I suck back the blood
and try to heal the wounds,
try to paste over the scars that
burn red, struggle pink and shudder
in the hot element of sinister design.
I long to touch the fog, taste
the sugar of the glass and peel the sticky shell
of the music off my pale skin, in hopes
of a small, round little glitter, glimmer and shine
of a greeting among familiar faces
I still wish
for a smile perched upon the wing of
lost movement in motion, blue heather
on the hilltops, gray ice within the
shallow hidden heart I carry clutched to me,
and black, faded ecstasy on the stairs.
I can only feel the red though.
Saturday, 20 April 2013
Monday, 15 April 2013
Lover Part II
The room was dark, like all of them were. He couldn’t remember the name of the hotel he was in. He never could.
There was no heat in the room, and she’d left the window slightly open from last night. She’d been lighting candles left and right, claiming it was romantic, so they’d had to leave the window open as to not asphyxiate.
She was dead to the world as he slowly slid out of bed. He headed toward the cheap shower that the hotel had tacked onto their rooms. The bathroom was small and designed with only one purpose. He turned on the water and shut the door behind him as he stepped in.
She was awake by the time he finished. He smiled the same smile he always used.
“You have to go?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“That’s fine.” She rolled herself out and into alignment with the floor. She smiled. “It was good. I’ll see you again next week. Here’s your payment.”
He took the money she offered him, tucking it into his pants pocket before turning to get dressed.
“Wednesday again?” he asked.
“Make it Thursday. I’ve got a meeting on Wednesday.”
She stood up and walked to the shower, not bothering with clothes or any form of modesty. The door shut behind her, and he finished getting dressed.
Her purse lay on the ground near the door. He bent down and quietly opened her wallet, removing a small amount of cash. So small she wouldn’t notice.
Once the night was over, he would no longer be her lover, and she had to wait for next week.
He left her in the shower, like he always did. She knew better than to expect anything more.
There was no heat in the room, and she’d left the window slightly open from last night. She’d been lighting candles left and right, claiming it was romantic, so they’d had to leave the window open as to not asphyxiate.
She was dead to the world as he slowly slid out of bed. He headed toward the cheap shower that the hotel had tacked onto their rooms. The bathroom was small and designed with only one purpose. He turned on the water and shut the door behind him as he stepped in.
She was awake by the time he finished. He smiled the same smile he always used.
“You have to go?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“That’s fine.” She rolled herself out and into alignment with the floor. She smiled. “It was good. I’ll see you again next week. Here’s your payment.”
He took the money she offered him, tucking it into his pants pocket before turning to get dressed.
“Wednesday again?” he asked.
“Make it Thursday. I’ve got a meeting on Wednesday.”
She stood up and walked to the shower, not bothering with clothes or any form of modesty. The door shut behind her, and he finished getting dressed.
Her purse lay on the ground near the door. He bent down and quietly opened her wallet, removing a small amount of cash. So small she wouldn’t notice.
Once the night was over, he would no longer be her lover, and she had to wait for next week.
He left her in the shower, like he always did. She knew better than to expect anything more.
Sunday, 14 April 2013
Lover Part I
I just want to fall
headfirst into
a collapsible image of
silken white sheets
as they tangle around the body
in their forgotten erotic
desire.
headfirst into
a collapsible image of
silken white sheets
as they tangle around the body
in their forgotten erotic
desire.
Friday, 5 April 2013
summer is coming
summer is coming.
i can feel the soft ache of maturation,
when time ripens, splitting open
the sides of my lungs as i stretch
my spine back into the green of the earth,
spread my arms out and hook my fingers
beneath the edge of this moment,
breathing shallow, my eyes closed
as i swallow softly in an attempt
to retain my balance.
summer is coming.
and i will dance at her wedding,
plough her fields, kill
her babies and muck the stalls of her farm,
working on my hands and knees
until the ache in my bones fades
to an unnoticible level of pain
as the chill of the night and empty money
begin their slow invasion and start
their colonization of the expansive vision
of my future.
summer is coming,
the span of her heart counted
upon the weght of my wishes,
until i can stand her no longer,
my knuckles bloody with bleach,
my skin pale beneath the lines of my clothes
that are stained with paint,
and i no longer attempt to cry
when i feel her nails along my spine
and hear the crunch of when she removes bone.
