Wingspan(Paranormal, Young Adult) MAJOR EDITING**

thirty four

Eventually I had to come up for air and by the time I did the water temperature dropped a degree substandard luke-warm. I remove the plug and waste not time as I swing one leg out after the other and dry myself off with a towel.

Now that I was up and out of the tub all I could think about was getting dressed.

I shiver when I feel cold breeze filter through the slit of the door.

Before I could feel goosebumps prickle my skin, I jump into my sweat pants as fast as I could and put a sweatshirt over my head, both arms fisting through the sleeves.

I didn't bring a hairdryer with me so I expertly wrapped the towel around my hair until it sits neatly on top of my head. Like a beehive.

I throw socks over my shoulder and swing the bathroom door open and walk barefoot on the carpet all the way to the dresser where I kept my toiletry bag.

I open the top drawer and take out my bag of essentials, a small plastic container that I got as a free sample. I pull the zipper straight across, exposing a shiny label in the middle as I caught sight of the tubular bottle.

I squeeze a dime size amount of the lotion and soothingly rub the lightly scented non-oily moisturizer all over my face and neck in small circles like I'd seen models do in all those fancy make-up commercials.

Eventually I had to come up for air, and by the time I did the water temperature had dropped a degree below luke-warm. I remove the plug and wasted no time as I swing one leg out after the other and dry myself off with a towel.

Now that I was up and out of the tub I could feel the cold breeze filtering through the slit in the door; all I could think about was getting dressed.

I jump into my sweat pants as fast as I could and put a sweatshirt over my head, both arms fisting through the sleeves.

I didn't bring a hairdryer with me so I expertly wrapped the towel around my hair until it sits neatly on top of my head. Like a beehive.

I throw socks over my shoulder and swing the bathroom door open and walk barefoot on the carpet all the way to the dresser where I kept my toiletry bag.

I open the top drawer and take out my bag of essentials - a small plastic container that I got as a free sample. I pull the zipper straight across, exposing a shiny label in the middle as I caught sight of the tubular bottle.

I squeeze a dime size amount of the lotion and soothingly rub the lightly scented moisturizer all over my face and neck in small circles like I'd seen models do in all those fancy make-up commercials.

Once I'm all soft and lathered up I put the cap back on, twisting it until I heard the last notch lock and sort it back in the correct place, because otherwise the stupid zipper wouldn't budge open or close. I put the cosmetic bag back where I would find it, and close the drawer shut.

After grabbing a few extra layers to keep the cold at bay I cross the carpet over to my bed and find a quiet Chanel floating right above my headboard, sitting down much like a kindergartner would at the circle rug for a sing-along.

"I never sleep," came her strained whisper.

Poor girl. I resisted the urge to run over to her because there was no consoling her when she was like this. Chanel only made that resigned submissive look when she was reflecting. Whatever she was thinking about was a difficult memory to relive.

I grimace. Not for the first time did I wonder why I continued to let this twisted friendship go on. I struggled with the sense that I was doing Chanel more harm by interacting with her.

I worried if seeing me intensified feelings of resentment because I embodied what she didn't have. I lived and she didn't.

I feign horror in my voice so at the very least she would get that in my own way I was having a rough adjustment. We were in this together no matter what. "If its any consolation the mattress sucks." I pout, grabbing at the back of my neck to massage the kinks away. Firmly pressing my fingers on the taught muscle, I start to work up a massage with menial effort; I was too tired to give a damn about my sore back.

"Oh, honey." Chanel looks at me with kindness, and laughs. "You sound just like you do in your sleep."

I groan, embarrassed. "Please. Do. Not. remind me." I talked in my sleep. Had ever since I can remember.

As per my nightly ritual I sit on the edge of my bed and stretched on a pair of long white tube socks until they rolled up mid calf. My legs were fully covered and resembled what I thought looked like beaver logs, and after putting on two more cotton long sleeves I was now sporting a nice big tummy and puffy, wide arms.

Once I was layered up and ready to get under the covers, I no longer had a neck, just like the Michelin tire boy.

Since I was anemic I bundled up right before I went to bed. The regimented act never fully warmed me up but it somewhat did the trick.