To Light and Guard

Chapter Fourteen

A sloppy tongue across Lana's face roused her from her peaceful sleep, sprawled across the carpet with faint morning light piercing the curtains. "Mm," she grunted, "geroff. I'm up." The dog whined in response. A rough paw scraped her cheek. When she batted him away, he whimpered, a long cry drawing louder, threatening to bloom into a howl. "Shush! Sh." Lana sat upright and tucked the throw over Mary Eunice's shoulder. "Don't wake her up. I'll feed you."

The dog had left a foul-smelling gift on the rug, and when she glared at it, he lowered his head. He placed his injured, bandaged paw on the ground with gingerly weight, still limping with each step. "Thanks a lot." She glanced back down at Mary Eunice, knees curled up to her chest, dirty hair strung out on the pillow. Their filthy pajamas had dried but carried dusty stains. Her chest rose and fell evenly, rosary wrapped around her hand. Dried grass clung to her exposed ankles under the skirt of her knee-length nightgown. Fine, white hair gleamed on her calves; Lana's hand lifted and pressed to the inside of her ankle, flicking off the blades of grass and teasing the fuzz with her fingertips. She's radiant. She's the sunlight.

The writer in Lana sought a word which could convey the light exhaling from Mary Eunice's sleeping form, and after turning a few of them within her mind, she landed on one she had learned in college while reading European literature. "Pulchritudinous," she said aloud. It didn't sound pretty, but the many syllables formed onion-like layers of attractiveness, just like the many sweet layers of Mary Eunice. Her frame, her blonde hair and bright eyes, the dusted freckles across her nose, her full cheeks and crooked eye teeth, those things only made a shell of the woman and friend Lana had come to love.

She slid back to touch Mary Eunice's cheek, cradling it in her palm. A smile lifted the corner of her pink lips. Her dimples deepened, and she nuzzled into Lana's hand. Lana smoothed her hair out of her eyes. "Sh, I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep." Her eyebrows quirked together when Mary Eunice stilled under her touch. That's unusual. Normally, she would jump at the first suggestion of lazing around. And she's on the floor. It's not like she could be comfortable. "You feel a little warm." You dragged her around in the rain all night, and now she's sick!

Mary Eunice didn't reply, but goosebumps peppered her arms; a shiver passed through her body. Lana tugged the throw tighter around her. Worry trembled in her stomach. Don't disturb her. Wait until she's awake. The dog pawed her again. "Okay, I'm coming, fido." She took the bowls from the floor and headed to the kitchen, him lumbering after. She filled them with another can of spam and water. "Here. You emptied your bowels on my carpet, so I'm sure you're more than ready to gorge yourself." His skinny tail wagged, long toenails clicking on the tile when she provided. "Take it easy. You'll be sick if you swallow it whole."

Lana picked up the offending gift the dog had left her, pitching it in the trash, and then she tiptoed past Mary Eunice, who still slept in the floor, to the bathroom. Dog hair and dead fleas dotted the bottom of the tub. "Gross," she grumbled. Never thought I'd have a dog in my house. She rinsed the mess out of the bottom of the tub. Never thought I'd have a nun here, either, but yet here I am.

With a heavy sigh, Lana kept her back to the mirror as she stripped herself of her clothing. Her own nude body repulsed her, something regarded with cursory touches and glances rather than the sensuality she had once granted herself. Her hands had become her enemies when they trespassed on her exposed skin. The cold air in the house hardened her nipples, but as she cupped the underside of her breasts, the hair on the back of her neck stood up, feeling a million invisible eyes upon her. Unnerved by the sensation, she pulled the faucet for the shower to start and jumped beneath the hot stream.

It's not healthy for you to fear your own body. As she lathered her hair with shampoo, she ignored the bleating voice in the back of her mind. Even Mary Eunice knew she was held together by a few loose strings and badly sewn buttons; she fooled no one. You cannot burden her with your problems. She has enough to handle. The suds flowed down her back and into her eyes, pinched closed. I thought I had left this behind.