"Come here," his voice is gentle again.
She gives in, placing her small hand in his. Lifting the cloth, he sees her blood spill out from her palm. He inhales sharply through his teeth and presses the rag back down. They sit there like that for abo...
Laughter fills the air, punctuated by the clinking of dishes in the sink. Gesine and Inga are busy cleaning up after dinner.
Sandra sneaks away, invisible amidst the chaos. She closes her bathroom door and turns on the shower, her hand lingering on the warming knob.
He's a nice boy, Sandra, but remember this kind of thing happens all the time...
Her vision narrows until the only thing she can see is the slow dripping from her leaking shower knob. She makes a mental note to visit the hardware store in the morning.
You don't want the baggage of a public relationship...you know how the press likes to pin everything on the woman.
There was an insinuation in her advice earlier that day. The insinuation that they wouldn't last, that he wouldn't be there for long, that in order for her to do her job and do her job well, she needed to remain focused, detached. Her nostrils flare as a forceful gust pushes through the thickened air. She strips down and pulls the pony tail out of her hair, staring in the mirror as it fogs up with steam.
Her mom is leaving in the morning, flying back to Virginia, to her dad, to the house she grew up in. She contemplates staying, missing his show tonight. That's what a normal family would do, right? She thinks to herself, before another gust of air escapes her nose.
She steps into the hot spray of the water, wincing when the trickles first kiss her skin. She likes it hot. Too hot, really. She knows it's too hot, that it isn't good for her appearance. Her agent would probably lecture her on preventing the dehydration of her skin at a "premature age." Her eyes find the way to the top of her sockets at this last thought. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her, or me, I guess..." she chuckles, turning to let the water run over her hair.
Her body has grown accustomed to the heat, and now she enjoys her favorite part, soaking it in. Maybe she should listen, maybe she should turn the temperature down a bit, but if she didn't take a chance with the heat, then she'd never enjoy the payoff: the thick air that made her feel alive when it filled her lungs, the dewy skin when she emerged and bathed in the remaining humidity, the pink of her cheeks and the feeling of pure relaxation, followed by the energy to do anything, to face anything when the cold air shocked her out of her warm chrysalis. It's invigorating, and worth the pain of that first step into the heat. Isn't that the perfect metaphor for life? She chuckles again, stepping out and tightening a cotton towel underneath her arms.
I can't wait til I see you again...it'll be the best part of my night.
She can picture his velvety eyes as his voice echoes in her mind. She leans forward, staring at her reflection. The decision has already been made, she knows it. She's going. The towel drops. She slathers lotion all over her body, then pulls on her bra and matching boy shorts. She rummages through her bottles of scents, picking up a small vial and staring at the logo.
You smell like roses....
She throws a hand across her mouth, fighting back the smile that wants to burst forth.
