Ancilla

Kether (part 2)

   It was good that I arrived on campus during freshman orientation before classes started. I had originally meant to attend orientation, despite technically being a sophomore, because I figured that the orientation would have useful information for transfer students as well.

   That never happened.

   After Erastes closed the door behind him, I continued crying into my pillow until I had no more energy for it. I cried myself to sleep that night without ever leaving my room. Later I woke up to use the bathroom – I think the clock in the lounge might have said one in the morning, but I wasn't paying attention – tears running down my face and into my throat; when I was done, I stumbled, still crying, back to my room, and continued to sob into my pillow until exhaustion overtook me again.

   Morning came. With morning came yet more tears.

   Oh, it wasn't constant, at least, not entirely. At various points, I was able to quiet myself down enough to take care of a few mundane details of everyday life. At one point I unpacked my suitcase – removing the gifts Erastes had given me and finding places on the dresser and on the hutch over the desk to store them was another exercise in torment, but I got through it, also through the unpacking and restacking of the books, which included all the books he had given me, and there were a lot of them – and I nearly panicked over having forgotten to buy basic toiletries such as toothpaste and soap, because I had no money on me; until I saw that in a corner of the suitcase, Erastes had packed my scented shampoo and conditioner, also a bottle of chlorhexidine that came with a notecard on which he had scribbled POUR ON BACK AFTER SHOWERING. USE FOR ONE WEEK ONLY. USE ONLY SOAP AND WATER TO WASH THEREAFTER. DISCONTINUE ANTISEPTIC WASH IF IRRITATING TO SKIN. (SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION IF YOU DEVELOP A FEVER OR IF YOUR URINE TURNS BROWN) in permanent marker, along with several tubes of antibiotic ointment for my upper back and some other personal care necessities from our bathroom, and a new toothbrush and toothpaste, wrapping all the items neatly in zip-sealed plastic bags. Of course, this, too, was an occasion for tears, but I got everything packed and stored, and after a while, I was settled in.

   Later that morning I noticed that I was thirsty, and when I emerged from my room to get water from the sink in the kitchenette, I found that I was also hungry, and I realized that I hadn't eaten in two days, so I looked at my campus map and found the dining hall nearest me and the time lunch would be served in it. I even managed to get there on time and to eat my food without bawling in public and causing a scene.

   At some point, I must have picked up an orientation packet and checked in. I don't remember doing it. Nor do I remember enrolling in classes, or talking to the financial aid office about getting a student loan large enough to pay for the books and other incidentals my grants did not cover, or introducing myself to the resident advisor on my hall – which was a hall of upperclassmen and had no other transfer students, so I was the only one living on my floor for the first few days until the official beginning of the academic year – but I'm sure I did all of those things at some point.

   One thing I do remember clearly is showering unassisted for the first time in the suite's bathroom. For the past couple of weeks, I hadn't had to worry about the practicalities involved – Erastes had washed my back for me with a sponge, while I sat soaking in a bath in a sort of tea made with comfrey, calendula, chamomile, and lavender that he'd boiled in a stock pot with salt to add to the bathwater, and then after bathing me, he'd applied the antibiotic ointment to the wounds he'd made. I didn't have that luxury anymore. For the most part, they had stopped bleeding and oozing, having reached the scabby, itchy stage of healing, but whenever they got exposed to water for a long enough period, they opened up again in a few places, and I really didn't want the lacerations to get infected, because that would mean I'd have to get professional medical help, which would mean having to explain how they got there in the first place. Bandaging was difficult, which was why Erastes had bought me armfuls of disposable cotton undershirts to protect my healing flesh (not to mention my clothing, in case I bled) but I still had to apply the ointment myself, which proved problematic. Eventually, I got used to doing it, just as I got used to the stinging sensation the shower inflicted on me until all of them were closed completely and scar tissue began to form. But that first shower hurt. The only thing good about it was the heat. I had a peculiar chill that had settled in my bones, completely unrelated to my actual body temperature.