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Dots bounce.I hope you regret now that you didn’t come, writes Bella.The hotel is gorgeous!
And be the third wheel? Oh my fucking God! No way!Consider the peace and quiet I have here from you, I enter and smirk.Have a caipirinha on me, okay?
Will do!comes from Bella.Greetings from Jorge and then until New Year.
See you then.Now that I already have the phone in my hand, I open the social media app.
The studio’s page has received a surprising number of Christmas greetings from regular clients, which further lift my spirits. Answering them in just the right mixture of flippant and solemn is unusually easy for me.
In between, I undress bit by bit, throwing the clothes into the laundry basket in the corner of the wet room. After I have worked through all the messages, I unscrew the ear tunnel. With the titanium, I discard the last remaininggarment. Then I look at the guy in the mirror who looks at me bare-ass-naked.
You can be damn proud of yourself, I whisper to him in my mind.Who else can live out his creativity and earn a living at the same time?But that’s still an understatement. The business is running like clockwork and starting in January I’ll be increasing the repayments. And thus, paying off my debt to Celine sooner than planned.
Celine.
Even before the synapses in my brain can connect, my fingers have already acted. They unlock the phone again and find her social media account.
Her last post, a selfie, is dated this evening.
She and that sleazy Kevin, holding her hand up to the camera like aChampions Leaguewinner presenting the metal amphora. On her ring finger is a slender silver ring. Three diamonds in gold settings.
I don’t have to read her post or the comments below it to conclude that she’s engaged to him.
I feel nauseous. Jackhammers drill into my brain behind my temples.Holy shit! I mean, of course, I knew it could never work out with her and me.But to find that out on Christmas Eve of all days… I’m really more of aGrinchthan aChristmas addict. But this is too much even for my thick-skinnedness.
Angry at myself, I turn off the cell phone. Then I turn on my heel, yank open the glass door of the shower enclosure, and set the mixer lever to maximum heat.
Almost boiling hot, the water pelts my skin. The pain numbs my emotions until it is unbearable.
With a jerk, I turn the blender to cold.
An animalistic scream escapes my throat as the frosty liquid hits my overheated body.
I gasp for air, leaning against the wall with both hands. I wait in the slowly clearing misty steam of the shower cubicle until my body has settled down to a normal state of warmth. Then I regulate the water to a pleasant temperature and begin to soap myself.
As advertised in the product description, the essential oils of lemon and tropical citrus laurel manage to lift my mood.
The lively, fresh scent penetrates deeply into my airways.
Once again, I spread the gel on my skin, rinse it off, and watch the small shreds of foam find their way into the wide drainage channel.
The base feeling of satisfaction begins to fill my emotional reservoirs.
I imagine all negativity and adversity being washed off of me, flushed away along with the water into the sewer. Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. In…
But…? What is that?
A barely identifiable sound enters my bubble of comfort, bursting it.
With a touch of disgruntlement, I turn off the water and listen.
Nothing. Ear-deafening silence.
But then:yes! There is something!
A rhythmic throbbing is coming from far away into my bathroom.
Could it be the washing machine, which has swallowed itself during its spin cycle?With a sigh, I leave the shower, grab a towel from the shelf and wrap it around my waist. Barefoot, I leave my apartment, not caring about the wet prints I leave on the comfortably tempered vinyl floor. By tomorrow morning they will have dried…
