Page 49 of Wild Like Us
My heart rate goes haywire.
“I’m going to shut the door for her,” I tell him.
He nods, unfurling the sleeping mats.
And I head to the bathroom. Every footstep is a pound in my pulse.
8
SULLIVAN MEADOWS
“Hey, Sulli,”Akara calls from outside the motel bathroom. His footsteps stop near the door.
My joints stiffen, a disposable razor frozen in my hand. The grimy shower curtain conceals me from him. Steam cocooning me, I’ve been avoiding the sheets of scalding water that pound the tub at my feet. For five minutes, I tried adjusting the temperature with no success.
It’s still boil-my-fucking-skin-offhot.
Now everything suddenly feels catastrophically hotter. “Yeah?” I call back.
“I’m just closing this door.”
My stomach tanks.
What were you expecting, Sullivan?
Somethinghotter, fucking clearly.
“K,” I say, and I peek my head out of the shower curtain. But I’m too late to catch his expression. He shuts the door. Enclosing me in privacy that I’m surprised to be bummed about.
I like my privacy.
But lately, it’s been kind of lonely.
I shake the thoughts away.
Back to shaving.I forgot to pack a new razor, and the one I left in my toiletry kit is dull and sucks. My body hair grows back daily, especially on my legs and armpits, but sometimes I say,fuck thisand don’t shave every single day.
I haven’t always taken the carefree route.
But I guess as I grow older, I just care less what people think of me. Sometimes I wish I could transport back to seventh grade and tell myself, “Don’t be sad if you’re teased for having hairy arms. It’s just hair, and kids are fucking cruel.”
With a swipe of the razor down my calf, I run my palm over my skin. Ugh, my legs still feel prickly.
“Fuck this,” I mutter and ditch the razor. About the same time I throw it beside my body wash, I notice a bug crawling on the tiles near my shoulder.
Fuck.
Fuck.
“Fuck,” I gasp and jerk into the scalding water. “Cum—fuck.” I wince at the stinging heat and edge backwards, but my wide eyes are on the black curled tail of ascorpion.
I hate scorpions.
My little sister, however, loves them. Winona adoreseveryliving, breathing creature—especially the amphibians. Tadpoles are her jam. Even though this is not a frog, my sisterly love surpasses my instincts. So I don’t wash a scorpion down the tub drain.
You’re an Olympian, Sullivan.
You can save a little ugly scorpion.
