She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know he hadn’t come home last night, and her feelings on the matter were well beyond disconcerting. Maybe it was better this way, being alone in the house. After all, she rarely screamed at herself.
Reaching her hand towards the wall, she touched the coffee stains, slowly running her tattooed fingers across the ugly textured patterns. She’d always thought their bed was too large for the small room, and contributed to her already overwhelming sense of seclusion. Lost within the darkness of her thoughts, she began taking inventory of cobwebs, dark brown coffee stains, and the accumulated debris on the floor by the nightstand. [Dust Bunnies . . . Evil Dust Bunnies], she thought.
Studying the ugly faces textured within the bedroom wall, she whispered, “unclean.”
Thinking [I can’t wait any longer], she stepped from bed wearing a long-sleeved Pink Panther nightshirt and purple booty socks. Skating her way across the hardwood floor towards the upstairs bathroom, she kicked a pile of dirty clothes, scattering them through the doorway and into the hall.
“Move,” she said, realizing her error in holding her pee for such a long time.
Having slept for nearly fifteen hours, the flow of urine seemed to last forever, more than enough time to fall back asleep as she sat on the toilet with her head resting on her hands. Shaken by the fear of what waited for her within the vanity mirror, sleep was no longer an option as she stepped from the toilet to wash her hands, quickly stepping back to flush instead; anything to pause the inevitable for a few seconds. She’d attempting washing her hands with her eyes closed, and in the dark, but such acts of cowardice made things worse; causing her to like what she’d become even less.