Her (18 page)

Angrily I lay back down on the bed. I touched the pimple on my nose. I went from touching to digging. I dug the nail on my index finger into my skin and went as deep as I could into the pimple. Then I ripped as hard as I could. I felt the pressure of the pimple release as blood spilled down my nose. I could taste it on my lips.

“Hold still, Lexus,” I fussed as squeezed the small, barely noticeable pimple on her chin.

Lexus tried to lie as still as she could on her back as I sat on top of her and hovered over her to try to kill the evil pimple.

“Oh, but it hurts,” she whined.

“Then squeeze my hips or scratch my back. Just hold still,” I told her.

Lexus wrapped her arms around my back and, as I squeezed her pimple, she dug her nails into my back. The pain was amazing. I felt too much adrenaline go to my head. I couldn’t stop squeezing. I had to make the puss come out. One long, hard squeeze and Lexus dug her nails into my back even harder.

The puss shot out. She screamed, and I screamed. Well, my scream was more like a moan, as she had run her nails down my back.  With the way things looked, if one of our parents had walked in, they would have gotten the wrong idea.

“Well, that was fun,” I said jokingly, as I sat on top of her.

She looked beautiful, lying on her back. She looked up at me and laughed. “Get off of me,” she giggled.

I got off her and grabbed a Kleenex from a tissue box. When I gave her the tissue, she wiped her chin. She looked at the bloody paper.

“Eww…this is nasty,” she said. “I hate it when I get pimples.”

“I couldn’t even see it. It was so small,” I said.

I looked into the mirror as I spoke to her. I frowned. I had oily skin with too many dark spots. I was ugly. I turned away from the mirror angrily. Lexus looked at me, and put a hand on my shoulder. I shoved her away from me. She sighed. She silently forgave me for shoving her, and tried to smile.

“You look so cute in your new outfit. I think we did a good job picking our new outfits for the picnic. Don’t you think?”

She wanted me to respond. I looked at her mini-skirt and corset tank top. She was wearing nail polish and make-up. Then I looked at my denim jeans and long-sleeved sweater I wore to cover up my cuts. I didn’t want to respond.

Still trying to be cheerful, she grabbed some lipstick. “Come on, just this once. Let me put some lipstick on you.”

I stared at the lipstick, almost afraid. Lexus laughed and shoved me into a chair next to the dresser.

“Look, you will like this color,” she said as she hovered over me and began to put the lipstick on my lips. Then she pulled out her blush. I tried to get up, but she pushed me back down.

“No,” she said. “You made me sit still while I let you torture me, and now it’s your turn.” After the blush came the eye shadow. I sat still without a fight until she went for the liquid eyeliner. “Now, you will have to trust me,” she warned.

I stayed quiet and stared at her. She laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s not like you’re going to die.”

“Yes, I am,” I said.

“Shut up, no you won’t. Now, look up at the ceiling.” She ran that liner pen on the line of my bottom lashes, then along the top, without poking my eyes out, as I feared she would. “You don’t need mascara,” she complimented. “You’ve got nice, long eyelashes like your Mom.”

I smiled at her.

She stood in front of me with her hands on her hips. She cocked her head as she studied her work of art. “You look nice,” she finally said. “Look for yourself.” She pulled me up out of the chair.

“No,” I told her.  “Lexus, I don’t really want to look at myself in the mirror.”

“Shut up,” she said. “Look.”

I stood in front of the mirror. I felt emotionless. I didn’t look different. I just had color.

“What’s the difference?” I asked her.

“What’s the difference?” she repeated. “It’s color!” She laughed at me. “Besides, I did a really good job on you. I could be your personal make-up artist.”

“What would I need one of those for?”

“You know, when you grow up and you become a famous poet and publish books, you’ll need someone to make you look good for TV talk shows and book signings.”

I was shocked. I said, “You really think I’ll get my poems published?”

She shoved me playfully. “You have enough of them! Why not?”

I smiled at her, overjoyed that she believed in me.

“So is it good, even though it’s different?”

I thought for a moment. “I don’t know if it’s good-different or just me-looking-like–me-different.”

“It had better be good-different because I did a really good job,” she proclaimed. Then suddenly, “Oh, my goodness!”

“What?” I asked.

“I have a great idea! Come on!”

She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the room. I had no idea where she was taking me until I saw our parents and John’s parents on the back porch, watching the food barbeque. John and his little brother were with Nick. The three of them were sitting on a blanket in the grass. The parents looked at me. Mom was drinking a beer, and as soon as she saw me, she started choking.

I froze.

John’s mom asked, “Did you do that yourself?”

I felt like a two-year-old who had just used the potty all by herself for the first time.

“No,” Lexus said. “I did her make-up.”

“That looks lovely, honey,” her dad praised her.

Lexus giggled happily.

Jack looked at me without expression. He sat his beer down on the table and walked away. I watched him go into the house. Mom looked like she wanted to follow him. I tried to smile.

“You should let Lexus do your make-up more often,” her mother said.

“Okay, thanks,” I said.

I quickly left them on the porch, but Lexus went after me. I didn’t see Jack when I went back into the house. I went back to the bedroom.

Lexus closed the door. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” I lied. I smiled at her to make her believe me.

“Yay! We are so cute,” she said.

I rolled my eyes playfully.
She was
so cute
. We wrapped our arms around each other and hugged.

“You’re my best friend,” I said.

Knock. Knock.

I woke up suddenly at the sound of the knocks on the door. Janine opened her eyes. Ms. Mosley entered the room.

“Hey, it’s not time to get up yet,” Janine whined to Ms. Mosley. “It’s Saturday.”

