Surge (70 page)

I suffer in silence, as Akio inspects, cleans, applies creams and wraps up my remaining hand, shin and head. I don’t respond when Akio chastises me for using soap, saying it
‘irritated the wound and stalled the healing process.
’ Oh well, what’s a few more days tacked on? It gives everyone more time to heal mentally and physically, most especially my crazy ass.

<~~~<~~~
~~~>~~~><~~~<~~~
~~~>~~~>

After I’m wrapped like the mummy the Doc said I would be, Olivia tugs me out of the room, waving off Akio’s order for a new dressing of her own. She keeps moving until she reaches the bedroom we slept in last night. Giving me a shove toward bed, she surprises the hell out of me when she not only ixnays the can I try to pass her from the bureau, but shuts the door completely and locks it.

I know that she trusts me to some extent, but to lock herself in with me? That’s freaking huge. Okay, I know that I’m a little limited in my strength right now, and even if I were in tip top shape, she could wipe the floor with me, but it still shows that she put her fears aside for me.

Not wanting her to see that a simple closed door affected me so much, I turn and walk to the chair by the bed. Taking a seat, I look up slightly to see Olivia frown at me. Even with me sitting down, her height is puny at only six inches above my head.

“What?” I ask and look around. “What’d I do?” She points to the bed again. “Yeah, you’re going to rest up in the clouds, and I’ll rest here.” Olivia shakes her head at me and thrusts her finger at the bed with more emphasis this time. “No, you take the bed.” She tilts her head to the side. After a few seconds of observation, she points to me, makes an angry face, then pats her chest. “No, why would I be angry with you?” She motions at the bed, points at me, tips her head and closes her eyes, before tapping herself.

“I didn’t think you wanted me in the bed,” I explain and she scowls. “Don’t give me that, you’re one who kicked me out in the first place. I would have gladly slept the day away if you hadn’t.”

That makes her laugh. She pats her chest and holds out a thumb to show that I’m right. Damn right I am, it was the best I’ve slept in, well, as long as I can remember. Walking forward, Olivia gently grips my hand and tows me to the bed. Before climbing in, she motions to me that she’s sorry. I must look confused because she squeezes her nose, holds out her hair in reference, and points to her throat. I can see that she’s clean with her freshly scrubbed face, but her hair is greasy and I can detect a hint of smoke from here.

“I could help you,” I offer and she looks at me doubtfully. “I could.” I point at my own unwashed hair, as little as it is since there’s only half of it left. “And maybe you could help me? I know it’s not supposed to be wet, but I don’t think I could pull off the Bob Marley look.” That earns me a smile at the music reference, and a nod to my proposal. “Good, because I don’t think that Freddy and Marley were meant to make the ugly step child that is me.”

Olivia glares at me and the motions start flying. From what I can read, she calls someone stupid, says
‘I’m not ugly, but handsome,’
and then a bunch of curses. How do I know all of this? Multiple fingers are pointed at me, in the chest region, eyes and face. Then she flips the door off six times, and I think she might have even spit at it at one point. Seeing my fuming pixie take up my defense against unseen bullies, makes me smile and want to kiss her, but I hold back and catch her flying hands. She’s breathing heavily, some from the exertion, but mostly due to anger; so I lift her hands and kiss a knuckle on each.

“Thank you,” I say and see her anger dissipate. “Now, how the hell are we getting water for our hair?”

Olivia flashes me a mischievous smile, and curls her finger for me to follow. She turns to make sure I’m obeying, before continuing on. Please, I’d follow her into hell if I had to. Entering the room ahead of me, she walks past the monster of a tiled shower with glass enclosure, seriously that beast could fit eight people. The only reasonable explanation for building it that big would be to have an orgy fest. Shaking that thought away, I see Olivia reach over the giant jacuzzi tub; that could fit at least six people, so that she can turn on the faucet. Lo and behold, my little sneak has been holding out on me again.

“You mean to tell me, that you’re up here, having bubble baths by yourself; while we’re all fist fighting downstairs for a chance at the shower?” I ask and she gives me a firm nod. “I like your style.” Olivia smiles at that. “But for future reference, I’ll be checking faucets wherever we stay from now on. Fool me once, and all that nonsense.”

She waves a hand like,
‘good for you,’
before motioning me to come forward. Taking my shirt off, I set it on the counter. Turning back around, I find a wide eyed Olivia. Not good wide eyes, like she’s checking out the goods and can’t believe how ripped I am, but absolutely terrified; and her whole body’s shaking with it. I hold up my hand to stop her from further panicking.

“I just didn’t want to get it wet,” I explain and pick up the shirt. “I’ll put it back on, alright?” Olivia nods, and keeps her eyes trained on mine as I slip my t-shirt back on. “Better?”

She rubs her still slightly shaking arms, but nods. I should have used my freaking brain to prevent that, but I thought it’d be okay since I took it off to swim in the lake with her. Then I remember that we’re not at the wide open lake, we’re in a confined space which obviously trips her triggers, like it did back in the master bedroom at the condo.

“You alright now, or do you wanna try again later?”

Olivia balls her fists, squares her shoulders and gives me a firm nod as she points at the tub. That’s my girl. Walking over to the tub, I adjust the temperature and put the plug down. It doesn’t have one of those handheld sprays, so I rummage under the cabinet and come out with a cup. It’ll work, I decide as I instruct Olivia to sit down on the floor and rest her head against the lip of the porcelain. She’s already undone her braid, so I get to work wetting her hair. It takes a dozen cup-fulls, but once her hair is soaked, I look around for shampoo and find none.

