ch 4. Hand
I turned toward the bathroom and noticed Laura standing in the doorway of my bedroom, backlit by the ambient lighting from my lamp. She had changed into an oversized battered and worn gray shirt of mine and I could see a pair of navy cheer shorts peaking out from the hemline. "Do you remember where the band-aids are?", I asked her, bending down to sort through the contents of the bathroom cabinet. She walked around me and gently pushed me out of the way.
"Let me do it, you're going to get blood all over the place", Laura said. She continued to search around the bathroom. With all the contents upturned and no bandages in sight, she hummed again to herself and I moved to wash my hands in the sink. I heard her soft voice perk in some sort of realization as she glided past me down the hall and into the main room. I studied my face in the mirror as I dried my hand with a paper towel, putting pressure on the stinging wound across my palm. My hair was disheveled and half out of its orderly ponytail from earlier, wisps of it framing my face and sticking to the sweat on my forehead. I saw my tanned cheeks flushed and purple circles forming under my redwood colored eyes. My teal bra strap could be seen from under the black sleeveless undershirt I wore, now spotted with dark red. I heard soft foot steps approaching the bathroom and saw the bounce of Laura's curls as she danced into the area, bandages in hand. She guided me to sit on the edge of the off white tub and pulled the damp paper towel from my hand, carefully covering the cut with folded gauze and attaching two bandages on either end to form a makeshift dressing large enough to fit the wound. As she worked, I stared intently at her down turned face, following the curve of her nose and the arch of her dark eyebrows, noticing the smeared shimmer of eye makeup through her eye glasses and the light spatter of freckles across her temple. She had a heart faced shape and a gentle sloping jaw; the more I focused on her, the more my heartbeat quickened, I realized. I averted my eyes and looked toward the peeling cream tinted paint on the textured walls, the grain of the wood on the cabinet, the worn washrag slung over the faucet to dry- anything to avoid the uptick in my breath.
"All done", she quipped. "I dunno' 'bout you, but I'm ready to go lay back down", she turned and walked ahead of me into the bedroom. I clicked the light off and shut the door as I followed her slowly. The adrenaline from earlier had worn off and I could feel the sluggish pull of all the drinks I had earlier. Laura climbed back on my double bed and flopped down on the patterned pillows around her. I could feel her eyes on me as I bumped the door shut and attempted to strip off my jeans. Bending my hand hurt and I cursed. "Hey can you help me with this?", I asked her, walking over to the bedside. She sighed and reached out, unbuttoning the front of my pants and reaching around my hips to pull them down.
She raised and eyebrow and teased "Bet its been a while since you had someone do this for you." I smiled half-heartedly and chuckled back, "Guess I should thank Thomas for giving me the opportunity to get some game then?".
"Maybe you should", she replied jovially with a sarcastic smile. I looked down at her again as she slid the jeans down my legs, her fingers trailing the skin on my thighs. I stepped out of the pants and pivoted to kick them away as she caught my wrist. She turned me back toward herself, and looked intently at me. She reached out to trace the black and red lines running along my skin and under the edge of the torn lace underwear. "It healed really nicely, didn't it?", she comments about the thin tattoo snake, curving over and around my hip bone into my pelvis. As her fingertips move, I can feel my breath getting caught in my throat again, and try to suppress the flinching in my abdomen. She slides the lace aside and inspects the head of the snake, its slithering tongue pointing to something her family calls sin. My eyes are wide and I can feel my hands shaking from the pulsating blood in my body. Laura is tracing her hands gently again and again over the lines, like incantations of a prayer- hail Mary's said to absolve guilt. Each time she follows the shape of the head, I can feel her finger shadow slightly further outside the form, sliding lower and closer to the parting of my legs.
My head feels light and heavy at the same time. I feel myself sway back and forth slightly and I take a deep breath before drawing her attention. "Laura?" She gazes up at me through her eyelashes and my throat clenches again. Her mouth is slightly ajar, pale pink bottom lip twitching. The warm orange tinted light hitting the right side of her body has half of her form hidden in shadow, looking like some kind of dark deity demanding to be worshiped. She looks thirsty, eyebrows pressed together, like she's begging for permission, but her mouth is silent. Years of sitting on hard pews have made her hesitate. I can see the pressure building behind her eyes; water gathering against a weak dam. I swallow and repeat her name softly, "...Laura?".
The dam bursts.