Ms. Mosley ignored her and stood near me while I sat up in bed. Janine saw that Ms. Mosley had not come for her, so she turned over and went back to sleep. Ms. Mosley looked down at me.

“Do you want me to help you get cleaned up now, or do you need to sleep a little longer?” she asked kindly.

“Okay,” I said as I hurried up and got out of the bed. “We can do it now, please.”

She nodded and headed towards the bathroom. Relieved, I grabbed my towel and personal items and followed Ms. Mosley to the bathroom. As I got undressed, Ms. Mosley prepared the shower. I felt nervous, like I had in the other hospital the first time the nurse had helped me get clean. Ms. Mosley could tell that I was nervous. She gently took my hand and led me to the shower. She had me stick my foot in the shower to test the water. I had to make sure it wasn’t too hot or too cold. It was lukewarm, just right.

Ms. Mosley didn’t remove the bandages before she cleaned me. I had to hold my arms out of the shower so that they wouldn’t get wet. She didn’t seem to be bothered by my menstrual flow. She seemed like she was trying to be careful and professional. She washed my hair and everywhere that was most necessary, all the while humming a song that I had heard once when I was child. It was comforting and it made me feel calm. When she finished, I could smell myself. But it wasn’t like when I smelled myself before. This time I could smell the sweet apple shampoo and the Ivory soap. At that moment, those were the best scents that I had ever smelled in my entire life.

Ms. Mosley wrapped a towel around me. I stepped out of the shower. She looked at me. “Kristen, I have to remove your bandages now, okay?”

I nodded.

She took my arm into her hands. She started to unwrap the bandages and then stopped. “What happened to your arm?”

“The nurse,” I said. “She was having a hard time taking my blood this morning.” I looked at the damage. My arm had been badly bruised.

Ms. Mosley frowned. She didn’t say anything in response, but just continued unwrapping the bandages from my wrists. I looked away. I couldn’t look at what I had done to myself. Instead, I looked at the pale paint that was chipping off the walls. When the bandages were completely off, I felt the air hit my wrists. They felt cold. I tried to keep my focus on the chipped paint. That bathroom could have used a new paint job. There was suddenly a strange smell. I scrunched up my face. I couldn’t move my hands to cover my nose, because Ms. Mosley was putting something on my wrists. It felt like water, but it couldn’t have been, because it smelled too bad and it stung when it touched my skin.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It smells like that because it is a liquid ointment for your stitches. It is supposed to help them heal faster. It also keeps the wounds from infection.”

I had to force myself not to look down. I watched her grab new bandages from her bag. The she started wrapping my wrists back up.

“There you go,” she said with a sigh. “You are all done. Go ahead and get dressed. Do you need help?”

I shook my head as I walked back into the bedroom. Ms. Mosley walked to the door to exit the room. Before she left, she said, “I will be back at eight-thirty to get you and Janine up.”

I went over to my side of the room and started getting dressed. I didn’t see that Janine was awake.

“I bet you feel a lot better,” she said, startling me.

“Yes I do,” I replied.

“Did the nurse help you?”

“No. Ms. Mosley helped me.”

She scrunched up her face. “Eww. Did she hurt you?”

“Why would she do that?” I asked.

Janine looked at me as if I should know the answer to that question.

“Because she’s an evil wench,” she answered.

I looked away from her. I didn’t believe that anymore. Ms. Mosley seemed like the best person in this place besides Dr. Cuvo. I finished getting dressed and then sat down on the bed. I looked over at Janine. She was peeking out at me from under her pink blanket.

“Do you remember when you first got your period?” she suddenly asked. That question seemed to come unexpectedly.

Not really knowing if I should respond, I pushed myself to answer. “Sure,” I said.

“I do, too,” she told me. “I don’t think that’s something we forget.”

“No,” I agreed. “That’s not something girls forget.”

“Where were you when you found out you had it?”

“I was at home.” Even though I answered her, I wasn’t too comfortable going on about it, but I kept quiet to let her speak.

“You were lucky,” she went on. “I was at school. But no one knew about me. I felt so scared that everyone would find out, though. Back when I was in fifth grade, a girl in our class got her period before all of the other girls. Her name was Kristen, just like you. She was the first girl in our class to get her period. I felt so bad for her because she didn’t have any privacy. Every time she raised her hand to ask the teacher if she could use a bathroom pass, the other girls in the classroom would say that they had to go, too. Only three could go at a time, so the teacher sent two other girls off with her. Then, when she had to go again, the other girls who hadn’t gotten a chance asked to go. It was like they all were taking turns going whenever Kristen would go, so that they could watch her or something.”

“That’s really sad.” I felt devastated, and this wasn’t even my story.

“Yeah, I know.” Janine sat up and continued.  “I feel guilty because I let curiosity get to me too. One day I went to the bathroom with Kristen and another girl named Cassie. Cassie had already followed Kristen to the bathroom a few times before. Since I hadn’t had a turn, the other girls agreed that I should go to see what it looked like. When we were in the bathroom, Cassie told me to wait until Kristen went into the stall, and then she made me go into the one next to Kristen. When we could hear Kristen opening the plastic wrapper, we climbed up on top of the toilet and then leaned over the stall.”

I stayed silent and listened in revulsion.

“Kristen saw me looking down at her while she changed her tampon. It was bloody and gross, and the look on her face was frightful. She looked like she was going to cry.”

It did not amaze me to hear how cruel these girls were to this pitiable Kristen. Nor was it shocking to hear that Janine had been sucked into it herself. The girls had been curious, mean, and selfish. They were just like the girls I had gone to school with. That Kristen hadn’t stood a chance if she had told someone. Perhaps she’d told a best friend in confidence that she had gotten her period, with hope that her friend would keep her secret. That Kristen obviously had been betrayed.