Benevolence [H.S.]

Chapter Three

Green. Green everywhere. Wetness on my feet, cold. They've been underwater so long that I could probably peel the skin back like a stocking if I tried. I adjust the strap that's dug blistered trenches along my shoulder. The sweat never stops. It's in my eyes, rolling down my arms and back. No refuge save the shade of swaying palms overhead and the absolute, maddening quiet. This vacuous silence of hunter becoming the hunted. Here, not even the biting flies make a buzz as they swirl behind my ears, sucking at the salt left behind. I can't find him. I'll never find him. I know these are my final moments, and I know It's just going to be me, the mosquitos and whatever device blows us all to bits. I know I can't hide forever, yet I'm neither brave enough to move nor brave enough to stay. I hear panting...something snaps. The panting is getting closer. If I scream, will he have enough time to run? If I scream will he even hear me?

"Good golly miss Molly! Sure had a ball!"

Little Richard's voice jolts me from sleep so abruptly that my first thought is I've been shot. Gasping for air I clutch at my chest, and when my hands feel the damp fabric of my nightgown I'm nearly sick before I realize it's not blood I'm soaked with. Just sweat. Palm against my racing heart, I take a shaky breath, count to five and repeat. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Just another bad dream, no guns, no wrinkly, wet feet, only an arid taste in my mouth assuring me the panting I'd heard was only my own. The ache in my head, however, reminds me that I can also thank last night's escapades for the dry, sour film on my tongue.

Hitting snooze, I lie back down, pausing Miss Molly and all her of praises. The first glint of sunrise ekes through the sheer curtains just enough to reach across the ceiling and over my bed. Slowly, I feel my pulse begin to slow and am now aware enough to feel just how soaked my sheets have become. While I'd love to sleep for another hour, the thought of walking all the way downstairs to just to get fresh bedding and change the sheets is just as unappealing as lying here in the cold damp. And since I apparently fell asleep in my clothes, I doubt I'm smelling particularly well enough to hire, either. Today was supposed to begin crisp and clean, with a fresh pot of coffee and hearty breakfast. What a fool I was to imagine I'd wake up capable of forming complete sentences.

As dramatically as I can, I heave myself to the corner, flinging my legs over the side of the bed. Mother always told me I should be an actress with the way I throw my groans and sighs around like confetti. Honestly, I just like to think I'm the star of my own drawn out, ever-evolving novel. I suppose this scene, then would constitute as background fluff. As the bed creaks below, it sends images of my stumbling up the stairs flashing through my mind like some alcohol-sodden rolodex. As I grab my robe from the wall hook and open the door, I can hear the muffled voices of Joey's TV show pinging back and forth through the living room. Gentle ticks and clangs of mama's cooking drift slowly up the stairs on currents of bacon grease and butter. The scent makes my belly churn in warning and pushes me just a bit quicker toward the bathroom.

Oh thank god. The Aspirin is already on the counter and I gulp them quickly with a palmful of water from the tap. Mama must have anticipated this, which I'm slightly annoyed by yet thankful for. The warm pleasures of whiskey might feel great once the sun goes down, but that's pretty much negated by cloying taste of morning. I challenge anyone who disagrees with this to try brushing their teeth without gagging the next day. (I'll save you the trouble, it's not possible).

It feels like ages for the tub to fill as I stand there half naked, trying to decide if I have to pee now or can wait until after. Though literally every other experience would argue otherwise, I decide I can wait. I slowly lower myself in and groan with relief as the hot water laps over my neck and shoulders. Fuck that feels good. I let my arms float, totally relaxed as the steam shapeshifts in swirling patterns over my breasts. I watch in bored curiosity as one nipple puckers and the other stays flat. Huh.