The house is lonely without my sister here. I don’t like being left alone with my thoughts, but she will be home soon. Sometimes, even when she is here, I see things, hear things. Earlier today I saw a flash of a car in a parking lot. The driver’s door was open and there was a woman sleeping in the passenger seat. But then I was in my bedroom and knew I had had another one of the visions I talked to Dr Turner about.
I decide to take a bath while I wait for her to get home. I run the water and strip down before getting in. The tub is awkwardly shaped. I cannot lean back properly without my back sliding down, so I press more weight into my backside to keep me upright. This is an unsatisfying solution. The bathtub now subtly digs into me.
I am squatting in the tub, an animalistic kind of squat, ready to leap. Gnarled talons on my feet dig stubbornly against the ceramic. I move one slightly, scraping the nails against the tub, a low cacophony echoing through the room.
I blink. I am again seated. My arms are hanging limply over each side of the tub. I pull them into my torso, hugging my naked body slightly. Dr Turner said the medication would stop the frequency of the visions but I felt like they were getting more frequent. I firmly press my fingers into the wet skin of my arms, trembling slightly.
I am in the basement. I hear whimpering and grin at the musicality of it. The thick, sweet scent of fear hangs heavy in the room and I shiver with pleasure.
I am in the bathtub again. I dig my nails into my arm now. Phantom screams seem to echo from the basement as I try to focus on reality. I tell myself that the sounds that breathe in my ear are not real. Of course there is nothing coming from the basement. We don’t even go down there. I wish for music to drown out my own mind.
My claws curl more possessively over the arm they hold over the side of the tub. There is little left to hold it to the shoulder I tore it from. Blood oozes sensually out of it and I bring it back up to my tongue to lick up before tearing greedily into the flesh again. That lick used all the restraint I possess and I do not again take the time to savour the richness of the meat in my mouth before sinking my teeth in once more.
My breath hitches in my throat. I hold my hands out in front of me, trying to focus on every line on each palm, the scar running down my right thumb from where I sliced it open as a kid. My sister and I were sneaking into the neighbour’s yard through a hole in the fence and I had tripped on my way through and impaled it on a piece of metal wire in the neighbour’s garden. I pull my thoughts to this memory, this scar. I try to focus on their realness. I run them through the water which has cooled to a lukewarm temperature, centring my mind on the sensations this brings.
There is a torso in my arms, different to the one before. This one is very, very pale, as if it had not been outside for a very long time. I have already ripped off one of the legs that was attached to it. I look to where the remains of the last one lie, tossed next to the sink. I once again tear through flesh, gobbling with a deranged fervour, until little is left but bones, teeth, and tufts of hair, all with chunks of meat still attached to them. I do not pick them clean. I throw it, too, on the pile with the other one. The bath is now filled with blood a few inches deep. I scoop it up and drink it down as if it were my first and last drink.
The whiteness of the walls is startling. Blood pounds in my ears and I feel my head begin to spin a lot. I once again tell myself to focus back on my surroundings, like Dr Turner told me to. The slight yellowing of the grout between the tiles. The greyish tinge to the bath water. The obnoxious fluorescence of the light bulb. I tell myself to count things as I notice them but I can’t focus my mind. I want the visions to stop. I thought that they were going to stop.
There is the leg from the last body, left to the side. I pick it up and tear chunks of it off with my claws. The viscous blood pours down my scaled skin. I finish it off quickly and throw the bones in the direction of the growing pile. It hits the wall and bounces off. I hear a noise elsewhere in the house.
A sob rises in my throat. Salty tears begin to mix with the tepid water I am wallowing in. I put my head in my hands and feel the sobs reverberate through me. I smack the heel of my hand against my skull. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.
There is more of the same noise. Footsteps. Someone is walking through the house. They are coming in my direction. The footsteps get louder now. Coming closer. Closer.
I curl my knees into my body.
They are outside the door.
I cry louder.
They are opening the door. The handle is turning.
A blood curdling scream tears through the room from the doorway of the bathroom.
There is a sloshing sound as I leap from the bath.
I am out of the bath.
I sink my teeth into her throat.
My mouth is full of blood that is not mine.
A deep, satisfied groan rumbles from my throat and I go in for more.
