Ladle in the Road
By Rhino7
Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts, its characters or storyline. This little brain-fart is mine. This one-shot was written over a few nights this week when I just couldn't fall asleep. How better else to spend the restless time than writing my pain through the eyes of another person? Anyway, that's how this came about. I thought about editing it, but I figured as sleep deprived as Olette is supposed to be, any flubs would just work…I hope so at least.
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11:43 P.M.
Olette had worked from seven in the morning to five in the afternoon.
12:27 A.M.
She had met Hayner and Pence outside her dorm and they had spent the next hour carrying boxes from her old room to Pence's pick up.
1:02 A.M.
This was followed by a short drive to her new apartment, and another hour of unloading her stuff in the colorless, cramped living room.
1:58 A.M.
After a short food break, the three of them had unpacked and dumped the boxes and luggage and smaller pieces of furniture from eight to just after eleven at night.
2:13 A.M.
She was exhausted.
2:44 A.M.
And she could not fall asleep.
2:47 A.M.
Olette groaned, her face pressed into the pillow, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed, her body angled from the bottom right corner to the top left corner. She closed her eyes against the glaring red of the digital clock on the bedside table. The apartment was silent and still, save for the muted breathing and occasional shift from the living room.
Thoroughly exasperated, Olette rolled onto her back, kicking off the bedsheets, which had tangled around her legs. First she was too warm. Then she was too cool. Then her arm went numb from lying on it. Then she got a cramp in her leg. Then a car would drive by with the bass turned up. If it wasn't one thing then it was another. Maybe she was so tired that she couldn't sleep.
Sitting up, she battled with the rogue sheets and swung her legs off the edge, stifling a grunt at the cold of the wood floor. She really needed to get more rugs…or a carpet. Wiping at her eyes irritably, she stood and staggered like a zombie to the living room. Boxes and packing peanuts were scattered everywhere, hanging off chairs and littering the floor. Chairs and cardboard were the only pieces of real furniture anyway.
She ran a hand through her hair and was careful not to bump into the wall as she maneuvered toward the kitchen. The floor moved and she remembered to step over the lump that was Hayner, completely cocooned in the sleeping bag on the carpet. Pence had gone home not long after eleven, having his own apartment troubles to return to and fix. Hayner had gotten into an argument with his roommate and they were both cold shouldering each other, so he'd crashed on the carpeted floor of Olette's new living room.
The new fridge was empty. Olette had no idea why she'd opened it, and more so confused as to why she continued to stare at the glaring, white, empty interior of the machine. Grimacing, she closed the door, casting the kitchen back into darkness. Feeling her way from the fridge and along the counter, she paused and squinted into the dark kitchen. She'd spent a grand total of ten hours in this apartment, evaluating it and assisting the inspectors and moving into it. There was no food, no dishes even. Why she was scouring around was beyond her. She wasn't even hungry.
Olette made a face at nothing and left the kitchen, making her way groggily toward the bathroom.
What happened if you just never fell asleep? If Olette had lost her ability to sleep, would she die? What an absurd thought. You get exhausted enough and you collapse, thus you sleep. Or something. Olette blinked as she turned on the bathroom light, wondering also if fatigue triggered deep thinking.
That would be the cherry on top of this milkshake of a day.
Night.
Morning.
Whatever.
As her eyes adjusted to the stark lighting of the bathroom, Olette put her hands on the sink counter, leaning toward the mirror and squinting at her reflection. Eyes were red and glazed. Hair was tangled and frizzy. Skin under the eyes was dark and shadowy. She looked like a zombie. Even worse, she looked like an insomniac.
She dropped her head forward until her forehead hit the mirror. She closed her eyes and winced, blinking down at the sink. Straightening, she twiddled one of the knobs and was pleasantly surprised when water, clear and strong, spurted from the faucet, circling the drain before being sucked into it. Like a tiny little maelstrom in a porcelain bowl. She shook her head and splashed some of the water on her face. Well, that surely wasn't going to help her sleep. The water was cold and immediately sent her nerves back on the alert. Furthermore, she hadn't unloaded her towels yet, so now she was dripping, wet, and devoid of any towel-like, absorbent material.
A few drops of water fell from her jaw and fell between her and her night shirt, effectively making her shudder as it danced down her ribs. She patted at her shirt, wiping off the drop, and without preamble used her shirt to dry her face. Hindsight slapped her in her now dry face and she groaned at her now wet shirt, lumbering back into the bedroom.
