My Funny Valyntine: Book One - The Pull

Chapter Eight - Au Privave

i.

Entering the washroom is like walking into a blanket of warm, humid air.

Steam hangs lazily as the flowery smells of soaps and salts ease some of the pressure in Valyntine's head. This bathroom is bigger than her entire apartment.

She crosses the tiled floor to a vanity, clearing the fogged mirror with a swipe of her hand. Looking at her reflection, closer this time, her hair is jutting out in greasy, matted clumps. Forcing herself away from the creature in the mirror, Valyntine walks to the bath.

She sits down in a cushioned sitting chair next to the claw-footed, cast iron tub. Dipping her fingertips into the water, Valyntine lets out a deep sigh of approval. Her sore muscles protest as she disrobes, peeling the blood-soaked clothes from her back and legs, and the soiled, makeshift bandages from her feet.

Before lifting her leg to enter the water, a faint hissing noise catches Valyntine's attention. Going down on all fours in search of the source, she looks beneath the tub. Two lengths of thin copper pipe run along the bottom, with tiny blue flames burning every couple of inches — an extravagance she has never seen.

Easing her bare feet and legs into the steaming basin, lowering herself down until her chin pings the top of the water, Valyntine acclimates quickly to the near-scalding bath. She sits for a long time in the constant, warming bliss.

She notices a lever, with an ivory handle, along the wall and turns it. Bubbles erupt throughout the tub. Startling at first, she sinks deeper. I could sleep here for a week, she fantasizes. Baths in her small apartment never last long. They are all but non-existent in the winter months, with the cold air blowing between misshapen windowpanes and the tepid water spurting from rattling pipes.

With a slight fear she might fall asleep, Valyntine extends her legs to sit up, the water now above her breasts. The heated bath has released some of the accumulated soreness and stiffness. Breathing in and exhaling the steam has her thinking clearly for the first time in days. Valyntine takes a fast, deep breath through her mouth, pinches her nose shut, and slides down, submerging her entire body and head beneath the water. She holds her breath to a count of twelve before resurfacing.

Wiping the excess water from her eyes, Valyntine rests her back against the tub while looking up at the ceiling. Her eyes roam around the room, finding intricate designs intertwining in and out of each other in green, burgundy, and gold, colors used throughout The Robin's Nest.

Looking at the sink for a while – black marble with gold fixtures – she feels it clashes with the rest of the room. Potted plants sit on several small pedestals while glowing candles run along the sill of a window, made with panes of thick, obscure glass that are impossible to see in or out.

Valyntine's gaze eventually finds her distorted body beneath the water. She hasn't seen herself naked for a long time, longer than she can remember. She considers how many moments of her life pass by without her noticing. How many times has she walked to the coffee house without lifting her head to see a single person? How often has Margie asked a question about what she felt or thought about some random topic, and in return she gave a vague, non-committal answer? Viewing her life's daily routines, as if they belong to someone else, she watches that life happening around her. Floating through the days, restless every night, smoking gaspers and drinking coffee to flit away the time, or sitting by the window, trying to steal a listen from a neighbor's muffled transistor.

How many friends has she not made? Did those who work here at The Robin's Nest treat their lives the same way? What do they do? Valyntine's face twists up in the realization that she still doesn't know what The Robin's Nest is. Pushing everything else away from her thoughts, she concentrates on this question.