“Olivia, do you have shampoo?”

She doesn’t open her eyes as she points to her bag in the corner. Wiping my hands on my sweatpants, I approach the backpack. It’s the closest to a woman’s purse as you can get, and it feels like an invasion of privacy. I definitely don’t want to dig around, but she basically gave me permission by pointing at it, so there can’t be any skeletons in there. I hope.

Unzipping the main compartment, I release a sigh of relief. No body parts come popping out, so I relax and start digging. There are jars of what looks like preserves, spices, sealed bags of food including crackers, pasta and cans of veggies, a few underthings; which I steer clear of since I’m not that depraved, her photo album, a polaroid camera with film cartridges, a variety of tools, hair elastics and bobby pins, tampons, knives, flint, matches, lighter fluid, a small first aid kit, sewing kit, her case of CDs, the player with headphones, batteries, flashlights, more keys, and bike locks. It’s a friggin catch all, that I start to just push aside without care, in order to look for my goal. I don’t know how the hell she fit it all in here, and I want to know learn her trick because I only have about a quarter compared to this in my pack. Finally, under a neatly folded sweatshirt, I find the bottles I was looking for.

Grabbing the shampoo and conditioner out, I reseal the bag and return to Olivia. Popping open the cap to the shampoo, I pour a liberal amount into the palm of my hand. First off, because she has a ton of hair; even after me unintentionally chopping off two inches, it’s still about two feet long. Then there’s the fact that I don’t want a single trace of the fire left on her. A tube sticking out of her neck is plenty to remind me, so I don’t need the smell.

Massaging the gel into her scalp, I get a huge whiff of the apple scent that I was missing. It’s fucking delicious and makes me want to eat her, but I limit myself to taking deep breaths of it instead, since Olivia would most likely do more than take a bite out of me if I bit her. Loving the smell so much, I lather rinse and repeat the shampoo process three times. I would have gone for a fourth, but Olivia pointed out that she only had so much left. Wanting to conserve it for future use, I reluctantly set it aside and open the conditioner. It too has the apple scent, but I only apply it once since I know from personal experience that if you put too much of that shit in, you look like a freaking greaser within an hour.

“All done.”

She grumbles, well it looks like it, since she takes her sweet time sitting up to allow me to wrap her hair. Olivia takes over after it starts falling out, I guess I didn’t wrap it tight enough, but what do I know? My hair’s only been three inches at the longest, so I’ve never needed to wrap it before. Run a towel through it, and you’re good to go has been how I’ve lived with it my whole life. I never liked longer hair, it restricts your eyesight, and then you have to style it; it’s just too much effort. Even after the end, I’d either buzz it down or have Sarah chop away. And no, she’s never given John or me a hack job, or she would have gotten one herself.

Olivia wrings her hair out as tightly as possible with the towel, then unwraps it. It looks like a curly mess of tangles, which I point out to her, but she shrugs and points for me to sit down like she did. Taking up my spot, she has me sit up and wraps a towel around my shoulders like a barber would. She obviously remembered that I didn’t want to get my shirt wet, since it’s the last clean one I have; and is trying to accommodate my wishes. I smile my thanks, before sitting back, and closing my eyes. A few seconds later, I feel the warm water poured over the left side of my head. It’s quickly followed up with cool shampoo and massaging fingers that make me want to moan out loud, but I bite my cheek to contain them. No need to freak her out, which she most likely would if she heard it.

By the time she rinses, I’m absolutely pissed that I only have half a head for her to work her magic in. Even the conditioning process is quicker than I wanted, but I’m glad that I don’t smell like grease, sweat or fire. Lifting my head slightly with her hand, Olivia runs a hand towel gently over my hair to remove excess water. When she pulls back, I still shake my head like a dog and laugh when she mocks a scowl at me. Which loses its effect when she in turn shakes her own mass of hair and soaks me with its drenched thickness.

“Come on, woman,” I say and stand as I hold out my hand. “We’ve got to tame that mess out before it comes alive and eats us.”

Olivia smiles as she takes my hand, and allows me to pull her up. Walking back to her bag, she places her hair products inside and makes a brush appear in two seconds flat. Freaking magician. She walks out of the bathroom and does a flying leap to get on the bed, which is pretty comical. She took a running start and everything. Not making as stylish an entrance as she did, I climb up and pat the spot in front of me.

“Sit here so I can reach you.” Olivia points at the brush and then herself. “I know you can do it, but I said that I’d help you with your hair. If I only washed it, that’s half-assed. Now, get your pipsqueak self over here, and let me follow through with my promise.”

Rolling her eyes, she crawls over and sits Indian style in front of me. Passing me the brush over her shoulder, she looks straight so I can work. Even when we’re both sitting, I have a good half a foot in height over her, but it makes it easy to reach her hair from all angles. Still, her hair is really thick and long, so it takes me nearly half an hour to slowly work through the kinks and not make her bald. And I’m proud to say that I did not snag a snarl, and rip through it even once. Honest, I even have the unmarred flesh to prove it. By the time I’m done, Olivia’s hair is pretty dry and she’s leaning back on me, mashing most of her brushed hair; but I don’t think she realizes it.

“Olivia?”

When I don’t receive a response, I don’t panic. Okay, I panic a little, until I peer around her shoulder and see the steady rise and fall of her chest. She’s just sleeping and it makes me smile that I got her relaxed enough to pass out. Setting the brush on the nightstand, I lean back and feel her instinctively curve against me. She’s now sprawled out on my chest like last night, so I wrap my arm around her waist and settle in for my own nap.