Red Moon Rising

53. stranger

Chapter Song: Every Feeling - Ezra Furman

XX

I awake to silence, the kind of stiff, dead quiet I remembered from my time behind wire fencing. At first, the cool air of Red's office reminds me of that place, but then I'm staring at the light etched into oil paintings by a rising sun. Pulling the covers away, I slip from bed and gently try to stretch the stiffness from my neck. It's so easy to forget my state until I stand and the dizziness threatens to force me back onto the mattress. Outside, I catch shapes moving through the early morning light. At some point, I'll have to go out there. I don't know how to face new people anymore, or even pretend that I want to.

Just outside the door is a set of clothes folded on top of a worn but cozy-looking parka and a box of new winter boots. I spare a glance around but find the house quiet, seemingly deserted. Setting the clothes on the bed, I begin to feel along the hems for any lumps. It's crazy, insane, what I'm doing. But I won't trust them blindly, not like I did with Isaac. Maybe it's true that I don't have any choice but to trust them...but I want to know what I'm getting into. The soles of the boots are unscarred and I can't find any evidence of a tracker elsewhere in the clothes. Still, there's a pit in my stomach when I carry them to the bathroom down the hall.

I fish around in a cupboard until I find a towel and washcloth and let the sound of the shower fill the bathroom with a pleasant, dull pulse. Stepping beneath the shower head forces a hiss from my teeth as the hot water burns over my wounds. It's probably not a great idea to be standing in the hot steam with the slippery floor beneath my feet, but I am so desperate to be clean, to be rid of Isaac's scent that seems burned into my skin and hair.

I wash my hair twice and shake my head as the shower walls twist before my eyes. Blinking away the dizziness, I reach for the bottle of conditioner, when suddenly it's slipping further and further away. My hand fumbles for the grab bar but then my chin hits the edge of the bathtub and I'm slumped on my back on the shower floor, skull on fire. I'm dimly aware of the low whimper that works its way from the back of my throat, but I don't have the strength to lift myself up. Instead, I lie there for several long moments as the water hits my face and splashes at my eyes.

Footsteps pound down the hall, and my stomach sinks at the realization that Jack is about to come into the bathroom whether I like or not, and he's going to see how fucking worthless I am, and he's going to scold me for trying to take a shower alone. The bathroom door opens and closes and the curtain is thrown aside, but it isn't Jack's face looking down on me. Instead, I stare up at the furrowed brow of short woman with pale skin and hair so blond it's nearly white. She just looks at me for a long moment, and then she kneels by the tub and pushes an arm beneath my shoulders, not seeming to mind the water that soaks into the sleeves of her shirt.

"Work with me a bit here," she says, and while her hands are so gentle and careful against my skin, there's something in her voice that cuts. I manage to get a hand on the edge of the tub and pull myself up while she pushes me into a sitting position. The woman stops the shower and plugs the drain, letting water pool up my thighs. "So you're Layla," she states as if the realization is a disappointment. "What do you need? Shampoo? Conditioner? Soap?"

"Conditioner," I murmur. "Thank you..."

"When Jack asked me to babysit, he didn't mention it would involve bathing anyone."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too." Again, her hands are gentle as she begins to work conditioner into my hair. I hold onto the grab bar and close my eyes as her fingers massage my scalp. "You have a lot of nerve showing up here like you did."

"What do you mean?" I regret the question when I ask it. I sense that I'm meant to listen, not to speak. I sense that she's been waiting to say whatever it is she's going to say to me.