Page 10 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

Ambra sheds the sweater again, then peels off the functional yet incredibly boring rough clothed pants the College always put her in, and cranks on the shower.

It’s not an action natural to her, but the body had insisted on it, and they both always felt better after scrubbing the skin under hot water, and Ambra just hopes it still works. That she could get a glimpse of the peace with this action that she did before, despite everything that had happened in between.

She hisses, the impact of the water stinging against the new scar on her stomach, but holds still, letting it run over her hair and stream down her face, before she suds up the soap and attempts to get every last bit of blood off of her skin.

Through the thin door, Gurlien’s voice carries, and she stills, as if her motion is the thing causing all of the noise and not the rush of water and the creak of pipes.

Not every word reaches her. “…northwest somewhere, judging…trees. Phone doesn’t…location.”

She tilts her head, and the water streams down her neck instead of her face, which is immediately better. It washes underneath the leash around her neck, almost startling her with the soothing sensation, and she bends her neck more, so more water runs underneath it, against the irritated skin and her own claw marks.

“Demon,” he says, clearly, and his footsteps pace by the door, into the bedroom, then back out, circling the small motorhome. “Clearly suffering, very confused.”

She raises an eyebrow at the plastic shower curtain. He’s not wrong.

“I don’t know!” He bursts out, clear as day. “I don’t know,that’s why I’m calling you, since you apparently have been hiding…”

His voice fades out a bit, and she loses the next few sentences, so she hastily scrubs up and dries off the best she could, though now the one side of her hair is thoroughly tangled.

Gurlien’s not speaking, but he’s still pacing, making quiet sounds as if he’s listening on the other side of the phone.

Ambra steps back into the undergarments, then shoves the sweater back over her head, but kicks the boring pants to the side. The body kept so many changes of clothes here, she never has to wear the ones the College put her in ever again.

It’s a small thrill at the thought. Where she can dress in the clothing that would feel good against her skin, instead of the constricting and structured clothing they had forced her into.

“You can’t be serious,” Gurlien says, pacing back by the door, and a smile tugs on Ambra’s lips. Someone has clearly given him news he didn’t like, and the obviousness of his reaction is charming.

She attempts to finger comb through her hair, before giving up in boredom.

“What’s not serious?” she asks, stepping out.

Gurlien stops in his tracks, the phone still in his hand and pressed against his ear, and blinks at her.

There’s a whisper of someone speaking from the phone, but Gurlien just stares.

So she stares back, gesturing for him to answer.

“Hey, Axel, I need to go,” Gurlien cuts off whatever monologue the other person’s giving him, before he stuffs the phone back into his pocket. “It’s a turn of phrase.”

“Okay,” Ambra replies, then steps into the bedroom for the first time since the merge, and gets a few steps to the closet before…something…slams into her.

Not something physical, but almost like a wave of emotions, a wave of chemicals flooding through her body, staggering her.

The body had slept in the bed, had curled up against the pillow and pulled the coverlet over her head, and it had been the most comfortable Ambra had ever been through the entire process. They had placed all the clothing in the closet, one bit by one bit, and Ambra had marveled at the fabrics, at the clean motions of folding each piece together. She organized it all by color, and the open doors show her the rainbow, all still meticulously in place. The body had chucked off her shoes, and they both stood, feeling the carpet between their toes, and Ambra had giggled at the sensation.

“Why aren’t you wearing pants?” Gurlien calls from the hallway, voice dim behind the rushing of her ears.

Her lips part to answer, but no words come out.

Like he’s expecting some sort of attacking creature or trap, Gurlien steps into the doorway, but instead it’s just her, her legs wobbling.

The carpet is still plush under her feet, despite the time and the dust.

Gurlien cranes his neck to glance at the closet, then back at her. “Is it something I can’t see?”

Mute, she shakes her head, then lowers herself to sit on the bed.

There’s so much emotion, so many contradictory sensations flickering over her body. She’s hot, but she shivers, tugging in her knees to her chest, as she stares at the rainbow of clothing, now only marred by dust.

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