The Reaper | F. Odair

Three

-—-
Aaron
-—-

Without a second of hesitation my prep team from five years ago, excitedly, all grab my arms and drag me forward. Two of the three on either side, the third behind me, fingers running up my body making my face go hot. They're all talking at once, I can't make it out -- the only things I can hear are pure jealousy of my supposed 'beautiful' body-- "I'm jealous of her bust! It's so natural -- larger than the last time we saw her." the one behind me, (blondie),  whines as we get into another room.

I practically squeak, "Wha--"

"Gazelle! How rude!" The other girl on my right scolds.

The blonde scoffs, "she's so much sexier than she was five years ago, though!" 'Gazelle' whines,

"Much curvier too -- OH, I'm so jealous of Nero, he got to work with you for the past five years!" the other on my left, a man, whines, I can't even process it all as I'm practically stripped immediately and shoved into a boiling hot shower.

"She doesn't smell too bad this time either!" the man says, my head drops and the other two burst out into laughter.

"Oh Zeus! Don't be so mean!" the other woman, not the blonde, black hair with bright neon green strips down her fringe.

The man, Zeus, scoffs, running his fingers down his very recognizable beard for how stiff it looked, the blue on it from years ago is now a dark crimson red. "So, Aaron, how's life been for you? I've seen you around quite a few times here!"

I open my mouth and look up just for a mouthful of soap to run into my mouth, I spit and cough, gagging at the bitterness. "G -- ACk -- Good!"

"Sorry honey! The cap broke!" Gazelle, the blonde, squeaks, pulling away and walking somewhere else for a second.

I stink of lavender. It's so strong it's making my eyes water. I open my mouth to talk again but they begin to talk amongst themselves as they scrub me down -- mostly talking to me and about me, but not letting me speak at all.
Just like five years ago, basically.
I'm used to the burning sensation of them scrubbing so harshly, practically getting a good layer of skin off before they finally stop. The first time I met them they all pinched their noses and whined about how I smelt like urine. Now they're here saying how I smell better than 'usual' and with my work I've had to scrub myself like they do. The one time I didn't, the client asked me to take a shower so rudely -- pinching their nose because I supposedly smelled like a wet dog.

I don't even own a dog.

I'm yanked out of the shower minutes later and brought to the familiar metal table, laid down as one begins to prepare razors, wax strips and tweezers, another grabs some bottles of liquid while the third pulls out some fabric measuring tape, pulling parts of my body at random and writing down numbers. I yelp out in pain from a sudden wax strip on my armpit -- no warning, no nothing. The one doing measurements runs off the second she's done, the door slamming behind her.

I can barely process it all in normal time, one second there's multiple wax strips going on and off my legs, my eyebrows and nose being plucked, the second I'm being covered in moisturizing lotion that's so cold, it's making my teeth chatter.

I'm pulled off of the table, butt naked and I'm walked over to the couches in the room, Gazelle (blonde) handing me a gray, velvety robe and Zues (dude) tying it for me. There's barely anything said and they leave the room the second my butt hits the cool leather.

The door swings open, my eyes snap over and I'm met with a stressed out Nero, clipboard and notebook in hand as the door slowly shuts behind him. I flinch as the two objects smack down onto the table and he collapses in the chair next to me, slouching back and letting out a low groan. His eyes look dark, somehow wrinkly even.