Even lukewarm, it’s luxurious, and I let it dislodge the evidence of the pit. The dirt, the dust, the dried--up fluids of my own body. It should disgust me, but I watch it all swirl down the drain with triumph. Call it my chrysalis. I’m spreading my shoulders. I’m breaking free.
I comb my fingers with my hair and then a brush from the side of the sink. It takes me a long time and several rounds of shampoo and conditioner before I can run the brush through without catching. I clean every crevice of my body and let the cooling water run over my face with my eyes wide open.
Only when the water is ice--cold do I shut it off and step out.
The startled animal in the mirror who blinks back at me wouldn’t frighten anyone now, but she doesn’t look tame.
I open the medicine cabinet. I luck out: there’s a toothbrush still in the package and half a tube of toothpaste.
I brush gingerly. It makes my gums bleed profusely, but my teeth feel clean for the first time in god knows how long.
There. Most of the way back to human—-and still I hardly recognize myself.
Wet, my hair is too dark to show more than a slight reddish tone, and my new skin--and--bones look has completely transformed my face.
My nose looks different, too. I think it must have been broken and I didn’t realize it.
If even I don’t recognize myself, would anyone else?
I lean in close. I think I can still see myself somewhere around the eyes. She looks afraid.
There’s a knock on the door. A towel wrapped around me, I open it, expecting the sister—-but it’s Liam, who blushes when he sees me as if he’s fifteen and not a fully grown man, a TV star who’s certainly seen plenty of girls naked.
“I brought you the clothes,” he says. I wonder what happened to let him snag that responsibility from Emily.
“Great,” I say. I take them from him unceremoniously and vanish back inside the room.
The clothes are not what I would have chosen.
A cute peasant blouse in pastel blue and a pair of jeans with a heart sewn on the back pocket.
The panties are plain cotton and pink. But they’re clean, and that’s absolute luxury right now.
I dress in them, my feral self vanishing a few degrees more, and step out of the bathroom.
Liam is waiting, head low and a hand rubbing the back of his neck. When I exit, he looks up and smiles.
“That’s better,” he says, with a hint of a question.
“Much.” My smile is genuine, if perhaps a bit too wide for polite company.
Emily appears at the end of the hall. She keeps one arm close by her side, the other hand gripping it tight. Her pose is compressed, intended to make her small, but her eyes are wide and watching. “I’m glad they fit,” she says. “You’re a bit taller than me.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then she clears her throat.
“My room’s all made up. Down here.” She points past me, and I awkwardly lead the way to the door she indicates. There’s a keyed lock on the door. I frown a little. I wouldn’t have expected a man like their father to allow his children that kind of privacy.
The room is small. There’s a twin bed with a metal frame against one wall, covered in old handmade quilts. A tiny desk is crammed into the corner next to the dresser. The closet is open, and seems to have been hastily emptied except for a few hangers and a laundry hamper.
Paintings and drawings hang on the walls. Landscapes, a twirling ballerina shown from behind, still life studies. “Yours?” I ask, turning in a slow circle to appreciate them.
Emily hums an affirmative. “She’s in art school,” Liam supplies. “She’s really good.”
“I used to want to be an artist,” I say distantly. It feels like another lifetime. I suppose it is. “But then, I wanted to be everything. I guess what I really wanted was to be the best at something.”
Emily leans against the doorway, arms crossed. “That’s the thing about art school. You think you’re good and then you get there and realize there are a dozen kids who are way more talented. It’s kind of awful, actually.”
“Really?”
She shrugs. “I’m thinking of dropping out.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” Liam says, taken aback.
“We don’t exactly talk much anymore, Liam,” she says, her voice quiet and angry.
“You shouldn’t,” I say. She blinks at me. I’ve surprised myself by speaking, but I keep going. “Don’t let them chase you off. Fuck them. Get better and rub it in their faces.”
Emily regards me. There’s something about her quiet, her watchfulness, that leaves me feeling like I’ve put a foot wrong.
“I’ll think about it.” She straightens up and tugs her brother’s sleeve.
“Come on. She should rest and we should figure out what the hell we’re going to tell Andrew and Melinda. ”
“I’ll be back soon,” Liam promises. They back out. Emily closes the door, reaching into her pocket as she does, and I realize a moment too late.
A key slides into the lock and turns. And I see what I missed before: There is no locking mechanism on the inside of the door. It only locks from the outside.
I’m trapped in here.
And so, I realize, was Emily.