summer is coming.
and i'll bleed my way empty into fall,
the nights stretching open
along the edge of my wounds,
the corners of the bills i've earned slowly
curling upwards on the vine,
my body now broken, my mind empty
and waiting for another year of planting
fresh ideas in the garden of academics.
i can feel the soft ache of maturation,
when time ripens, splitting open
the sides of my lungs as i stretch
my spine back into the green of the earth,
spread my arms out and hook my fingers
beneath the edge of this moment,
breathing shallow, my eyes closed
as i swallow softly in an attempt
to retain my balance.
summer is coming.
and i will dance at her wedding,
plough her fields, kill
her babies and muck the stalls of her farm,
working on my hands and knees
until the ache in my bones fades
to an unnoticible level of pain
as the chill of the night and empty money
begin their slow invasion and start
their colonization of the expansive vision
of my future.
summer is coming,
the span of her heart counted
upon the weght of my wishes,
until i can stand her no longer,
my knuckles bloody with bleach,
my skin pale beneath the lines of my clothes
that are stained with paint,
and i no longer attempt to cry
when i feel her nails along my spine
and hear the crunch of when she removes bone.
summer is coming.
and i'll bleed my way empty into fall,
the nights stretching open
along the edge of my wounds,
the corners of the bills i've earned slowly
curling upwards on the vine,
my body now broken, my mind empty
and waiting for another year of planting
fresh ideas in the garden of academics.
Tuesday, 2 April 2013
Carry Your Wings
I carry your wings with me. Not with joy and happiness, to be given freely. I carry them broken, for I ripped them off your back.
If I cannot carry your heart with me, let me carry your hate. For if you curse and scream at me, I’ll at least know that you feel something for me. If I cannot make you mine, let me make you no one’s. Let me place you in a glass jar and hear you pound against it.
I carry your ashes with me. Your earthly remains after you have grown still. They grow heavy in their jar, growing bigger, almost forcing me to drop it.
But most of all, I carry your screaming laughter with me, a constant reminder of what you wouldn’t give me.
I watched from the inside while you danced upon the grass, running up the hill to sit with the dead among their gravestones. You ripped a butterfly’s wings apart and let the wind carry them into my face, letting them dance before my eyes.
I carry your tears with me, willingly, because you cried so hard for what I had become.
I carry nothing with me, for you are already gone.
If I cannot carry your heart with me, let me carry your hate. For if you curse and scream at me, I’ll at least know that you feel something for me. If I cannot make you mine, let me make you no one’s. Let me place you in a glass jar and hear you pound against it.
I carry your ashes with me. Your earthly remains after you have grown still. They grow heavy in their jar, growing bigger, almost forcing me to drop it.
But most of all, I carry your screaming laughter with me, a constant reminder of what you wouldn’t give me.
I watched from the inside while you danced upon the grass, running up the hill to sit with the dead among their gravestones. You ripped a butterfly’s wings apart and let the wind carry them into my face, letting them dance before my eyes.
I carry your tears with me, willingly, because you cried so hard for what I had become.
I carry nothing with me, for you are already gone.
Sunday, 31 March 2013
More Than Words Can Say
I'm not going to try to convey
the simple facts that blister along
my tongue, whispers along the shell of my ears
and try to make themselves known
to you.
For I know none of it will be understood,
devoured, swallowed, digested,
allowed full comprehension to break free
from the muddied skin of a half-rate poet.
Because
I love you more than words can say
and have no idea how
to phrase it.
the simple facts that blister along
my tongue, whispers along the shell of my ears
and try to make themselves known
to you.
For I know none of it will be understood,
devoured, swallowed, digested,
allowed full comprehension to break free
from the muddied skin of a half-rate poet.
Because
I love you more than words can say
and have no idea how
to phrase it.
Wednesday, 20 March 2013
Regional Library
The sound of the early autumn traffic came floating through the window. She curled up into a ball beneath her blankets and stuffed the pillow over her head. The small room was cramped, with clothes in piles on the floor and boxes shoved under the bed. She’d been living in the dorms for almost three weeks now, but she hadn’t made any effort to unpack. She didn’t want to make her moving seen as real. She’d buried her books in the back of the closet, but they were spilling out the door and onto the floor. It hurt too much to look at them, and she couldn’t bring herself to put them on the shelves that boxed her room in around her.
