Daria moved slowly from the bed, making sure that she didn't disturb, "what's his name anyway?"
She slithered out the right side and slipped into her comfy slippers making sure the bed didn't creek.
She looked at "what's his face?" one more time and smiled as he snored and turned over burying his face in the pillow.
Daria moved quietly tip-toeing across the wood floor. She reached the door, turned the knob and opened the door gently.
Mr "who are you again?" snored a good-bye as Daria exited the room and closed the door gently behind her.
She made her way down the hallway until she reached the bathroom. She entered without turning on the light and started the hot shower water. She could see her reflection in the mirror by dawn's early light that peeked through her bathroom window. She looked at herself. Her eyes were blood shot ; a result of too many rum and cokes, 3 hrs. of hot multi sensory physicality, with " Mr. 'Smith...or Jones'... and not enough sleep. Her hair was an unruly mess and her half dress hung like a loose bag barely draping her shoulders.
She looked again at herself. She was old. Not really...just old looking; worn...tired. She was a dirty dish rag that had allowed her self to be used to soak up the life seed of "why can't I remember your name?"
Daria pulled at her face and smoothed back her unruly hair. It didn't help. She needed a shower. The mirror stared to fog up as the bathroom heated. She ripped off her clothes and was thinking of buring them as she threw them onto the tiled floor.
She slid the glass door open and entered. The hot water cascaded over her and she felt the sins of last nifght wash away from her. She reached for the vanilla perfumed soap and lathered her hands. She took a washcloth and lathered it up. She washed herself slowly making sure that it scrapped off all the dirt from head to toe. She moved the cloth over her sholders, neck and arms. She took special care to rub her shoulder blades and felt pressure leave her.
She washed herself tenderly...like a baby. She took her time and was gentle with herself. She reached for the peach shampoo and squirted some into her hair. She massaged her scalp and felt pressure leave her. "Mmmmm..." it felt good. Clean. The smell of peach filled her and made her head swim. She stopped moving and relaxed and her body sagged. It felt wonderful. She leaned against the wall as the hot water cleansed her, and the soapy water took all her dirt away.
"No more," she whisperd. "No more."
Alle Rechte an diesem Beitrag liegen beim Autoren. Der Beitrag wurde auf e-Stories.org vom Autor eingeschickt Karen Halloway.
Veröffentlicht auf e-Stories.org am 06.07.2014.