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Coffee Orgasms
I REMAINED OUTSIDE for hours until my eyes were fighting against gravity to stay open. I was trying to avoid the inevitable nighttime routine. It was a methodical checklist you would assume to be the easiest part of your day. No decisions to be made, because you had done it so many times you could rely on its certainty. Yet, here I was, staring at the pile of stuff on the bathroom counter that Grady had bought for me: toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, and face wash with no idea where to start. At the hospital, I had adopted brushing my teeth after washing my face. I didn’t have floss there, but what did I do before the accident? Did I wash my face first or brush my teeth? Did I floss before brushing my teeth or after? I just stared at the pile. Why the hell did it matter? Why couldn’t I just pick up the damn toothbrush and brush my teeth like every other normal person in the world? My cheeks started to flare.
Just pick up the damn toothbrush!
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t, because I didn’t know my routine. And, for that reason, I couldn’t do it, so instead, I swiped the pile off the counter and watched as the floss and toothbrush bounced across the floor, and the face wash broke open, spilling its contents.
“Dammit!” I gritted through my teeth. I wanted to punch the reflection looking back at me in the mirror. Taunting me. Pushing me to go further. Instead, I kicked the face wash across the bathroom as I walked past. If I couldn’t remember my simple little routine, I would skip it. A slightly unstable and misplaced laugh escaped me as I yanked the floral duvet off the oversized bed and crawled under the satin cream sheets. They felt cold against my hot skin, bringing instant relief from my tantrum. This should be the moment I cried. The moment I broke down and accepted my fate, but I didn’t. I didn’t feel defeated or sad. I felt angry. Someone had stolen my life and I didn’t know if I would ever get it back.
The first time I truly saw myself was a few minutes ago. I had barely glanced in a mirror at the hospital. I was too scared to look. Ashamed. What if I had scars all over my face from whatever horrific accident claimed me? I had discovered my worries were unfounded, and while I was angry, I was relieved. No scars. My blonde, naturally highlighted hair was unkempt from barely running a brush through it before I left the hospital, and my eyes were a weird combination of hazel and blue, but my skin was on the fair side and unblemished aside from the freckles sprinkling my nose haphazardly. They were the reason Grady had nicknamed me Freckles. My body wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t bad. It was frail with very little meat around my bones, and the skin was loose from lying in a bed for so long. The therapy the past week had helped build some sort of foundation for an exercise routine. The memory lapse was the one thing I needed to fix that I couldn’t, that I had no control over.
My memories.
My life before I woke up.
There was still nothing.
My mind was filing away every new moment since I woke up, but nothing else was there. Well, some things were. I knew what trees were and cars and toothpaste, and I even remembered movies, and small moments like the ocean in between my toes, but everything else was gone. Everything that made me who I was, erased, and it scared the hell out of me.
AN OBNOXIOUS POUNDINGfilled my head, waking me from a deep slumber. When the knocking continued, I realized I wasn’t dreaming. I rubbed my eyes until they opened to see Grady leaning on the doorframe to the bedroom.
“Creep much?” The way he wore confidence was intimidating.
“A little,” he teased.
I turned my back to him and threw the pillow over my head. I really should have brushed my teeth last night. Gross.
“Want to tell me why you beat up the bathroom last night, Freckles?”
“Not really,” I murmured under the pillow.
His shoes stomped across the wood floors and I heard the water turn on in the bathroom. I lifted my pillow slightly to see he was cleaning up the face wash that had splattered all over the wall after I kicked it. I grumbled to myself. I felt like a complete jerk. He was letting me live here, and it took me less than a day to start trashing it. I threw the pillow off, tossed the sheets onto the floor, and stumbled into the bathroom.
“Wow, Freckles, was it hard making that rat’s nest?” He pointed to my hair.
“Whatever.” I glanced in the mirror and was slightly appalled. Grady started laughing. “Shut up.”
“Why didn’t you wear the pajamas I bought you?”
“The same reason why I skipped on brushing my teeth.” I flashed a grimy fake smile. I could feel the coating of disgustingness that layered my teeth.
“Hmmm.” He looked me up and down. “You need to shower, but first,” he said, handing me the toothbrush and toothpaste before continuing, “you need to brush.”
The look on his face said it all. “That bad, huh?”
“I’m afraid so.” He laughed.
I sighed in defeat. “Fine, but you need to be going.”
“And here I thought I was going to get to watch a beautiful stranger shower.”
I couldn’t tell if he was teasing or serious. “You’re lucky you’ve seen me in a bathing suit. Now, out,” I instructed.
He laughed as he shut the bedroom door behind him. I wondered if he would stay or if I had scared him away with my rat’s nest and bad breath.
When I got out of the shower, my bed was made, and my jeans from yesterday and a fresh shirt were laid out on the bed. I’m not going to lie; it made me smile. It still screamed a bit stalker, but it was a sweet gesture, and Grady had done nothing to make me think he was a serial killer.
I gnawed on the towel wrapped around my head like a giddy teenager and walked over to the bed and picked up the shirt. It was a simple white and grey striped V-neck. I held it up to my body. Just my size. I looked at the door as if I could see him standing on the other side and smiled again. It felt nice having someone around, especially as good-looking as Grady.
