Teeth

Decorate- Part 2

“I’m nothing like her.”

It’s something I tell myself every day anyway, and I give it the conviction I can. The conviction that comes with a little whisper of doubt. I tell myself that all the time, but she’s right. I’ve never fully stopped checking myself. Looking for something that suggests there’s anything of her in me. Not just the apologies and the ready-to-run apartment decor, but the meaner parts. I always tell people I don’t want kids because I’m just not the type, but really I’m scared I’ll watch myself unleash the kind of damage on a child that she did.

“But it’s still hard.” She adds, and it’s not a question.

“It’s still hard.” I agree.

She stands up smoothly, it’s a similar sort of smooth motion that I saw when Carolyn walked down the steps at my apartment, but more like all of her. She doesn’t look like she’s actually making an effort to stand, it’ more as though the earth just happens to conveniently move around her in a way that results in her being upright. It’s a little disconcerting, and it makes my brain try and fill in the sensation of going briefly weightless, like maybe the world really did drop under us.

“I’m more or less done here. You should take the shower. I’ll have a glass for both you and Carolyn waiting when you come out. And your coat.” She smiles a little, and the light play on the glitter lipstick is as bright as movie blood. “You’ll be ready for the dance floor by the time we head out.”

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Having missed my shower this morning, I’m more or less alright with a chance to get cleaned up at last.  If only because I think I know what it’s a glass of that I have to look forward to.

I look forward to some hot water and getting my coat back to that. I’m not sure how Caroyln does it with any kind of regularity because like a lot of things, it doesn’t really mesh with the sexy undead marketing.

In spite of having fallen asleep reading, I’m pleased to learn that there’s other spare rooms free, and use one of those. It’s pretty much everything I’d have expected from the rest of Elsie’s house. Bright, open, surprisingly modern and extremely well appointed. There’s also a slightly unnerving number of nude photos of all flavors, and the only place that seems to be free of them is the bathroom itself.

If you can discount the part where I’m here because things have been trying to kill me repeatedly, the bathroom alone is a dream. Imagine perfect water pressure and, as far as I could tell, endless, uninterrupted hot water.

Seriously I could move in to this shower.

My heel still hurts, and the bandage is soggy and pink quickly, but that particular magic of a good hot shower still does wonders. It’s a temporary sanctuary,  it works until the hot water and steam are more stifling than wonderful, but while it lasts… while it lasts it’s perfect.

I limp my way out of the shower, enjoying the towels instead, and find my backpack and coat on the bed, and at long last, my shoes tucked on the floor nearby. Everything looks spotless, and I don’t envy whoever had that job.

But it’s back. Finally my damn coat is back. I grab it up with one hand and burry my face in it, though it’s hard to imagine my father’s smell over the residual smell of what i assume was dry cleaning. I hope they tipped.

Still, it feels the same, and the chemical smell will go away, and it’ll be fine.

“Glad to have you back, dad.”  I sigh, quietly, and drop it back on the bed to get dressed. It’s not flashy like Lily’s clothing, but the change still feels good, even when a knock on the door makes me jump a bit.

“Come in?”

Carolyn needs no further invitation, swinging open the door and stepping inside.

“Oh good, you’re dressed.” She sighed. “There’s enough nudes around here with Elsie’s decor.”

“You’re the one that let yourself into my apartment and so forth.” I point out, wrinkling my nose as I notice the glass in her hand. The glass is cobalt blue, but I can still hazard a guess.  “Okay that’s… yeah.”

“Not as bad as you probably think.” She shrugs. “I took the liberty of adding cranberry juice.”

“Not as bad as I think is still fairly up there on the awful scale. I’m pretty sure the lowest it’s going is cough syrup levels of awful.”

She cracks a smile, though if it passed any more quickly, I’d have needed special film to catch it in slow motion replay.

“I’d take this over the cough syrup. I can at least measure some positive effects from this. But I’m not going to offer to give you any ice cream if you manage to finish this like a big boy.”

“And I was going to hold out for chocolate.”

 She rolls her eyes, but I'll take it over nothing, or the 'unwanted pet hamster' reactions I was getting earlier.

 "Take the glass, Kent."

There is a little childish part of me that suggests I could ‘accidently’ let it slip through my fingers when I surrender and take the glass out of her hand, but I don’t. Not because I don’t want to, but because It’s…

It would be petty.

I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t really want to do it anyway, but I raise it against my better, or at least more logical judgement, and take a sniff, even though I’m sure I’ll regret not just pinching my nose and trying to drink it without engaging any other senses.

The first impression is that it smells pretty much like you’d expect such a combination to smell, an odd and disquieting combination of sharp fruit and the dangerous, copper and meat smell of blood.

It’s after that first impression you catch, well it’s hardly even a real ‘smell’ so much as an impression. It’s like like standing out in the sunshine when you look up and everything is so perfect it’s almost razor edged and for a minute or two you are unusually aware of not just being alive but feeling alive.

“Like I said. Not so bad. But the cranberry juice helps.”

 I haven't even taken a sip yet, but I wonder all over again if I fully understand what I'm getting into.