They took him back to Knox's apartment, where Vivian took him to the bathroom – the most fancy one he had ever seen, although he hadn't seen that many yet – to clean the scratches on his hands and cheek. Then she told him to wait where he was and disappeared.
Shrugging to himself, he sauntered up and down on the fluffy red carpet. He had left his sneakers by the door because they were dirty, but suddenly he felt ashamed of his once white, now rather yellowish tennis socks. There even was a small hole in one. Hopefully Vivian didn't notice.
He stopped in front of the mirror, regarded his pale face. Icy blue eyes blinked at him from under a dishevelled mane of dark brown, strewn with a few leaves and bits of grass. Smiling apologetically at himself, he picked them out and dropped them into the bin. He still looked a mess. Probably he would need a haircut soon.
At the mere thought he flinched. There was hardly anything he hated more than haircuts.
Maybe they would stop cutting his hair someday now. After all, for the last few years he hadn't been that easy to hold. Maybe they would just quit and let him be. They knew he hated it. And he fought every time. Maybe they would give in, and then he would just let his hair grow. Short hair was easier to care for than long hair, but he wouldn't mind, if they'd just stop those nasty haircuts.
What would they say when they saw that cut in his face? Would they worry? Would they fuss over him?
He had to admit to himself that he rather liked the cut. It made him look dashing.
When he heard the door behind him, he spun around. Vivian was back, giving him a rogue smile. Again she had some clothes over her arm, and again they were not his. "So", she said. "We're going out, my friend. I've found you something suitable."
He didn't feel too well about wearing stuff belonging to Knox, but he better didn't protest. It seemed both Vivian and Knox wanted him to.
"You like black, don't you?"
He nodded. That hadn't been hard to guess; after all, he had worn a black sweater and black jeans when Vivian had taken him here.
"Rather a Gothic type, eh?" she commented, laughing.
To this he didn't know a reply, so he just shrugged.
"Well, I've brought a few things for you." When she hung them over the rim of the fancy white and gold bathtub, he tried to find out what exactly she had brought for him, but all he saw was that all things were black. She helped him out of the dirty, slightly torn jacket and threw it directly onto a heap of clothes awaiting the services of a washing machine patiently in a corner. "The shirt too. Come on."
Slowly he started unbuttoning the shirt. Vivian was watching him, and that made him nervous. Couldn't she look the other way while he was changing into other clothes? Well, he actually didn't mind if she just saw him shirtless, but he didn't like the way she was looking at him. If she were a man… well, that gaze would also make him uneasy, but not that much. He wondered what Vivian would say if she was taking her blouse off and he was ogling her like that.
Oh, that was a nice idea. When he thought about that, he'd actually like to watch her taking some clothes off.
He dropped the discarded shirt onto the jacket and then faced her, flexing his muscles a bit to make a better impression.
She mustered him critically, then gave him a short nod. "Fine. You seem to be in a good condition. I think I know what to give you." She sat down on the tub and started searching for some particular piece of clothing. "In the meantime you'll be a good boy and take your trousers off, won't you? I assume you wear something beneath them."
Yes, he was wearing those silly Garfield boxers Kid had given him last Christmas. But that wasn't the only thing bothering him. Standing in front of a woman he hardly knew in his underwear was definitely not what he called a nice prospect, especially if she used such a critical look on him.
"Come on", she said, still searching. "Didn't you claim to be a good swimmer? I suppose you don't swim in a diving suit, or do you?"
He shook his head, afraid that he might blush. Come on, he told himself, it won't hurt.
He just wished he had put on some different underpants this morning.
Vivian's lips shifted into what he would call a cultivated grin. "Nice boxers."
He chose to stare at the fluffy carpet.
"You're more the type for those tight shorties, if you ask me." She tossed him another pair of black trousers and a black leather belt. "Here you are."
He hurried to put them on. They were tailored like jeans, but of a softer material, probably cotton, and had pockets at the sides. Nice. He liked that kind of clothing.
"And now the little surprise", she said mockingly. "Eric's rather fond of these."
He caught it with his left hand in what he judged to be an extremely cool way and examined it. It was black, too, but it looked suspiciously like an undershirt. When he pulled it over his head, he realized that it was rather tight, too.
"Like it?" Again that mocking tone in her voice. "Well, it suits you. Here's the matching shirt, but wear it open, mind you. Just like Eric. Here's a good boy."
And this was how he was going out? In an undershirt? Oh dear, what would the nuns say to that?
Once more he began to wonder where this all was leading to.