She had been so exhausted by the time they'd lugged the boxes up and unloaded the furniture and cleaning supplies and such, that she had barely dug out her pajamas before collapsing into bed, flinging her arm out in a delirious gesture to direct Hayner to where the sleeping bag was. As it was, all of her clothes were still boxed up and stacked against the opposite wall of the apartment. The notion of digging through it all was daunting.
She'd rather just sleep naked.
Hayner was here though, and a terminal early riser. Being more of a crack of noon person herself, Olette would rather not risk the chance of him walking in while she was still asleep, sprawled topless on the bed. That was blackmail waiting to happen…and consequential murder. No, better to just…
Just what?
Her brain was throbbing and her body was protesting being upright. Regardless, she found herself pacing the bedroom, hands planted on her hips and rolling her neck. This was ridiculous. She had work tomorrow. Luckily she wasn't on call until eleven, but what good was that if she only got—the clock read just after three in the morning—how many hours of sleep did that make?
It was too late for math.
Early.
Whatever.
Olette trudged out of the bedroom and back to the bathroom door, leaning against the frame and glaring at Hayner, face turned away from her and one leg hanging out of the side of the sleeping bag. Ridiculous. The guy could fall asleep during a parade and stay asleep for hours. Stupid…idiot head.
She turned and angled into the bathroom. Even her name calling powers were inhibited by restlessness! The bathroom greeted her bright and stark once again when she flipped on the lights. She glanced once at her reflection before sinking onto the rim of the bath tub. It was one of those bath tub and shower dual use things. The cold porcelain instantly tensed the backs of her thighs. A lone bottle of bubble bath soap sat bright and orange on the shelf above the toilet.
When had she put that there?
She had barely opened the boxes with bathroom stuff, but that was definitely her soap bottle. Great, now she had short term memory. Maybe she had fallen asleep and sleep walked…No, she hadn't fallen asleep. She would have been in a coma by now. Come to think of it, a hot bubble bath sounded pretty good. It couldn't hurt.
Pursing her lips, she plugged the tub and started the hot water. She rubbed at her eyes and crinkled her nose as water spread across the base of the bowl. A few spurts of bubble stuff and a healthy blob of foam sprouted from where the faucet water met the standing water. She leaned sideways to look out of the bathroom door. The sleeping bag lump rolled over but didn't rise or make any sound.
Olette laboriously stood and crossed to the frame, closing the door and locking it, just in case. Alone and lulled by the soft gurgle of the filling tub, she stripped down, dropping her sodden shirt and otherwise dry clothes on the sink counter. She clumsily tied her hair up in a sloppy bunch at the crown of her skull.
It didn't take as long for the tub to fill with water and foamy bubbles as she had thought it would, and in record time, Olette was easing her weary bones down into the hot water. She couldn't stretch out completely, but she only had to bend her knees a little to make leaning back against the head of the tub comfortable.
She closed her eyes as the hot water sloshed against her collar, the heat sinking deep into her muscles and warming the chill that had set into her bare toes. She lifted one foot out of the water and pushed the hot water knob off with her heel. Silence resumed in the bathroom except for a few soft drips from the stopped faucet. She drew one deep breath and exhaled slowly, sinking until the water just touched the bottom of her jaw.
If you come to a fork in the road, take it.
What was that supposed to mean?
Where had that thought even come from?
The intrusion into her blank mind came as an unwelcome guest, not even taking off its shoes as it tromped around the living room of her restless brain. Olette groaned, pressing the heels of her hands over her eyes. Why couldn't she turn her thoughts off? Every minute it was something. Questions, concerns, thoughts, and reasons to stress. Her life was becoming mentally abusive.
Sliding her arms back under the water, Olette stared up at the blank ceiling. She might as well try to get the thinking over with. Maybe if she perused everything that was bothering her, her body would finally allow her some peace. No, bad idea…She thought about too much. She rolled her eyes toward the door, narrowing her gaze. She bet Hayner never had this problem.
Although it would be funny to find him taking a bubble bath in the middle of the night—
Ah! Bad place, bad place! Olette shook her head and grimaced, turning her face back toward the ceiling.
Seriously though, that phrase had plastered itself across her mind.
If you come to a fork in the road, take it.
Obviously whoever came up with that was trying to be cute, a play on the word 'fork' used to describe a split in a path. By suggesting that you simply take it, it negates the possibility of there being two different paths to choose from, since one person cannot take two separate roads at once. That reasoning took her to imagine a cutlery fork lying in the middle of a street. It was a bizarre image to pop into one's head, and she giggled.
The noise echoed slightly and she fell quiet, grimacing again.
She was laughing at the picture of a fork in her head.
"Guh, I need sleep." She muttered to no one.
