Forgotten Love - Part 6 - A Perfect Love

Part 6 – A Perfect Love

I closed my eyes and tried to relax on my cold, porcelain seat. The pain in my hands and face was distracting me and clouding my mind. The toilet lid sagged under my weight as I leaned forward. My head dropped, I folded my hands together in front of me and rested comfortably.

I floated in my own world for a while. I thought about soft green grass, blue skies, gentle breezes, and a small bubbling creek.

The pain slowly subsided and I opened my eyes to look at the first aid box I had dragged out from under my bathroom sink. It was pretty basic, a gift from someone I could not quite remember. It had everything I needed.

I knelt on the floor beside the bath. The cold water from the tap brought a grimace to my face, but I held firm. The dried blood started to wash away and I heard a soft tinkle as a piece of glass fell into the tub.

After washing the blood away and turning the tap off, I took the tweezers out of their wrapping. I started removing the glass shards from my right hand first. It felt more appropriate since it was my dominant hand.

It seemed to take hours but I finally removed all of the glass. Blood was seeping again but at least it was not flowing heavily. I knew I had not cut anything too deep or detrimental.

I swapped hands and started again. I was not as careful this time as my frustration was growing.

“Should have worn gloves,” I growled. The blood flowed a bit more freely as I angrily jerked at each splinter.

“Stupid bitch!” I spat as the last sliver fell away.

I rinsed my hands under the tap again to check for damage I had not seen before. When I was sure my hands were clean and free of glass, I rinsed the bath tub of the wreckage that had accumulated.

I moved to the sink and filled it with lukewarm water. After rummaging in the first aid box for a while, I found some antiseptic solution. I poured a liberal amount into the sink and watched, mesmerised, as the clouds of sterility danced and swirled.

I pushed my hands into the water and instantly felt the stinging of the antiseptic. I held them there until I started to get used to the pain, then suspended them over the sink to drip.

I gently dabbed at each hand with a soft towel to dry them. They still stung but I was strong enough to ignore it.

I grabbed some salve off the shelf that my mother had always made me use, and slathered both hands. It instantly soothed the pain and I sighed a little in relief.

I slammed my left hand into the tiles under the mirror. I deserved more pain for showing such a weakness. A loud hiss escaped me as I absorbed the new ache. It would bruise, and it would remind me of a valuable lesson: pain should be overcome in the mind, relief is weakness, and weakness should be punished.

I allowed my hands to rest while looking in the mirror to assess the damage to my face. It was not bad, just a few minor scratches. I could explain it away if need be.

A close inspection revealed no shards of glass, so I wet a hand towel with water from the bath tap and washed my face. I took a cotton bud from the kit on the floor and soaked it in the antiseptic still in the sink. The liquid stung as it passed over the few scratches that were there.

It did not take long before I was taking the salve down from its shelf again. I spread it over the cuts on my face and willed it to work its magic.

After all of my cuts were clean I realised I needed to change my clothing and clean up the mess.

I walked the short distance to the kitchen and retrieved an environmentally friendly shopping bag. I took off my button down shirt and folded it before putting it in the bag. I had removed my shoes when I entered the house, as was my habit. I now removed my pants, leaving my socks on so as not to leave footprints on the tiled floor. I folded the trousers neatly along the crease, and placed them on top of the shirt.

Walking back to the bathroom, I passed the pine dining table I had made myself. Hours spent crafting a thing of beauty and perfection. I scowled as I straightened the mat on my seat that I must have nudged when I first arrived.

In the bathroom, I picked up the small stack of rubbish that I had piled neatly in the corner between the bath and the sink, and placed it in my ugly green bag. I rearranged the equipment in the first aid kit according to size and probability of need before pushing it back under the sink. I emptied the sink and wiped all of the surfaces with the damp hand towel.

I placed my shoes at the back door, and the green bag behind them, ready for tomorrow. I threw the damp cloth in the laundry basket nearby.

It had been a long journey here, making sure I had covered my tracks well enough. I parked in alleys to confuse times and places my car might have been spotted, took back roads that few people even knew of, and finally parked in my workshop with most of the parts I needed for repairs.

I lay on top of the blankets on my bed, staring at the shadows on my window. The trees swayed gently and darkness knocked on my eyelids. I gladly answered the call of sleep.

“Sweet dreams, my Jordana.”