ROOM 136
Short story from Creative Writing Class
The water dripped down her spine, trickling off her limbs and swirling down the drain. The steam filled the air, fogging up the mirror. She lathered the soap in her hair, rubbing the suds until they multiplied in her long golden locks. She hummed a song her mom would have liked, probably Brenda Lee or another. She let the hot water caress her face. The cheap vinyl curtain screeched as it scraped against the rod, the sound of metal on metal punctuating the end of her shower.
The linoleum was cold under her feet, the sopping wet floor mat provided failing at its job. She bounced on the tips of her toes, skipping over the splotches of water on the ground from where the water strayed past the protective barrier of the curtain. She grabbed a white, scratchy towel from the rack above the toilet and wrapped it tightly around her body, securing it under her armpit.
With a hand towel, she created a path in the steamed mirror, watching it wane as the residual heat filled it back up. Her cheeks were rosier than usual, her skin heated from the hot water. She poked at her face for a moment, admiring the work that her tanning had done over the past couple of weeks. She stripped the towel from her body, using it to pat her bronzed legs and breasts dry, before wrapping it around her dripping hair. She opened the door to the bedroom a crack and the cool air surged in, already clearing the mirror. She looked below the cabinets, searching for a hairdryer and found it in a ratty drawstring back. The machine clicked and whirled to life, spitting out noises and smells that probably weren’t safe. She’d have to do a hair detox after using this furnace on her precious hair. Still, a hairdryer was a hairdryer and she went to work. She was careful not to burn her ears or fingers as she brushed the digits through her strands of wet hair, using them as a makeshift brush. She flipped her hair upside down to get a better angle. Her wet hair slapped her in the face as she dried it from the underside. She stayed upside down until her head started to pulse. In the cleared mirror, her reflection was voluminous and almost dry.
She hung the towel up on the rack on the bedroom door. She donned the robe that was on the aforementioned rack and tied it taught around her waist. She grabbed the glass of wine she had left on the counter and sipped—Chardonnay, now warm. Shame. It was a good thing she remembered to chill the rest of the bottle.
The bedroom air was a cool blast against her toasty skin. She swayed her hips as she walked over to the ice bucket, pulling the expensive Chardonnay she had finagled out the man. She poured a healthy glass, pausing to swallow a rather large gulp. She plopped down in the chair that resided in the corner of the room, resting her wine on the flat arm. She let out a large sigh, settling comfortably into the surprisingly inviting chair.
When the last drop was drained from her glass, she pulled herself out of the depths of the chair. She walked across to the closet, opening it with all the opulence she wish she had. She yanked her panties on before securing her matching bra and then the garters. She pulled the yellow dress that she had hung up earlier out, draping it against her frame as if she was trying to decide to buy it. The dress went on without much difficulty and fit like it was made for her—it was—and slipped her dainty feet into ruby red pumps. She pulled pearl earrings and a matching necklace out of her purse on the nightstand, securing them with practiced ease. She smoothed her dress—there were no wrinkles— and smiled at her reflection in the long mirror. She leaned down carefully to pull her discarded dress and lingerie from earlier off the stained floor of the motel. She folded them with care and placed them into the large navy bag she had brought with her.
She always came prepared.
She did a once-over of the room, making sure she didn’t leave anything as she reached for her purse. Her large bag weighed on her arm. She pried it open, pulling out a cigarette and her lighter. The little source of warmth was familiar as she breathed in the first pull to ignite it. She flicked the lighter closed, threw it in her little purse, and snapped the beaded bag closed. Then, it was deposited into her larger bag.
She made her way towards the door, stopping immediately. She stepped back for a moment, her weight shifting in her heels. She grabbed the bottle of wine from the cooler, careful not to drip water on her dress, and then continued out. She threw the “Do Not Disturb” sign onto the floor of the room and let it close, leaving the bloodied bed—and the man splayed across it—behind her.
