AllFreeNovel
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It’s a floor-to-ceiling mirror, gilt-framed.
I brace for the worst. I saw myself early on, a reflection in a piece of shiny equipment: It was not good. I had huge raccoon eyes, my nose was red, and there were two visible bumps on my forehead, one of which was about the size of an egg yolk.
Since then, I’ve been avoiding mirrors.
I stare at my reflected image in disbelief.
I’m me.
“Huh,” I say. Where are my bruises? My egg yolk? “Push me closer.”
“It’s kind of hard to believe you almost died,” Aislin says. “It’s only been, like, a few days.”
“It’s nuts,” I say. “I mean, my eyes were all…” I wave my hand around my face. “I looked like I’d been hit by a train. With good reason. I shouldn’t be this…”
Aislin shrugs. “Yeah, but this isn’t a regular hospital, right?”
“No, you’re right, it isn’t,” I say. “My mother was completely freaked about getting me out of San Fran and into this place. I guess she was onto something.”
While I contemplate my reflection, Aislin pokes around the room. “Giant flat-screen, nice sound system. Maybe I should get run over.”
“I had stitches here,” I murmur, peeling back a strip of surgical tape. “Right here on my cheek. Now there’s nothing.”
“Lucky,” Aislin says. “Would’ve been hard to cover with makeup.” She slides open my closet doors. “Whoa. Primo robes. Can I steal one?”
I glance at the closet. My sketchbook is on the top shelf, barely visible. “Hey, can you get that down for me? My mother probably had someone stash it there.”
“Have I mentioned that your mother’s an ice-cold bitch?”
“I believe you may have mentioned that in passing, yes.” I hold up my cell phone. “At least she finally let me have my phone back. Charged and everything.”
Aislin stands on tiptoe and retrieves the sketchbook. She browses through the pages, holds one up for me to see.
“I love this guy. You’ve been working on him forever.”
“He’s a cartoon. He has no depth. No soul.”
“Screw depth.”
“I can’t get the eyes right.”
“Hmm. Maybe. But he’s got great lips.” She taps her chin with her index finger. “You know, he reminds me a little of what’s-his-name. So-hot.”
“Solo.”
“Needs a body, though. Your drawing, I mean. So-hot’s doing just fine in that department.” She smirks. “If you need suggestions, I can help you finish him. If you know what I mean.”
I ignore her. “Must be genetic. My dad never could do faces, either.”
“But he was a sculptor.”
“Sculpting, drawing. Same problems.” I stare out the window at the undulating hills wreathed in fog. “I remember once he tried to draw my mother. He was using oil pastels, I think. He gave up after a couple tries.”
“Must’ve been tough, capturing Satan on canvas.” Aislin places the sketchbook on my bedside table. “Hey, can you draw, anyway? With your arm all mummied up like that?”
“Nah.” I consider my crushed hand. “Although the way things are going, who knows?”
“So where’s the minibar?”