The phrase wasn't funny if she tried it with spoon. When you come to a spoon in the road, take it. That would be pretty amusing though, just as amusing as finding a fork. Was the joke restricted to dining utensils, or could it be expanded to include cooking tools? When you come to a melon baller in the road…Or maybe a spatula.
Come to think of it, she needed to buy new silverware.
That was useless if she didn't have any food to use them on. She needed to go shopping, instead of relying on finding a turkey baster in the road. Wait, she didn't even like turkey, why would she need a baster? Frowning, she blew at the nearest patch of bubbles hovering in front of her face.
If you come to a measuring cup in the road, take it.
No, that didn't work. A measuring cup didn't belong in the cooking tool family. Did it? It wasn't a variation of cutlery or scooping…things. Then again, it was used in cooking, which automatically made it a tool. Plus it had a handle…that was significant somehow. A ladle, that was a cooking tool. If you come to a ladle in the road, take it. Yeah, that sounded better.
Measuring cup, that was just silly.
Thoughts continued in that vein as Olette closed her eyes, just riding the roller coaster her brain seemed determine to ride and soaking in the bubble bath. It was relaxing, but at the same time stressful. That was an oxymoron. Hah, moron. That was a funny word.
This wasn't working.
Olette peeled her eyes open and groaned loudly. She almost wished Hayner would wake up, so at least she could rant at him until she passed out. That was wishful thinking. Hayner didn't sleep; he went into short comas. Lucky bastard.
She climbed out of the tub, fingers sufficiently wrinkled and pruny, and pulled the plug, letting the water drain. As she turned around and looked at her clothes, she almost slapped herself in the head again.
No towels.
"Stupid." She grunted, snatching up her night shirt and using it instead.
It was already wet. At least her pants and undergarments were still dry. Satisfactorily drying herself off, she pulled her remaining clothes back on and held her shirt out in front of her, almost seeing double at that point. Exasperated, she balled it up and tossed it in the corner beside the sink, looking at herself in the mirror.
Color had returned to her face, but she looked no less haggard and worn out. Smacking her gums at her reflection wanly, she pulled the bathroom door open a few inches, blinking to let her eyes adjust back to the darkness of the living room. The light that spilled out of the bathroom met blue carpet and brown boxes. She hunched her shoulders against the chill that immediately took hold of her again and shuffled out of the bathroom, flipping the light off behind her.
As her eyes adjusted, she hugged her arms to herself, covering her chest, which was only covered by her sports bra. Flexing her jaw, she tried to remember if there were any other clothes that she'd unpacked. All that came to mind was the image of a ladle lying in the middle of a road. Shaking her head, she stepped forward and nearly tripped, her foot hooking under Hayner's knee and pitching her forward.
With a closed-mouthed yelp, she grabbed the back of a chair to keep from falling on top of him. Now, that would wake him up. One hand latched onto wood. The other grasped cotton. Carefully regaining her balance and removing her foot from the knee trap, she tugged gently at the material.
Oh, right, now she remembered. Hayner had worn his old, long sleeved jacket today…yesterday…whatever. The jacket came away from the chair with a light pull and Olette unfolded it. He wasn't using it and she was NOT digging through boxes for a dry shirt. It would have to do.
Yawning, she shoved her arms through the sleeves and pulled her head through the center hole, convinced that she couldn't have managed to unzip it and then zip it up again at this hour anyway. The inside cotton hugged her torso and the sleeves extended to the tips of her fingers. The jacket immediately absorbed the body heat she was giving out and insulated it, warming her up already.
She hardly remembered walking back to her room, but she remembered flopping back onto the bed, pulling the sheets up over her and curling up under them. Her mind was finally slowing down and it was only—she glanced at the clock—four in the morning.
Wincing, she burrowed her face into the front flaps of the jacket, inhaling the warmth. The jacket smelled like freshly cut grass and orange soda. Hayner must had mowed a few lawns recently for quick cash. Olette took a moment to relish the scent, silently thanking him for not being a cologne wearer. That would have been suffocating. Instead, it smelled like a normal jacket…however weird that sounded. The smell reminded her of Hayner, and in spite of herself, she grinned into the fabric, eyelids drooping.
Nuzzling deeper into the folds of the jacket, she drank in the scent and let her eyes close. If this was all it took to help her fall asleep, she should have stolen some of Hayner's clothes last semester during finals week. Huh, there was a bizarre concept.
No.
No more thinking.
Okay.
By some grace of heaven, Olette finally drifted off to sleep, only to dream of dancing silverware and talking blenders. Oh well, she'd worry about that tomorrow…
Later today…
Whatever.