The books reminded her of him.
She rolled over and glanced at the clock. It was after midnight and she had an early lecture in the morning, but she couldn’t fall asleep. She’d been moving through the past few weeks like a zombie. She took notes perfectly, did all her work with a deadly precision, but once she ran out of things to do, she went back to bed even though she knew she wouldn’t fall asleep.
She hadn’t even gone to visit the library yet. That was a thing she’d promised to make her first priority once she arrived on campus. She couldn’t even hear the word without remembering what had happened the last time she’d been in one.
The memories flooded her in a haze of fog. With a sob, she buried her face in the mattress, hoping to muffle the sound of her crying. She wanted to forget, let everything be washed away like the grime on her body as she stood in one of the dorm showers. She just let the water run over and down her skin as she stood there like a corpse.
She’d given up ever since he left her.
The sun was hot as it burned into her hair and skin, warming her body. She squeezed his hand ever so slightly and felt him squeeze her back. His hand was limp in hers, though. As if he was performing a routine action he’d gotten tired of.
They walked down the street, almost wading through the summer haze. It stuck to her skin and dampened her clothes. She pushed her hair back out of her eyes with her free hand. She’d thought about cutting it before, but he liked long hair, so she left it alone.
They walked along the sidewalk, following the street going toward the mall. Then they turned right and headed for the back doors. He pulled her out of the way as a car drove past them through the parking lot. She looked up at him and smiled, but he didn’t notice.
She pushed down the nagging feeling in her and sighed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just hot.”
“It’s hotter in Arizona,” he said, “I emailed my advisor yesterday, and she said it was a hundred and ten degrees.” She felt the words sting her like a slap in the face.
She smiled to hid the bitterness, ducking under the overhanging cover before the entrance
The doors came to life with a soft metallic hum, opening slowly. They felt the chill of the air conditioning wash over them. She heard her flip-flops hit the tile floor over and over again, creating a slapping sound announcing her presence. His shoes made no noise, though. It was almost as if she was walking alone. If she hadn’t felt his hand in hers, she would have really thought so.
They rounded the corner, turning left. They passed all the shops around them, not caring to stop. She took note of them all. The sale that the clothing store was having for jeans, the lunch special at the restaurant, the frantic mother trying to keep her child from falling into the pond.
She stopped him at the pond and pulled her wallet out of her purse.
“You know you’re not supposed to throw coins into there,” he said. “It kills the fish.”
“I know,” she said, and with one movement, she emptied all her change into the water.
“What the hell did you do that for? That was about five dollars, there.”
“It’s fine,” she said. It’s not worth it, though, she thought. No amount of spare change could pay off the inevitable and keep it from coming. She was praying, though. Praying for the world to end along with that moment, so it would be the last thing she remembered.
He pulled her into the bookstore and she watched him conversing with the clerk about the latest releases. She wanted to go check the new display, but she didn’t want to let go of his hand. She looked around the store, taking in all the details as if it was her first time there. The way the shelves were laid out in a warm square pattern. The color of the false wood floor, and how it made your footsteps echo. The tables in front of the cash register with the remaindered thirty percent off titles on them. The racks of magazines on the side wall. She loved this store, but the air felt painful now.
She slowly pulled him out of his conversation, laughing along with the jokes between him and the clerk. She crouched down on her knees, still never letting go of his hand. She began to pull books off the shelves, skimming over the reviews on the back.
She chose one at random, although she was sure she’d read it at some point. They then walked over to the counter and she paid for the book. The clerk put it in a green plastic bag with the store’s logo printed on it, and with her receipt stuck in between the pages.
They walked down the hall to the sign announcing the Regional Library. She pulled a book out of her purse and left it on the check-in counter. A librarian came over, and she heard the beeping of the machines as the book was scanned back into the system.
She started over to the shelves that held all the books on hold, but he steered her in another direction. He took her past the check-out counters, the information desk, the tables where people worked, and through the shelves of non-fiction books.
The numbered shelves flashed by her eyes, but he continued to pull her forward, his grip on her hand tight. They left the stacks of books and entered a small space at the back of the library. A cliché sign with the legend ‘Teen Scene’ hung down from the ceiling in an attempt to make teenagers believe that reading was cool, the rotating shelves full of paperback books below it. On the wall were metal racks with books propped up for display.
