Fascinating Villains

{12} - Sirette

I close the door to my apartment in my back, and the sound the panel hitting the frame reverberates like a detonation against my eardrums, almost making the air morph and the living room tilt. I exhale shakily, while I lock the front door thoughtlessly. The Joker's latest display of insanity caused considerable damage, and we were at the center of it for hours, the injured or poisoned kept coming, along with... Numerous deaths. But it is over now.

The lukewarm water of my shower partly envelops me like a soothing, loving, moving bubble, simultaneously running coldly down the creases of my muscles like an intrusion. My throat feels tighter and drier by the second. I block out the screams, cries, bleeding wounds, streaks of ashes mingled with human remains... The noise of falling water reminds me of tires screeching, bizarrely transitioning into the sirens of an ambulance. I yank the shower's handle down, then I squeeze some shampoo into my right palm, breathing more steadily with the water turned off. Discarding all hesitation, I roughly pull the metallic lever upward. While I am rinsing the hair product out of my wavy strands of hair, using concise motions from my arched fingers, my day finally detaches itself from my memory. The discomfort and pain swirl down the drain, between my naked feet, as water splashes off my shoulders and drips energetically down my chest.

I step out of my claw-foot tub and shower combo, grabbing my light yellow bath towel. I begin drying my skin, distractedly reviewing my medium-sized bathroom, with my toes curled against the rough tattered bath mat upon the room's off-white tiled floor. The toilet is to my left, while my bath faces the door and the counters with their centered sink are to my right. My cabinet is tall and skinny, unfortunately wooden, and shoved next to the door between the wall and the counters. Its pale brown paint is peeling off because of the inherently humid state of its home. Silvery hooks and bars to hang towels are screwed into the wall on my left-hand side, close to the shower, above diverse storage methods and plastic bins, piled up miscellaneously on my floor. A smaller washed-out turquoise towel serves to dry my short hair, and once I am done with that meaningless task, I obtain my bathrobe from the single assortment of racks.

Walking barefoot in my insufficiently lit apartment, I drag my hands down the once fluffy dark gray material of my robe, stopping at the belt. Within eight steps, I am standing inside my bedroom and I shut its door with my left heel, pulling on the fabric rope which is tied around my stomach to unveil the front of my scantily clad body. I pick up my clothes, neatly folded and awaiting me on my bedspread. I slip them on mechanically over my underwear, listening to the muffled sound of the song that is playing on the radio in my living room.

I am wearing my roller skating jeans, along with a baggy navy sports T-shirt, underneath a loose dark gray jacket. My sports bag is resting at the foot of my bed, all stocked and ready. Among other general items, it fits my helmet, wrist guards, elbow and knee pads, along with a pair of roller skates. All I need is to fill up my water bottle in the kitchen before I leave for the skate park.

I glance at my cellphone, laying on my bedside table. I seize it, tapping the screen twice. A notification box informs me that Cheryl has sent me eight texts.

During the past days, ever since that evening at the Cock-and-Bull, her and I have been exchanging once or twice every day. I have discovered that she, unsurprisingly, is a very experienced and enthusiastic texter. I am not.

The only conversation I am more or less engaged in, that is not mandatory for my career or my living situation, is a group chat I share with Joseph and his husband, Cedric. They affectionately named it "Hurling Buddies 🏳‍🌈 🏳‍🌈 🏳‍🌈", although the members are truly the couple and I, for a grand total of three people, including two that are married and live in the same household. I am not complaining, but the group is... Slightly useless. Quite entertaining, though. They spend a remarkable amount of time every week carefully choosing memes to send me. I cannot lie, that does warm my heart.