“Shower”
Jan 08, 2020“You’re a real piece of shit,” Bill says to me. I know he’s right so I don’t respond.
“No, you know,” he continues, “you’re worse than a piece of shit. You’re the shit’s shit. Even the shit doesn’t want to have anything to do with you. You’re garbage, worthless. The rats run away from you, afraid you’ll give them some nasty disease.”
I really can’t argue with him. He’s known me as long as I’ve known myself, better than anyone knows me, probably even better than myself. Bill’s a sadist and he knows I’m a masochist, so we were destined to be together.
My hair is still damp. My body is bone dry. There’s nothing better than a long, scalding shower on a cold day. This apartment doesn’t keep the heat. It’s all hardwood flooring. People pay extra for nice wood floors. I’d rather have carpets. Warmer, softer on the feet. Keep the echoes minimal. When I’m done showering, I dry off before opening the curtains and letting the cold draft in. I want to trap in the moist heat as long as I can. Nothing worse than stepping out of the shower with wet feet onto a cold floor. My body doesn’t hold temperatures well, so I’m always shivering when it’s cold out. I dry my body and then lay the towel down and stand on it while I warm myself up with the hairdryer. Bill makes fun of me for it. Sometimes he’ll grab the dryer from my hand and point it at my eyes. Then when I reach to grab it back he’ll press the hot nozzle against my skin and laughs when I yelp. Then he says sorry and gives it back so I can continue my routine. And he calls me a piece of shit. I stand naked until there’s not a drop of water left on my body, other than my hair. I stare at myself in the mirror and Bill stares at me the whole time. When I finish putting product in my hair and ensure there’s not a stray, I’m done.
I turn to leave. Bill blocks my way.
“Do you mind?” I say. He steps to the side, gesturing that I may pass. He smells of cigarettes and booze. It’s only ten in the morning. Breakfast of champions, he calls it. Breakfast of degenerates, I call it. Decaf coffee and a blueberry muffin is how I start my day, whatever time it may be.
“You’re the piece of shit,” I say and run to my room, slamming and locking the door before he can catch me and throw me to the ground.