She moved to go look at the new releases set out front to promote them, but his grip on her tightened and she couldn’t move.
“Let’s sit,” he said. His voice was hoarse. She could feel the sweat on his hand.
“What?” she asked, her voice rising.
“Let’s sit,” he repeated, and she could hear the hollow echo in his voice. The world swam before her eyes. She had to concentrate to keep from collapsing.
“I don’t want to,” she said.
“Alright,” he said. “You can stand.” He sounded like he was parenting her. A slow, soft buzzing began in her ears.
“Not that,” she yelled, and she felt the pressure before she realized what happened. His hand was pressed over her mouth, blocking off her scream. She could hear the general chorus of hushing sounds and people telling her to be quiet, but all she could focus on was his face.
In his eyes, she could see her reflection, and it made her want to cry. She looked panicked, her coloring reversed, white where her cheeks were normally pink. His eyes were glazed over, like they were a shield, trying to keep the pain from reaching him.
“I don’t want to,” she mumbled from under his hand. “Please… no…” Her voice trailed off as she bit down on her tongue to keep herself from crying.
“Don’t do this,” he moaned. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she said. “We can still keep going.” She was aware of the tears running down her cheeks as she babbled on and on, trying to get him to agree with her.
“We can’t,” he whispered. “We’ll be graduating in a few weeks.”
“So we’ll just have a long-distance relationship,” she laughed shakily. “Lots of people do. They all work out fine.”
“This won’t work out, though,” he said. “You’re going to Vancouver and I’m going to Arizona. We can’t keep going, pretending that everything is fine.”
She watched his mouth move, but she couldn’t hear the words. He was clarifying what she’d been trying to ignore for the past few weeks. The feeling of distance that had been growing slowly in the back of her mind. The feelings between them had been stretching thin, and at that moment, she finally felt them snap.
She felt his fingers slowly unlink themselves from hers. Her hand dropped to her side, no longer suspended by his.
She wasn’t aware of how much time had passed before she realized that he wasn’t in front of her anymore. She could see his back retreating away from her, and she watched as he stopped before the hold shelves to see if he had books to pick up.
She dropped to the ground with a broken sob stuck in her throat. She looked around for some support, crawling over to the plush chairs beside her.
They were too low to the ground for her to hide under them like she wanted to. She could just imagine it. She’d seen it a million times. The way his hands moved, and how he positioned his body as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, opened it and handed the clerk his card. The way he leaned against the counter while waiting for his books. The way he tucked them under his arm after pulling out the receipt, reading it over and then recycling it.
She could imagine this time his body tensing with pain, him tearing the receipt and tossing it in the trash. She hoped he felt this pain as strongly as her but she had no way of telling. She wasn’t there to smile at him and take his hand like always as he walked out the double doors. He wasn’t there to wipe away her tears as she cried.
It was over.
She sat up in bed in her dorm room and was still. The air was colder than before. It had started to rain, a curtain of water hitting the window and sliding down onto the sill.
Tears were drying on her cheeks, and she still felt the hollow pain of something having been torn out of her. It was duller than it had felt before though.
The clock read six in the morning, but she didn’t feel like she had slept at all. She slid out of bed and let her feet touch the floor gently. She readjusted her shirt and bent down to pick up the books on the floor. She slid them into the empty shelves, creating a thudding rhythm as they hit the wall hard.
She grabbed the laundry basket from under her bed and piled the dirty clothes into it. She reached deep into the closet and pulled out a new towel. Then she grabbed hold of the small bag that she carried her shampoo and soap, and she bolted out the door.
She felt the door slam back into the frame and heard the click as she turned the key in the lock. She was running down the hall, skidding to a stop before the bathroom door. She pushed it open and turned the corner, pushing the shower stall door open and hiding behind it.
The door locked as she slid the bolt. Her towel and bag hit the floor with a thud. There was a scuffle as she fought with her clothes while trying to take them off.
The hot water hit her with a blast, then ran down her skin, burning her. She was moving fast, though, as she scrubbed the shampoo into her hair and soaped her body hard.
After she was done showering, she tried to dry her hair with her towel, even though it was soaked. She dumped the shampoo bottles and soap onto her bag, wrapped the towel around it, and headed back to her room.
She didn’t know what time the library opened, but she needed to find out.
