Blueprint

P6 - Curious

The skin around my hands and covering my palms nearly peeled at how hard I had scrubbed the house down, the harsh cleaning chemicals drying the usually soft, untouched flesh. Sweaty, frizzy hair falling all over my face as I kneeled onto the floor, in front of the bathtub, aggressively scrubbing the white, ceramic tub. My mom had only asked to make sure the house was decently clean, but I was cleaning every crevice and photo frame, purely because of my intense feelings of anxiety.

My apprehension and anticipation of today's dinner with Harry was making me so nervous, that I had screamed during my intense, strangely erratic shower under the stream of hot water. Scrubbing my skin down until it tinged pink and even offering up my soul to the devil in exchange for this night to never happen. Some may say I was being melodramatic, and I could agree truthfully, but the embarrassment and the anxiety building up was more overwhelming and powerful than my ability to control it.

"Athena, calm down," I whisper to myself, feverishly looking through my drawers to find a pair of underwear, wrapped in my fluffy pink towel, cold and looking like a the sun had done some damage to my deep caramel skin. Only it was a result of my harsh scrubbing and the enormous stress on my nervous system. A combination of both regret and curiosity also roamed the free space in my brain, since the logic already disappeared.

My cold was making me appear even more distraught, as I coughed and sneezed and sniffled through the entirety of my anxious preparations.

I let my curls air dry, deciding on not touching them. My closet was full of my usually unpleasant, mundane, and just simply ugly attire, and I groan to myself. If I looked nice, it might be interpreted as trying too hard. And if I looked awful, maybe he'd realize how unattractive I am, but I was unsure of what I wanted to do from here. I was unsure of what he thought of last night. A man that works as much as he does can't be having that much of an active sex life, and so I blame that it was just in the moment. Maybe we were just simply...horny.

"I'm either going to pass out tonight or throw up, maybe both, but God, if you have any mercy, please let it be passing out. That would be so much better than the latter," I shut my eyes, hands clasped together while I stare at the ceiling in just my underwear. Someday I will look back at this and laugh, but for now, I wanted to cry and turn into the smallest particle in existence.

Some time later, I managed to moisturize my skin and pick out a pale grey long sleeve, one fitted enough around my waist to accentuate my body shape. I knew the color was mundane enough for my mother not to think I was drawing attention to myself, and although everything she said I disagreed with, I found it easier to just accept her demands. A pair of forest green pocketed jeans that were rolled up at my ankles and black socks covered the rest of me, the shoes will have to wait. I wasn't looking to try too hard, and I was home, in my place of supposed comfort.

I don't own any makeup, so that was a lost cause. As I stared at myself in the mirror, I noted the puffiness of my eyes and the very distraught appearance of my facial expression. Awkwardly, I smile at the mirror, only to look like I was in some strange form of pain. The joy was nowhere to be found, so I frown at myself for such a frightening attempt at a smile.

"Athena!"

Downstairs, my mother shuts the door and calls for me. I sigh to myself, feeling my stomach churn in discomfort the more I think about tonight's dinner. As time passes, it becomes more real. The night I returned from Harry's office after we'd gotten...busy, I was so petrified of her being able to tell that I just hugged her and stammered out a quick goodnight. My mannerism was strange, but she hadn't thought much of it.

I jog downstairs, finding my mother in the kitchen. She's set a few bags of groceries down before looking over at me, her cold eyes examining me up and down before her face falls into a disapproving scowl. "Athena...come on. You look like you're going to some sports game or something," she frowns, shaking her head before setting her purse down onto the kitchen island. By her reaction, I don't think she expected me to dress up to her standards, anyways. "I'm going to make lasagna. I need you to prepare things while I go shower and make myself look decent."