Lost Journals

I sat on the edge of the claw foot tub and scrubbed my inner thigh down with rubbing alcohol, then with iodine. Sean had gone into town to fill his prescriptions. He’d be gone for at least an hour.

I started the bath, adding copious amounts of Fuzzy Peach shower gel. The air filled with the scent of Grandma’s cobbler. I slid into the tub keeping my sterilized leg on the edge. I shaved my legs in long sweeping strokes careful not to nick my shins.

I drew more hot water to warm the bubbles, grabbed Sean’s straight razor, swabbed the blade with alcohol, and swiped it across my inner thigh.

It stung for only a moment before the blood came. It came in drips and droplets falling into the water tinting the bubbles, swirling red and pink.

Why is this simple red fluid so important …how does it kill … is there a way of giving Sean healthy blood … I’m so tired of this pain … watching Sean die is killing me … how much more can I take … you stupid bitch feeling sorry for yourself he’s the one in real pain … yet he smiles and acts like nothing is happening … he acts like the blood coursing through his veins isn’t toxic that every person who comes in contact with him isn’t scared of him … why did they stop bloodletting … probably the Catholic church they hate everything … wonder if vampires get HIV … fuck vampires …

Sean knocked on the door. “You alright in there?”

Oh shit … did I fall asleep … he’ll kill me if he sees my leg … fuck all the water’s red … oh God ... how much blood did I lose …

“I’m alright. I’ll be out in a few,” I said.

“I got take out.”

“Okay, I’ll be a few minutes.”

I hopped out of the tub, pulled the drain plug and dried off. The porous, cracked porcelain clung to the water. I dumped toilet bowl cleaner into the tub and scrubbed with the toilet brush. The smell of bleach replaced the peach.

I rinsed the bathtub, bandaged my leg with butterfly closures, wrapped up in a towel, and dashed for the bedroom. I pulled on some loose flannel pant that wouldn’t rub my leg and an old track shirt I’d stolen from a visiting team as a prank.

Sean was on the sofa surrounded by pill bottles and Chinese take-out boxes. Sesame, curry and Szechwan filled the air.

“I got crab Rangoon,” he said offering me a box. “How was your bath?”

“Good,” I said.

“Why’d you clean the tub?” he asked stuffing a dumpling into his mouth. Sean cleaned the house while I was at school. However, I often insulted him by cleaning the bathroom everyday. I was obsessed with cleanliness after a news segment on bathroom germs.