The books reminded her of him.
She rolled over and glanced at the clock. It was after midnight and she had an early lecture in the morning, but she couldn’t fall asleep. She’d been moving through the past few weeks like a zombie. She took notes perfectly, did all her work with a deadly precision, but once she ran out of things to do, she went back to bed even though she knew she wouldn’t fall asleep.
She hadn’t even gone to visit the library yet. That was a thing she’d promised to make her first priority once she arrived on campus. She couldn’t even hear the word without remembering what had happened the last time she’d been in one.
The memories flooded her in a haze of fog. With a sob, she buried her face in the mattress, hoping to muffle the sound of her crying. She wanted to forget, let everything be washed away like the grime on her body as she stood in one of the dorm showers. She just let the water run over and down her skin as she stood there like a corpse.
She’d given up ever since he left her.
The sun was hot as it burned into her hair and skin, warming her body. She squeezed his hand ever so slightly and felt him squeeze her back. His hand was limp in hers, though. As if he was performing a routine action he’d gotten tired of.
They walked down the street, almost wading through the summer haze. It stuck to her skin and dampened her clothes. She pushed her hair back out of her eyes with her free hand. She’d thought about cutting it before, but he liked long hair, so she left it alone.
They walked along the sidewalk, following the street going toward the mall. Then they turned right and headed for the back doors. He pulled her out of the way as a car drove past them through the parking lot. She looked up at him and smiled, but he didn’t notice.
She pushed down the nagging feeling in her and sighed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just hot.”
“It’s hotter in Arizona,” he said, “I emailed my advisor yesterday, and she said it was a hundred and ten degrees.” She felt the words sting her like a slap in the face.
She smiled to hid the bitterness, ducking under the overhanging cover before the entrance
The doors came to life with a soft metallic hum, opening slowly. They felt the chill of the air conditioning wash over them. She heard her flip-flops hit the tile floor over and over again, creating a slapping sound announcing her presence. His shoes made no noise, though. It was almost as if she was walking alone. If she hadn’t felt his hand in hers, she would have really thought so.
They rounded the corner, turning left. They passed all the shops around them, not caring to stop. She took note of them all. The sale that the clothing store was having for jeans, the lunch special at the restaurant, the frantic mother trying to keep her child from falling into the pond.
She stopped him at the pond and pulled her wallet out of her purse.
“You know you’re not supposed to throw coins into there,” he said. “It kills the fish.”
“I know,” she said, and with one movement, she emptied all her change into the water.
“What the hell did you do that for? That was about five dollars, there.”
“It’s fine,” she said. It’s not worth it, though, she thought. No amount of spare change could pay off the inevitable and keep it from coming. She was praying, though. Praying for the world to end along with that moment, so it would be the last thing she remembered.
He pulled her into the bookstore and she watched him conversing with the clerk about the latest releases. She wanted to go check the new display, but she didn’t want to let go of his hand. She looked around the store, taking in all the details as if it was her first time there. The way the shelves were laid out in a warm square pattern. The color of the false wood floor, and how it made your footsteps echo. The tables in front of the cash register with the remaindered thirty percent off titles on them. The racks of magazines on the side wall. She loved this store, but the air felt painful now.
She slowly pulled him out of his conversation, laughing along with the jokes between him and the clerk. She crouched down on her knees, still never letting go of his hand. She began to pull books off the shelves, skimming over the reviews on the back.
She chose one at random, although she was sure she’d read it at some point. They then walked over to the counter and she paid for the book. The clerk put it in a green plastic bag with the store’s logo printed on it, and with her receipt stuck in between the pages.
They walked down the hall to the sign announcing the Regional Library. She pulled a book out of her purse and left it on the check-in counter. A librarian came over, and she heard the beeping of the machines as the book was scanned back into the system.
She started over to the shelves that held all the books on hold, but he steered her in another direction. He took her past the check-out counters, the information desk, the tables where people worked, and through the shelves of non-fiction books.
The numbered shelves flashed by her eyes, but he continued to pull her forward, his grip on her hand tight. They left the stacks of books and entered a small space at the back of the library. A cliché sign with the legend ‘Teen Scene’ hung down from the ceiling in an attempt to make teenagers believe that reading was cool, the rotating shelves full of paperback books below it. On the wall were metal racks with books propped up for display.
