A pale, bony hand reached out and twisted the shower tap. Nearly icy water sprayed out, causing Sam to stand back, trying not to be attacked by it. Showering was seen as an annoyance by her at the best of times, but Melaine had pressured her into it.
"You'll feel better afterwards," she had said "and you won't be all grungy." Right now, Sam was of the viewpoint that it was just making things much, much worse. It was only just forty-five degrees Fahrenheit out there, and cold was not the nicest of things in such a temperature. Even when she turned the hot tap up, it did nothing, unless she turned it far enough to feel like she was being engulfed in flames.
Stepping out after sitting in there a minute boredly, Sam wrapped a towel around herself and walked out into the loungeroom. "Alright, I'm done with that. You got a brush?"
Melaine glanced up from her soap opera and took the spare comb she saved for Sam, handing it over.
Returning to the bedroom to brush her hair, Sam dressed in a pair of sweats and slippers, glancing in her mirror. Sam, in the time since the accident in July, had mostly fell into disarray. Home-dyed black hair, cut slightly above her shoulders using a pair of wavy scissors, clung damply to her neck. Pale skin hung almost loosely off her skeletal frame, her having lost the will to even eat her ham and bacon for a while, and sunken eyes gazed ruefully back out at her. Hole-ridden grey sweats getting far too small 'adorned' her body, and the fuzzy pink rabbit slippers Melaine had bought for her in an attempt to aid her recovery were now missing the eyes, looking quite creepy.
It was the first time in a long time Sam knew what she looked like, and just why Carly was getting uncomfortable around her. If your formerly strong friend looked like a corpse...
She grabbed the mobile off her desk and slumped down on the bed, finding the name in her contacts.
"Carly, you need to come down here."