Chapter 4 Adjusting

Tali

I honestly don't know what to do. I am standing in a magnificent bathroom, and my brain is not firing properly.

Most people take for granted the ability to walk into a bathroom, use a toilet, have running water, and shower or bathe. I haven't had this in I don't know how long. Honestly, I'm not even sure what the date is, so I really don't know.

I finally decided to take a shower first. If I want a bath, I want to get the grime and blood off of me first.

I marvel at hot water as it comes out steaming hot from the shower. I remove the borrowed shirt and step beneath the water. I just let it run over me. The water runs brown and red.

The sob catches me off guard. Once it's free, I can't put it back again. I cover my mouth to muffle the sound of my sobs. I sink to my knees on the shower floor and cry.

I don't know how long I was like that, but the water hasn't gone cold, and it's no longer brown. So I get up, grab the bottle of shampoo, and get to work on my hair. I scrub repeatedly with every product in the shower.

Once I get out, I dry myself and wrap a towel around myself. I try to find a brush of some kind. I haven't had one for some time, at least not my own.

I find one in a drawer that looks new, so I start using it to do something about my hair. As I brush, I look up and catch my reflection. Only, it's not me, at least not the me I remember seeing.

There are scars on my face, but not many. He wanted me pretty, so damaging my face was against the rules. The few I have, he inflicted himself.

I forcefully pull myself away from those thoughts. I am determined to stay just in this moment. For tonight, there's only right now. I see if there's still hot water and marvel that there is.

I run a bath and even add bubbles. The fragrance fills the room, and I inhale, enjoying breathing clean, fresh, good-smelling air.

I can actually use a toilet, and it's clean. I can wash my hands and drink glasses of clean tap water.

When I sink into the bubbles, I again have to pull myself back from that edge. The sudden urge to scrub myself raw overwhelms me, but I take deep breaths and hold myself very still until I'm able to get it under control.

My bones are very prominent, and my frame is very thin. I have seen thinner girls, but I know I need to put some weight back on. I don't want to examine myself too closely. The scars on my face may be few and small, but that's not something I can claim for the rest of me.

I finally drag myself from the bath and put on clean pajamas. They are new with the tags, as is the underwear. It actually feels somewhat strange wearing clothes again, real clothes anyway. They are a bit big, but they are great.

I take the brush back into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel. I am determined to get my hair completely brushed out.

As I enter the bedroom, there's a tray on the end of the bed, and a plastic shopping bag beside that. The tray has a sandwich and a bag of chips. There's soda and water in the bag. There's even chocolate.

I set everything aside for a few moments. I find the TV remote and just flip channels until I find something mindless. I have no idea what it is, but maybe I can zone out to it.

My arms are shaking and tired by the time I'm finished with my hair. It has gotten so long. My hair has always been thick and wavy, but it's not as healthy as it used to be.

I sit back on the bed, leaning against the headboard. I nibble on the sandwich, but my stomach protests after a few bites. The water is good, and I managed some soda. I savor one square of chocolate but don't want to get sick, so I don't stuff myself like I want to.

I'm worried about falling asleep. Sleep is not my friend. It never has been. My nights are filled with images I wish I could scrub from my brain. They haunt me when I close my eyes.

I trained myself long ago not to make noise and not to scream myself awake. That was a very bad thing, until I learned to make it stop. So now, even as I wake drenched in sweat, I don't utter a sound.

Once again, I'm glad, as I think if I cried out, the men in this house would come. They scare me. They called themselves protectors, but of what and from what?

The one healed me like a witch in an old fairy tale and shit. Is that what they are? They moved from one place to another instantly. It felt like falling, like when your stomach drops, it feels like that.

So I know there's something very strange about them. I'm glad they gave me tonight because I'm not sure what will happen tomorrow. I have learned not to believe in miracles or possibilities; I expect the worst, then I'm prepared.

The nightmares are brutal and assault my soul as I cling to the few minutes of sleep I can manage in between. I am tired and worn out, so I decide to take another bath.

I found a channel on the TV that plays music. I love music, so I listen to it. I don't recognize a lot of it, but I love it. I avoided the mirror today. After the brutality of last night's nightmares, I can't face it just now.

I find one of the windows has a seat behind the curtain. So I sit and watch outside. The times I have seen or been outside were few and far between, and very rushed. So now, I gaze upon it and soak it in.

Eventually, my solitude comes to an end as I hear a knock on the door. It's opened by the man from last night. He said the name of the one who healed me, but I never heard his name.

"Good morning, how about some coffee and breakfast?" I remember coffee and loved it, so I eagerly nodded. He smiles and indicates for me to follow him.