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Blond, almost white, hair wrapped around the taps lovingly as the cold water soaked into her scalp. Her shoulders were trembling, though not from the temperature. The porcelain was pleasantly cool against her cheeks, which tingled when stray hairs brushed the scars.
Dove pulled back and felt the moisture from her hair saturate her favourite crop top. Well, it used to be her favourite, when she cared. It was old fashioned now, and clung to her body with worn determination. The rush of water from the tap echoed in the stillness of the bathroom. She drew her hand across her mouth, wrinkling her nose as the sweet-edged smell of nausea hit her.
"Aw, shit," she murmured, and bent to the taps again.
It was some minutes before she withdrew from the sink. There was a mirror on the wall; she'd always wondered whether Shadbolt had installed it especially for her. Sometimes she'd pretend she didn't know it was there, try to leave the bathroom without looking at her reflection. But she never could.
So she stopped and stared with the morbid satisfaction of someone who knows that what they're doing will only upset them. The slender figure in the mirror stared back, raising its hands slowly to its face. The visage seemed to have been painted on last, the artist having chosen a bizarre mix of reds and pinks in stark contrast to Dove's otherwise pale skin. For a moment she traced the countries formed by the scars, continents, oceans - before her hands started to shake and both the face and the figure in the mirror crumpled.
She sobbed like a child. Loudly. With abandon. Her fist lashed out at the mirror but, as always, it did not break. And she could not kid herself that Shadbolt could not hear her. Up above her, the squat circular light clamped onto the ceiling like a limpet, and she had her suspicions.
She was crouched on the floor now, eyes and nose streaming. And there was a buzzing sensation in her chest, something between nausea and excitement. Almost pill time.
She bowed her head in shame.
Dammit.
You got me, she thought, you really got me.
I've got to get out of here.
No revelation there. She had been feeding off this emotion for months. Escape. Break out. Freedom. Going 'straight'. Getting 'clean'. She closed her eyes. It was like having her mother's voice raging through the depths of her psyche. "So you never write: like you don't have a mother?"
Dove imperceptibly shrugged. Like it mattered now.
And then, quite to her surprise, she had an idea. She froze, mid-crouch, her thoughts racing.
Almost all her friends were gone. Left the Scene, or dead, or both. But there was someone who could help. Not her mother, obviously. But he could help. If he agreed.
She glanced around, eyes wide.
Not much time. Pill time soon. Not much time. Do it now.
She activated her CICI, and started to compose a message.
<begin draft>
<pause draft>
What if I'm caught?... ... ...
... ...Fuck it.
<continue draft>
<msg begins>
Y,
I know, long time no see. Or speak. Or write. I'm sure you're mad at me. That's pretty reasonable. Mom said I was a shandeh and a charpeh. I didn't understand at the time. Maybe I get it now.
Head hurting. Maybe this is a bad plan.
I'm...
Shit.
I'm in trouble. I don't know how to get out of this one. I guess, finally, I need your help.
I know it's taken me a few years to say it, but es tut mir bahng - I'm sorry, okay? There, I said it.
Like I should apologise to the arrogant meshugener?
And I know you don't approve of me, or what I am, but maybe I got my punishment already, okay. Don't do your 'frummer than thou' bit. Blood's thicker than water and all that.
Here goes then. I'm stuck with this guy. And I'm hooked on stuff. (Don't say it)
He's a real...
Noise from somewhere. Metal. The door.
"Dove? It's ready."
Voice - SHADBOLT!
a real...
Shit.
<delete, delete, delete...>
<His name is...>
"Dove? Not admiring yourself again, are you?" A smile behind the words.
Just get me out of here, Yehudi. I'll even go to shul. Please. For Mom's sake.
Aleichem sholom.
Dovid ('Dove')
<send message>
She deactivated the CICI, grabbed her mask from where it lay beside the sink, and pressed it slowly to her face. It attached itself perfectly. And only then did she turn and open the door.
Mich Sampson, 22/10/00
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