Perfection (Red Wrists 1 REWRITTEN EDITION)

Part Fourteen

(Emma)
Once I got to the bathroom, I took my time getting changed. It had been a crazy day. And in the silence with only my thoughts to keep me company, the painful reality that my foster parents abandoned me came rushing back. I gripped the sink, biting my lip in an attempt to keep back the tears. There was no reason for me to be heartbroken. They hadn't been nice to me. In fact, they'd been the opposite. Why was I feeling so torn over them leaving me?

Could it be the fact they were the only people I ever knew as parental figures? Could it be some deep-set abandonment issues? I didn't know.

In the solitary company of the bathroom, I let myself fall apart. I covered my mouth, allowing the dam behind my eyes to open. Tears from years of neglect and rejection came pouring out, but not a sound left my mouth. Not a single sound of sorrow left my vocal chords as I wept over losing the only parents I ever knew. Sure they were cruel at times, sure they were neglecting my care, but they were the closest things I ever had to having a real family. I let go of my mouth, gasping in a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

And the second I let go of my mouth, both of my wrists began to itch. Pins and needles ran up and down my scars in the area, and my hands began to fidget. Every cell in my body was screaming at me to make it stop. To stop the itching, the needles, the pain; and there was only one way I knew how. My eyes desperately searched the bathroom for anything sharp. Tears were blurring my vision, and in sheer frustration, I began digging at the itch on- no, in - my wrists. It needed to stop.

As my eyes began to dry, I spotted a shaving razor on the edge of the bathtub. The shower curtain was closed, blocking most of it from view. With a shaking hand, I reached out and grabbed the handle of the razor. Before I could move anywhere, a slash came from inside the bathtub, followed by a wet hand smacking down onto my wrist and taking hold. I screamed, trying with all my might to pull away from the hand.

Another wet hand came up and began pulling the shower curtain back. My breath caught in my throat, not wanting to see what monstrous creature was about to drag me down the bathtub drain.

In the bathtub laid a very nude woman, all her privates exposed through the quickly dissipating bubbles of what used to be a bubble bath. "Sorry for scaring you dear, but this is my razor," the woman said smoothly, her voice dripping like fresh maple syrup on a summer day. Still grasping my wrist, she stood up, the water and bubbles running across her skin and back into the tub as she looked me up and down. I wiped my eyes with my free hand, feeling suddenly very self-conscious of my appearance in front of this woman.

Saying she was pretty was a huge understatement. She put movie stars to shame with her appearance, her lush curvature just the right amounts of pert in all the right places. "I've never seen you around here before, darling," she continued, eyeing me up some more with her emerald green eyes. "What's your name, sugar?"

"Uh," I stammered, "E-Emma-May." My face went red. Not from a silly crush, but more along the lines of the fact that an unmistakably gorgeous woman was even bothering to talk with me. She was well over my age, and still had an innocent air about her.

The woman smiled, sending chills down my spine. Even her teeth were beautiful!  "My name's Deliah, sweetheart," she replied, dropping my wrist from her hand. I let go of the razor, letting it fall to the floor. Her long strawberry-blonde hair fell loosely over her shoulders, clinging with all their might as the tips of them began to dry.  

I averted my eyes from her wet, nude body, feeling as thought I was invading her personal space by even keeping eye contact. "Now," Deliah continued, "Why did you need my razor so bad? Crying and sharp objects are never a good combination."

I cleared my throat, avoiding her gaze. Deliah scoffed, a sound that didn't sound like a noise she'd make. "First day here and already trying to end it," she muttered, resting a hand on my shoulder. "You'll get used to it, kid." She let go of my shoulder, placing the dropped razor on the counter in front of me and heading out of the bathroom. She grabbed a towel on her way out, wrapping herself up and closing the door behind her.