IV: The Girl Who Ran: Red Eve

IX: Broken

It was the the cold sheets first. Rough under her fingertips. The pins and needles in her arms and legs.

Then the burning in her back and her neck and shoulder and her thigh and her side.

She bit back a whimper. She was done with the wounded animal act.

Then the sound of the fan whirring above her and the snores to her right.

Finally, Tatiana peeled her eyes open. The room was dark. She looked to her right. Samuel was snoring. The alarm clock next to him told her that it was just past five a.m. She inhaled slowly and tightened her muscles. She got up onto her forearms before her head started pounding. She stilled and blinked for a few moments until her vision cleared and the thrumming in her head softened.

She hauled herself up all the way quietly, trying not to wake up Samuel. Her entire body protested, her calf muscles cramping up at the thought of her feet hitting the floor. Nevertheless, she swung her body around and set her feet lightly on the floor. The chill shot pain through her nerves and she screwed her eyes shut until it dispersed.

The familiar feel of stitches and bandages made itself known as she stood. She wobbled and clutched the side of the bed desparately. She surveyed her body. It was alive, but that was just about the only thing she was sure of. A purple t-shirt covered her tattoos and her brand, but her legs were almost entirely exposed by a pair of shorts.

She frowned at the sickly smell she was emitting. She tottered silently over to the closet and grabbed the first things she found. A white t-shirt and a pair of old sweats. Tatiana slipped out the door, gaining confidence on her feet with the assistance of the wall.

She made it to the bathroom before she tripped, her vision going black for a second. When it cleared she was on her knees. She listened for a moment to hear if she'd woken anyone up. When she was satisfied that she hadn't, she stood shakily.

She leaned over, grabbing the bathtub ledge for stabilization. She turned the shower on and sighed, digging through the closet for a towel. She found one and dumped her clothes on top of it on the counter.

Tatiana stripped off her clothes and froze at her reflection. She looked like a living skeleton. A walking nightmare from some twisted child's dream. She brought up her hand and her fingers skimmed the stitches on her jaw. They fell and brushed the brand on her shoulder. It was still red, but the edges were healing to a baby pink.

She stared at her face. Her cheekbone was healing well, but it still looked terrible. But the detail that drew her attention most was her eyes. She planted her hands on either side of the sink and stared at her irises. They were purple. And not a dark, pleasant purple either, but a bright, sparkly, light lavender. She frowned at herself and looked away. She couldn't bear it any longer. She slid the curtain open and stepped into the cool water, praying that the stitches were not water-soluble.

Even moments after she stepped in, the water going down the drain changed to a black-brown. Tatiana leaned back and let the water stream through her hair. She kept one hand on the washrag holder while the other searched for shampoo. She found it and delicately let go of the holder, pouring some sweet-smelling shampoo into her palm and rubbing it in.

It felt glorious.

She sighed loudly and coughed, her throat raw.

When her hair was washed, she scrubbed the rest of her body, ignoring all of the stitches and the tattoos and the scars. She must've been in there for a little while, because when she stepped out, soft sunlight was peeking out from behind the nautical-themed curtains.

She patted herself down with her towel, wrapping it around her hair. She yanked on her clothes and stretched carefully, one hand gripping the counter. She tossed her old clothes into the hamper, rubbed her hair with the towel, an threw that in too.