She moved to go look at the new releases set out front to promote them, but his grip on her tightened and she couldn’t move.
“Let’s sit,” he said. His voice was hoarse. She could feel the sweat on his hand.
“What?” she asked, her voice rising.
“Let’s sit,” he repeated, and she could hear the hollow echo in his voice. The world swam before her eyes. She had to concentrate to keep from collapsing.
“I don’t want to,” she said.
“Alright,” he said. “You can stand.” He sounded like he was parenting her. A slow, soft buzzing began in her ears.
“Not that,” she yelled, and she felt the pressure before she realized what happened. His hand was pressed over her mouth, blocking off her scream. She could hear the general chorus of hushing sounds and people telling her to be quiet, but all she could focus on was his face.
In his eyes, she could see her reflection, and it made her want to cry. She looked panicked, her coloring reversed, white where her cheeks were normally pink. His eyes were glazed over, like they were a shield, trying to keep the pain from reaching him.
“I don’t want to,” she mumbled from under his hand. “Please… no…” Her voice trailed off as she bit down on her tongue to keep herself from crying.
“Don’t do this,” he moaned. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she said. “We can still keep going.” She was aware of the tears running down her cheeks as she babbled on and on, trying to get him to agree with her.
“We can’t,” he whispered. “We’ll be graduating in a few weeks.”
“So we’ll just have a long-distance relationship,” she laughed shakily. “Lots of people do. They all work out fine.”
“This won’t work out, though,” he said. “You’re going to Vancouver and I’m going to Arizona. We can’t keep going, pretending that everything is fine.”
She watched his mouth move, but she couldn’t hear the words. He was clarifying what she’d been trying to ignore for the past few weeks. The feeling of distance that had been growing slowly in the back of her mind. The feelings between them had been stretching thin, and at that moment, she finally felt them snap.
She felt his fingers slowly unlink themselves from hers. Her hand dropped to her side, no longer suspended by his.
She wasn’t aware of how much time had passed before she realized that he wasn’t in front of her anymore. She could see his back retreating away from her, and she watched as he stopped before the hold shelves to see if he had books to pick up.
She dropped to the ground with a broken sob stuck in her throat. She looked around for some support, crawling over to the plush chairs beside her.
They were too low to the ground for her to hide under them like she wanted to. She could just imagine it. She’d seen it a million times. The way his hands moved, and how he positioned his body as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, opened it and handed the clerk his card. The way he leaned against the counter while waiting for his books. The way he tucked them under his arm after pulling out the receipt, reading it over and then recycling it.
She could imagine this time his body tensing with pain, him tearing the receipt and tossing it in the trash. She hoped he felt this pain as strongly as her but she had no way of telling. She wasn’t there to smile at him and take his hand like always as he walked out the double doors. He wasn’t there to wipe away her tears as she cried.
It was over.
She sat up in bed in her dorm room and was still. The air was colder than before. It had started to rain, a curtain of water hitting the window and sliding down onto the sill.
Tears were drying on her cheeks, and she still felt the hollow pain of something having been torn out of her. It was duller than it had felt before though.
The clock read six in the morning, but she didn’t feel like she had slept at all. She slid out of bed and let her feet touch the floor gently. She readjusted her shirt and bent down to pick up the books on the floor. She slid them into the empty shelves, creating a thudding rhythm as they hit the wall hard.
She grabbed the laundry basket from under her bed and piled the dirty clothes into it. She reached deep into the closet and pulled out a new towel. Then she grabbed hold of the small bag that she carried her shampoo and soap, and she bolted out the door.
She felt the door slam back into the frame and heard the click as she turned the key in the lock. She was running down the hall, skidding to a stop before the bathroom door. She pushed it open and turned the corner, pushing the shower stall door open and hiding behind it.
The door locked as she slid the bolt. Her towel and bag hit the floor with a thud. There was a scuffle as she fought with her clothes while trying to take them off.
The hot water hit her with a blast, then ran down her skin, burning her. She was moving fast, though, as she scrubbed the shampoo into her hair and soaped her body hard.
After she was done showering, she tried to dry her hair with her towel, even though it was soaked. She dumped the shampoo bottles and soap onto her bag, wrapped the towel around it, and headed back to her room.
She didn’t know what time the library opened, but she needed to find out.
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