Impish

CHAPTER 11: NEON STARS

I take stock of myself in the mirror as I undress. I'm not used to the way I look. I feel self-loathing and vain.

Here, in the mirror, is my face. It's still red from all my rage. It still bears ghost-like traces of tear tracks; my skin is still pink from the bullshit that is happening to me. Here is my body, dressed and undressed. My shoulders slope and slump like the world is weighing on them, but my chin is level and my back ramrod-straight. I don't know what to make of the sum of my parts or the way I am composed. Someone slapped me together, called it good, and shipped me off to existence. All the contradictions paint the portrait of an unsure, unsteady girl who has no idea what she's doing.

And, sure, I like myself. How could I not? My body resembles my grandmother's. I have a sturdy Southern quality to me. Most of the time, I adore myself. I just don't adore myself right now.

You can be ugly in more ways than one. You can be ugly when your skin turns a shade it shouldn't and your nose starts to peel and your body, undressed and prickling in the air conditioning, starts to turn against you. Perhaps I should destroy myself. Perhaps I should let myself drown in sorrow. Perhaps, perhaps.

Or I could stop being a baby and just get into the shower.

The water is cold on my body because someone used all the hot water. Sure, it's cooling me down, but at what cost? How am I supposed to wallow in shame and lick my wounds if the water I'm standing under is unbearable? I shiver.

Maybe Roux is right. Maybe Doug is, too. I do need to be responsible. I do need to stop all this. Maybe I can't help things go back to normal. Maybe I can't go back to who I used to be.

But I want to. More than anything, I want to be who I was. I want to bridge the gap between Roux and I. I'm just not sure how.

Someone knocks on the door to the bathroom. Doug immediately starts speaking through the wood. "Mikey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you. We're the same, you know? I'm sorry."

I switch off the water. It's a lackluster apology, but I don't feel like dragging this out more than it already has been. I'm willing to accept and reciprocate it. I wrap one of the giant beach-sized towels from the shelf above the toilet next to the bathtub around my body. Without drying myself off, I pop open the door just a smidge. Through the crack, I say, "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have taken my... emotions about everything happening out on you... Dad."

The word is still foreign in my mouth. He doesn't seem to notice, though. Doug smiles with his shark-like teeth. "Hey, don't worry about it. You should probably apologize to Roux, though. We both should. They seemed pissed."

"Yeah, I guess they did," I sigh. I make up my mind then and there. I'm getting out of this room. I close the door, dress quickly without drying off, take my keys from the top of the dresser, and go.

My plan isn't to find Roux. I don't think they want to see me. I'm going to hold my keys in my hand, with my fist wrapped around the yellow container of mace on my keychain. I'm going to lurk in the park behind the hotel.

I'm not going to stay here. These walls, this bland decor, the fact that it looks like every other hotel I have ever been in with the exception of the clown one is... It's too much. I want out, even if just for a little bit.

When I stand in the elevator, rehearsing an apology; it rests on my lips as I walk out of the lobby. In the back of my mind, I think that I'm going to see Roux on my way down and out of the hotel. Realistically, I know that isn't going to happen, but it doesn't stop me from looking for them everywhere I go. On my way down, I spy at the gated pool. I want to go in, but know that it's locked. Now isn't the time to go swimming anyway, let alone to go near it.