The Hundred Questions (part 2)

When I walked in and closed the bathroom door behind me, I leaned back against it and whispered to myself. “What a joke.” He’d given me the opportunity to ask him that ‘Hundred Questions’ and we’d barely made it through one or two. If it was going to be like this, I wasn’t sure, but I might figure these answers out myself before he could empty a Marlboros box.

No. I couldn’t. There was something wrong going on inside of my head and he knew each and every detail about it.

Still irritated, I sat down on the bathroom tiles and hugged my knees to try calming down. I had a headache and wasn’t too thrilled about it. I’d like to think without the distraction. Maybe if the whole world stood still for me when I needed it, I’d be able to come up with better solutions to my life than the ones that led me here.

What were some questions I wanted to directly ask him? I whispered softly my questions. “My hair. Was that something I could control or would it grow right back out the moment I cut it?” Lifting my gaze, I saw the bathroom mirror and thought about looking at my face again. I wouldn’t be able to tell anything different other than my eyes. “There we go. Why do I have these eyes?” I laughed quietly and shook my head. “What else?”

I looked down my knees at my hands, turning them palm up and spreading my fingers out to see them for what they were. “Are these my hands? Will I have to learn to write again with these delicate fingers?” Delicate? Why did I say that? Were my hands rough before? Calloused? I dropped and let my hands hang limply between my closed legs. I didn’t know and wouldn’t find out without him answering me.

Only what was wrong with me was reflected back, if I tried searching for those answers by myself, like looking in a mirror.

A knocking on the door startled me to sit upright. “Hey, um, I want--” There was a pause before Mr. Corso resumed speaking through the door. “I’m sorry about back there. If you’re up to it, I promise to--” Again, he was silent, except I heard another knock. An odd one. I think he put his forehead on the door? “Could we try again? Please?”

While he spoke, I was listening without having any kind of reaction. The moment he said ‘Please’ caused my lips to tug down. That irritation I had before was now in my eyes. They were watering. I breathed in a deep one and let it out slowly.

“May I shower first?” Shit, my voice was cracking. I closed my eyes and bowed my head to try and calm down again.

“Open the door.” I heard him step away while I got up off the floor. My hand went around the doorknob to open it--

Then I stopped, realizing what I was doing. That headache I’d had earlier re-announced itself, like I had forgotten it was there and it was presented with an encore. I stood still and waited a moment to collect my thoughts.

He didn’t give me time to think. The knob twisted in my hand from his side of the doorway. I let go and backed away from the door. Mr. Corso took a quick glance in, reacted as if he was about to turn away, but faced me after his hesitation. I guess he wasn’t sure if I was dressed? Why would that matter? He’s undressed me once already. At least, I think he did? Maybe he left me with an order to do so and I obeyed it, like I was going to open the door for him.

A wavering smile was on his face. He showed the palm of his other hand while still holding the door open. That hand raised, a wave given to me and then a gesture for me to come closer. I hesitated at first, but closed the distance between us after a moment. His smile no longer wavered. The door was given a small push to be fully open. His arms folded around me when I laid and rested my aching forehead on him. I asked him with a voice gone hoarse, “Are you making me do this?”

There was a silence between us. I was about to take that as a ‘yes,’ but he finally answered. “I am.” I gave a short laugh at that. “Would--” He went quiet for a moment, sighed, and then continued. “You want me to stop.” That didn’t sound like a question. I rubbed my forehead against his chest, having nodded anyways.

“Please?” I heard him laugh for a second. Then I felt him pat me on the back.

“One more command and I’ll stop for awhile. I promise not to do any such thing unless for a very good reason.” I waited to hear what exactly this last command was supposed to be. I looked up to see why he had not spoken yet. Still smiling at me, he responded. “A good reason you would understand. Okay?” He nodded to me. “Deal?”

I returned the nod and said, “Deal.”

His hand slipped behind my head to hold me steady as he laid a kiss on my forehead. In my hair, he spoke softly, “Don’t be afraid of me.” The tension in me, the headache included, disappeared. He held me for a little longer. When he released me, he spoke one last time before he left me. “I’ll be at the table.” I supposed he wished to speak with me after I finished my shower.

A pair of scissors. That was something I had begun to look for before I hopped into the shower. There were a stacked set of three drawers on each end of the sink’s counter. I checked each one, but none had any scissors. I suppose he didn’t cut his own hair often or he went to a stylist to take care of that.

There was still a cabinet. I might get lucky in that one. Once opened, I took a peek and searched around for a pair. At least I knew where the towels were kept now. Still, no sign of what I had been searching for. I’d ask him about a haircut.

After I undressed, I laid my outfit on the counter in the furthest corner from the shower. I stood in front of the mirror to inspect my shoulder. The impression remained, but the teeth marks that had been there were faded enough that I had to really look to see them. Did he really bite a chunk out of me or what? I rolled my shoulder and didn’t feel anything off about it. Might ask him about that too.

When I hopped in the shower, it took me a minute to study how the faucet and showerhead worked. On my knees, I tinkered with the faucet, the knobs, and tried the loose button on the base of the faucet. At first, I thought it was broken and resigned myself to bathe. Luckily, I figured it out. I was accustomed to a push button, back at my old home, whereas the ‘loose button’ turned out to be a diverter that required I pull it. With a startled shriek, I fell back and scampered away from the spray of frozen water. Once I recovered, I carefully fine tuned the knobs and the water adjusted to a comfortable temperature for me to stand and walk under.

After I finished with my shower, I accepted the fact I’d experienced this ‘wrong’ sensation for awhile, if not forever. Maybe I’d get used to it? Kind of like how someone can get used to a chronic illness. It’d be okay, I supposed.

Dried and toweled up, my dirty clothes gathered, I left the bathroom to head straight up the stairs for my room. Another question I had for Mr. Corso: Where to store my dirty clothes? I’d yet to see a clothes hamper anywhere and I absolutely refused to toss my discarded outfits onto this cobwebbed floor. It made my skin crawl when I thought about spiders hidden beneath the white sticky threads that carpeted the floor.

I made certain to be fully dried before I dug into my dresser drawers. Out of all the underwear, I continued to pick out the same kind of black pair. They had different lace patterns, but the type was the same. Once again, skipped the bras in the second drawer. I took out a regular V-cut black tee. Then the default drawers of jeans and socks. I’d have to question what was the deal with all these jeans.