Fully English

CHAPTER 17

I wake up to the feeling of being splashed and open my eyes.

A figure stands over me, sprinkling what I hope is water onto my face continuously in an effort to rouse me. I attempt to pull the quilt over my head but I realise I am not wearing one. My eyes draw to the blanket being held in this person's hands and I realise I am on a couch and not in my bedroom.

"Get up."

That patronising voice of Prudence sounds and I realise it is she, standing over me forebodingly in her glory, spouting me with her fingers before dipping them into a pot and dousing me again.

"What the fuck is that?" I croak.

Even to my own ears, I hear my voice crackling and breaking in numerous places. I sound wounded and dried, like a dishevelled prune baking out in the desert.

"Holy water."

I roll my eyes and yawn, hear my joints squeal and click in pain as I stretch my limbs and make some noises of distress.

"Aaaah," I squeal in pain.

Prudence rolls her eyes and disappears, returning with a warm hot chocolate and a cookie.

"Eat, drink, wake, shower," she orders.

I look down at my body to see I am still in last night's clothes, still sticky with sweat and other liquids that have adhered to me. I reach for my head to feel there are areas of my hair that are no longer braided, as if someone had begun to take down my hair extensions. Prudence watches me distastefully as I analyse myself in my hungover state, the edge of her lip curling in judgment as I scrutinise.

"What?" I demand defensively. Still my voice sounds whispery but I fight through it for some bass.

"You don't remember what happened, do you?"

My attempt to sit up makes the world spin ridiculously and I have to lie back down to keep from falling. I feel my stomach lurch but nothing comes out, just dry, retched heaving and coughing. The feeling of illness subsumes me.

I guess my frail appearance stirs some sympathy within Prudence because she sits down near me and brings the mug to my lips to help me slurp. The usually comforting taste of chocolate doesn't satisfy me and the feeling of being scalded brings me to tears. It feels like I'm being burned alive from the inside out and I have to move my head to deny being fed any more.

My voice evades me but I don't try and find it, instead I stumble to my bathroom and unsteadily to see my face is streaked with day-old makeup. There is foundation, mascara and eyeliner streaked all over my skin and across my face. Even my own reflection I am struggling to recognise. Tufts of hair that were once braided stand in curls away from my head, still holding onto the curl pattern they had when weaved with my extensions.

I scrub my face and remove all of my hair extensions before blasting myself with the hottest shower my skin can muster. I'm so tiresome I don't even engage in my usual routine of scented facial and body wash, shampoos and conditioners. My hands and lathering sponge are the only tools I use to grate at my skin until it is burning and dry from excessive rubbing.

Despite my haze, I am able to make it to the door and leave the bathroom only to see Prudence guarding the door to my room. I gesture for her to move but she remains stiff.

"What's going on?" I manage.

Her eyes squint in concern. "You really don't remember do you?"

My hair is still dripping but my skin is drying from the excessive way I scrubbed and the lack of towelling. Usually I am in my room in no time, lathering myself in coconut oil to lock in moisture. The few times I've washed my own hair I throw in a leave in conditioner and heat protectant before blow-drying to my heart's content. Every minute I accrued standing outside my room and not pampering decreased the effectivity of the expensive products lined on my drawer in doing their job to make me look presentable.