"Today I chose her pink grapefruit bubble bath."

Showing people what you write can be like getting naked. In front of your uni lecturer. With Enya playing. Just weird and uncomfortable.
That is why I respect this woman here.
She has kindly given me a piece of her work "written ages ago".
It is interesting, engaging and altogether a very awesome read.
You'll see what I mean.
It was a bit challenging finding something to match this. But Cloud Control should do the trick. Listen while reading Kara Selinger's fantastic piece:

Untitled.

I sat in Michael’s car, listening to the mix CD I had found under the passenger seat. Though it was raining heavily, I kept the volume on low, pressing my ear against the speaker so I could hear. I did this because I know Mike hates it when people fiddle around with his things. He’s really particular in that way, but I don’t mind. It’s kind of cute. The songs were of the romantic persuasion, certainly not to Mike’s taste, which got me thinking that he might have a new girlfriend. He has been happier lately. I’d even caught him smiling a couple of times. That’s why I felt really sorry for him. The girl’s music choices definitely showed signs of a disturbed, even psychotic, mind. I would have to talk to Mike about this when he got back from work. I think I love him.

When the CD finished I turned my attention to the masochistic rain, which was beating itself senseless against the window. Everything outside looked blurry, artistic, so I made frames with my fingers. Once I had created every possible picture, and sold them for lots of money, I left my sanctuary and sprinted to the front door of our house.

I’d forgotten to take the keys with me, so I started looking for the spare. We hide it under one of the twenty four pot plants on our veranda. Unfortunately no one ever puts it back in the same place. I was moving quite slowly, because the raindrops falling onto my dress were very distracting. With each new drop the material became more transparent, seemingly melting, leaving me naked. Perhaps, if I stayed out here long enough, I would also melt away. Is melting painless? Was the witch in the wizard of Oz screaming because melting hurt, or because she didn’t want to die?

It was getting cold, so I quickened my hunt. It took me five minutes to remember that I had left the door open.

I felt like a shower, so I stripped off in the doorway and walked into Rebecca’s room. Rebecca likes to keep her toiletries on a bookcase shelf, rather than in the bathroom. Her mother sends over expensive products from Paris to make up for how ugly her daughter is, and Rebecca doesn’t like other people using them. It irritates me that she is so possessive of her belongings, particularly when the rest of us share everything. Because of this, I always make sure I use something of Rebecca’s when she is not around. Today I chose her pink grapefruit bubble bath. Michael always comments on how nice Rebecca smells when she uses it.

The Bathroom is on the second floor, the first door on the right. I have a habit of running up the stairs and swinging myself into it, but this time my face smashed into wood. I was surprised to find the bathroom door closed. We hadn’t fixed the lock yet, so it’s only every shut if someone is in there. This helps avoid confusion. Therefore, as I was the only person home, it should be open. I touched the handle, which was covered in a sticky substance. I licked it. It tasted like blood, but not mine. And it was on the floor as well. How strange. I could now hear the shower running. I know I shouldn’t walk in on them, but I was curious. So I opened the door.

I was confronted by red. Red was everywhere. Swirling in puddles on the floor, running down the mirror, smeared on the opaque plastic of the shower. And the walls! It was as if the set designer on a B grade horror flick had gotten over enthusiastic with splatters. Our curtains, stupid white frilly things that my Mum had given us as a housewarming present, were the only items in the whole room that had remained untouched. That seemed odd. Perhaps it was significant. I suddenly felt afraid of those curtains, so I ran over to the window and tore them down. Then I stood, watching, as the hungry blood ate them up. It was horrible. I started to cry, shoulder heaving, body shaking, and without thinking I feel to the ground. I could feel the sticky mess attach itself to my buttocks, arms, hands, legs, golden tendrils of my hair dipping into the violent puddles. What if it stained? Then other thoughts came. How could I possible know if this blood was clean? I could be getting syphilis right now. Shit. I needed to wash myself. I noticed a razor lying in front of the shower and pounced on it, with the intention of hacking off my soiled locks. Unfortunately, someone else had recently used it. The blades were chocked with hair, and something which I decided must be skin. Hot thick acid rose in my throat. I didn’t want to open that bloody shower door. Instead, I ran out, down the stairs and into the backyard. I was still holding Rebecca’s bottle, so I emptied it onto myself and washed in the rain.
***

I was sitting in the living room, wrapped in my comfort blanket, my eyes fixed on the front window. I have two flat mates, and I was positive that one of them was upstairs. Now I was waiting to see which one. It worried me that Mike’s car had been here all day. I kept on telling myself that he had caught the bus, but this didn’t shift the sick feeling that had befriended me. I knew he would never kill himself…but I was worried about the mix CD girl. I was blinded by the headlights when they finally arrived. This didn’t bother me, as I was still hesitant to find out the answer. When Rebecca’s car slowly came into focus I jumped up and ran to meet her. I’m not sure what my intentions were, but I am glad I held back, because I opened the door to Michael.

“Hey Verity. You smell nice”

I was shocked. This was followed by complete and utter joy, then confusion.

“Why were you driving Rebecca’s car?”

“You know she hates it when you call her that.”

“That doesn’t answer my question”

“Sorry. Just after you left Bec said she felt to sick too go to work, and that I should take her car because she knows mine is dodgy in wet weather. Speaking of Bec, where is she?”

“I think she’s in the shower”

“Is the door closed?”

“No”

Michael started to say something, but I silenced him with a kiss.