Thanks again to the new reviewers! There should only be two more chapters after this one. And, to those wondering, yes I write using a lot of symbolism. I hope you've been able to pick up on it :)
Chapter 53
"I'm gonna take a shower," Santana said gently, drawing herself away from me. "My hair's approaching 'Avatar'-levels of disaster."
She didn't laugh at her joke. Her eyes didn't even spark. She wiped at the smeared mascara running down her face in black scratches then slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. It made a quiet kiss.
I fell back onto the carpet, pressing my back against the wall. I could feel the cold, cheap wallpaper. I could feel the other side of the room tearing through me. My spine ached, but I didn't go anywhere. Why couldn't I push myself all the way through?
I stared at Santana's jacket across the room, her shoes that I'd placed under the desk. Her book bag was on top of the aircon unit. It was off now for winter and a steady hiss of heat was blowing through instead.
"You're not working," I whispered to my turtle necklace, stabbing an index finger into his back. "Why aren't you helping her?"
I sat there for a moment, thinking maybe he'd say something back to me, the way that Charity did sometimes when she thanked me for feeding her. Her meow was a voice. Her meow had words.
But the glass turtle didn't meow.
I dug my palms into the carpet and brought myself to my feet. I padded over to Santana's stuff, letting my fingers drift over her jacket. It felt so weird. It felt like a body that didn't have any blood on the inside. Why did people wanna go around wearing dead animals? Did it make them feel safer, to hide under something else's skin?
"I wish you would help yourself, Santana," I said to it. "'Cuz I can't. And my turtle can't either."
I grabbed at the leather sleeve, tugging it into my chest and letting Santana's jacket come off of the chair and into my hands. When I breathed hard enough I could smell her. I could feel her lying next to me. She fell into my chin and I buried my nose in her stiff and soft wrinkles, in her other skin.
The clock on the nightstand read 11:16.
11:16.
What was my dad doing right now? What was he watching on TV?
11:17.
From the bathroom I heard the shower come on, the lines of water crashing and pounding along the tub. And then Santana started singing. She was loud, too loud, but her voice was clear and she was crying. I could hear it in every popped note.
"The winter's really here now
And the blankets that I love
Sometimes I am surrounded
By too much love..."
I clutched Santana's jacket to my cheek, breathing her in one last time. Watermelon and perfume. I placed her back on the chair, carefully easing her short black arms over the sides and letting them hang in the air in front of me. My sneakers came untied and I set them beside Santana's. Black. White. Black. White. I stared at them until the colors blurred to gray, then I walked towards the bathroom and opened the door.
