smother. [h.s.]

16. can't take my eyes off of you

Le Premier Bonheur du Jour - Francoise Hardy

NEXT SATURDAY, 8:00 AM 

My only love sprung from my only hate...

My knees almost buckle from nerves. 

I stand on top of the toilet lid and grip the wall for balance. The sound of an old keyboard clacking bleeds through the flimsy bathroom door. I let out a shaky breath as I let go of the chipping wallpaper and take hold of the window latch above me. 

The window is small and rusting. Through its blurry glass, I can make out the shape of the trees lining the main quad. I pull on the stiff latch a few times, but it doesn't budge. It must not have been touched in years. 

Too early seen unknown, and known too late!

"You okay in there?" the nurse chimes in from the other room. 

Her voice startles me, making my foot slip against the slick toilet seat. My palms slam onto the edge of the window as I scramble to regain stability. I clear my throat to try and cover the sound.

"Just one minute," I stammer back. 

I plant my feet down firmly and attempt to pull the latch again. It takes a few more tugs, then the window finally creaks open slowly. The force pulls some old paint off of the wall, revealing the original wood underneath. 

I blow my hair out of my face and stand up on my tippy toes as I reach my arms out of the cramped window. I blindly feel around until my fingertips come into contact with a bed of soil. It's part of a planter box, which hangs below the windowsill. The blooming flowers growing within it are just out of sight, but I can feel their presence as my palms graze over the soft petals.  

I pat around until I find what I was looking for: the bottle. I snatch it from the soil and shake any dirt off the sides. 

Prodigious birth of love is it to me...

There's a loud knock on the door. I shoot my head up, bumping it against the window frame in alarm. 

"Do you need more to drink?" 

"No— just one minute, I'm okay," I insist as I shimmy back inside the bathroom and quietly shut the window. 

"Honey, you've been in there for a while. You are going to be late for your rehearsal."

"I know. I'm almost done, please," I speak up and rub at the sore spot on my head, "I just need a moment."

I listen closely as she takes a few steps away from the door and returns back to her computer. My head falls and I let out a sigh of relief. 

Carefully, I climb off of the toilet seat and hurry to the sink. As I go to unscrew the lid, I do a double-take. 

It's a plastic Gatorade bottle. The flavor is lemon-lime. 

Nice touch, Vincent. 

My eyes trail down to the yellow liquid sloshing at the bottom of it. I push aside my disgust and force myself to carefully pour it out into the test container. Then, I tightly screw the lid onto it and toss out the Gatorade bottle, making sure to cover it with some paper towels so it isn't visible. 

With one final look around the room, I flush the toilet and wash my hands. I glance up at myself in the mirror once before I leave. 

My cheeks are flushed, and my eyes are bright. 

That I must love a loathed enemy.

"Here you go," I smile through closed lips as I hold out the cup to the nurse.