I can hear my stomach grumbling; it feels as though my insides are cramping up and it becomes too painful to bear. I may have no choice in the matter, but to leave this mental prison of mine just to get a bite to eat. Rubbing my upset tummy, I decide it’s best I should at least find a snack around this trash heap.
I sigh to myself, but it’s more like a groan.
Why am I still alive? I should be dead by now, right?
I lift my head and glance around the dark room. Scratching the top of my wild, untamed hair, I wonder what might be in the fridge. As I place my right foot on the floor, I step on a sharp object and then I stumble forward.
I fall. My head hits the ground and I’m in a world of hurt and red. I scream out, staring at the cut on my big toe.
“Damn it,” I said, practically on the verve of tears.
I muster all my strength, lift myself upward, and hop on one foot. Hunger is far removed from my mind now. Hopping toward the bathroom, I rummage around for a towel or a Band-Aid––anything to stop the bleeding.
I give up trying and jump inside the tub. The shower turns on automatically. I’m soaked to the bone and shivering while the blood washes away. I see the river of red clearly as it goes down the drain.
Since I’m here, I might as well enjoy it. However, I can’t find a bar of soap. Isn’t this shower programmed to have everything?
I can’t remember exactly if I’m supposed to press a button or command the device by voice.
“Can I get a bar of soap?” I ask the shower.
It does nothing. Maybe it’s not that kind of machine. Or maybe I’m not speaking clear enough. So, I try again.
One of the tiles before me begins to move and a liquid squirts into my eyes, burning my vision altogether. Loud obscenities escape my lips and once again I’m feeling the burn, but this time it’s even worse than before.
I should seriously be more careful next time. After rinsing my eyes and face with cold water, I can barely see. The blood on my toe disappears and I’m back to searching for a piece of cloth to wrap it with. Holding onto the shower curtain, it takes me about fifteen minutes just to find a fucking rag. I tear it in half and gently bandage my toe.
Thinking to myself, I gawk at the slippery tiled floor. I should probably not be in a haste to leave this shower, for fear I’d slip and break my Goddamn neck.
“I need to get some help…” I finally admitted that I can’t take care of pathetic self.
I’m unable to focus on the simplest of tasks. Something is preventing me from living a normal life. What can it be? I don’t know why I do the things that I do.
Maybe I can hire someone to keep this place in order for me. But who can I afford? Housekeepers aren’t cheap and neither are the robotic maids. They’ve both so damn expensive. I don’t have much credits left on me and who’d want to work here, in this dump.
“This place will be the death of me if I don’t find someone soon,” I whisper, putting my hands on the wall.
I slowly step out of the shower, one foot at a time––just baby steps. For once, I see myself in the mirror. My reflection stares right back at me, and I can’t recognize my own face.
“What’s happening to me?” I think aloud. “Why can’t I think straight?”
A buzzing sound interrupts my thoughts. Buzz. Buzz. That noise sounds so familiar. Where have I heard it before? It was coming from the front entrance. Someone was at my apartment door, ringing the buzzer.
I’m not in the best condition to answer it, since I’m in my birthday suit. My bare ass is covered in scars and if I open that door in the buff, I’ll scare away whoever is at my door.
“Shit…now what?” I dig through my bathroom cabinet and grab the nearest towel.
I carefully walk to the door, which is behind a pile of trash, dirty laundry, and stuffed cardboard boxes.
“Comin’…” I said, hesitantly.
I don’t know who or what is on the other side of that door.
(To be continued…)
Copyrighted © 2017 by W.D. Lady