Infected

Chapter 21

"Son of a-" I hiss and jump back from the stream of water that freezes my naked back. I fumble with the knobs to get the settings right on the shower.

I'd rolled out of bed an hour ago, bored out of my mind and unable to find Galen with the questions I'd dreamed up. So, I decided to shower but the act was easier in theory. The glass-walled contraption in my assigned bathroom was unnecessarily complicated. Too many dials turned on the various heads installed in the black tiled walls, and I couldn't seem to get an idea of how to keep the water in the right ratio.

I sigh with relief as the heat kicks in and my muscles finally uncoil. I relax into the stream and begin scrubbing shampoo into my curls, enjoying the scent of rosemary and lavender.

After inspecting the contents of the cupboards and shelves of the giant lavatory, I concluded that Galen had thought of everything that I could need for personal hygiene...even tampons. I guess he isn't aware of that tiny detail. My mother's mutilation didn't only obliterate my chances of having kids but I have also never experienced a period.

I condition my hair and scrub my body with soap and a cloth, grateful that the black tiling didn't show the discoloration of the water from my blood. When I feel I've gotten the majority of my filth off, I leave the compartment of steam. One look in the mirror as I pat the towel over my body sends me into a pit of self-depreciation.

My lips naturally frown at what I see looking back. I've never been a person of vanity but I'm also not blind. My natural looks are said to be envied and also attracted by others, but there's no evidence of that now.

I'm an emaciated skeleton of my former self. Purplish bruises surround my eyes guiding whoever looks at me to my sunken cheeks. My cheekbones are pronounced from weight loss, along with my ribcage and jutting hip bones. My body has lost the appeal I'm used to getting complimented. No health. No femininity. I tear my gaze away from the mirror and wrap the towel tightly around me.

I retrieve a brush from a basket on the sink counter and begin picking through the nest that's formed on my head. I have to massage the muscles in my arms by the time I get through the tangles. A mass of black strands is piled on the marble but I feel some form of accomplishment. I'm one step closer to not looking like a wicked witch.

In the closet, I rummage through the hangers that hold my clothes, another small thankless act of Galen, and find a pair of black skinny jeans with a navy short-sleeve shirt. I'd worn this outfit back in June and it had fit me fine, but now extra fabric hung on my torso and I had to use a belt to keep the pants up.

I go downstairs and attempt to go outside again. The barrier is still up even with Galen off doing god knows what. Disappointed in my attempt, I decide to eat my feelings. I cross paths with Polina on my way to the kitchen. She mews a greeting and dances around my legs as I walk. I scoop her up into my arms and kiss her tiny head.

There's a plate of eggs and sausage, along with a bowl of fruit and scones, waiting for me on the island. I drop the white mass of fur in my arms and take the food with a glass of water to the breakfast nook. Polina joins me, jumping up onto the cushions and curling against my thigh. She falls asleep instantly.

I never thought I'd be trapped in a house with a vampire's cat as company. I'd laugh about it but then that would mean I've lost the severity of what's happening. I'd still be stuck here, with only the promise of danger being beyond the border to keep me complacent.

As I eat I come up with a list of things to ask Galen if he ever decided to come home. At the top of it was learning what the hell happened to me in the apartment. The lost memory of that night can't be a coincidence. If Rucker fed on me, then I would've known about vampires the day I woke up, Infection or not, and the cover would've been blown. It wasn't some weird trauma response, someone had to of manipulated my thoughts.