Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (classic literature list .txt) 📗

let her fall back asleep, and now that she was aware of her own body again, she felt dirty. Upon reaching the bathroom again, she went straight to the claw-footed tub and cranked the hot water knob as far to the left as she could.

Leaving the water running and setting the wine bottle next to the tub, Maureen returned to the mirror to scrutinize her reflection. The redness of the vessels in her eye had spread further into the white part, causing it to go completely pink. She frowned at herself and tugged the lower lid down to see how far the pink spread. To her surprise, there was still a bit of white visible, so hopefully there would be no concern at the bar that she had pink eye or something else that would force Mr. Anderson to send her home. She needed the shifts and the tips if she was going to be able to move on from Sycamore Hills within three months like she had always planned. After tonight, though, she might have to accelerate those plans. The wandering had become her safety net. Never staying in one place for too long had always been the best protection from the nightmares. But still, no matter how far she ran, or how many different people she became, they eventually found her, often forcing her to move on ahead of schedule.

She sighed and turned back to the bathtub and stuck her hand under the running water. It felt warm enough, so she plugged the stopper into the drain and allowed the tub to fill. She yanked off her T-shirt, pulled off her underwear, and turned again to look in the mirror. She frowned again as she stared at herself. Were her breasts starting to sag? Was that some new belly fat there? She turned around and took a quick look over her shoulder to examine her backside, sliding her hands down, grabbing and lifting up each cheek and letting go. They bounced once and settled back into place. Maureen allowed herself a quick half-smile. At least that’s all still in the right place. Must be the running, she mused to herself.

Maureen did not allow her gaze to continue any further up though and quickly swung herself back around. She knew if she let her eyes wander, they would come to rest on the pale white scars that formed the innumerable Xs across her back. They were nearly invisible to most people’s indifferent glances. In fact, no man she’d ever been with had mentioned them, even though she knew that they could be felt if he was paying attention and running his fingers over her back in a delicate way. She’d never been with a man who took the time to do that, as far as she could remember, and even if she had, she just assumed that no one cared.

Maureen pulled herself away from the mirror and returned to the tub. It was nearly half full, so she stepped in and lowered herself into the water, grabbing the bottle of wine as she did so. She propped herself up into a sitting position, with her legs straight, her back against the side of the tub, and her arms and head resting on the rim. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it was the only way to get her entire body in the tub and not risk falling asleep. She took a sip and, now that the water had risen to a couple of inches shy of the rim, she lifted her foot to turn off the water. She quickly slid her toes back below the surface of the water; she hated to look at her feet. The big toes on each had never healed properly and were set at an unnatural angle. More battle scars to match those on her back.

Maureen pushed aside those memories and closed her eyes but still remained aware. The medication hadn’t quite kicked in yet, and even the dim light of the bathroom intensified the pulsing behind her eyes. She balanced the wine bottle on her chest, not caring if the bath water warmed its contents, and sipped down another mouthful every few minutes. The stuff tasted the same warm or cold.

Eventually, her muscles relaxed, and she was able to focus on the warmth of the bath as her headache finally began to retreat. She set the now empty bottle beside the tub and slowly plunged her head below the surface. Sputtering slightly as she came up, she gathered her hair behind her neck and rubbed the water away from her eyes. Maureen let out a heavy sigh; the weight of her self-medication was beginning to press down on her shoulders. She unplugged the stopper and got out of the tub as the water began to swirl down the drain. Reaching over to the towel bar, Maureen grabbed the coarse, brown piece of cloth that usually served as her hand towel and began to pat herself dry. The fabric scratched at her skin, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to get dry and sink back into sleep without being harassed by more nightmares.

Maureen left the towel on the ground and picked up her clothes. She clicked the light off as she exited the bathroom, crossed the floor, and tossed the clothes onto the bed before moving to her dresser and putting on the first T-shirt and panties her hands could find. She looked back at the clock and found it was almost four. She reached down to make sure her alarm was set and added an extra hour. She didn’t have to be at work until three in the afternoon and didn’t see the point of waking up at an hour that was followed by am, especially when she had a ten-hour shift to look forward to. Yawning, and not wanting to lie back down in her sweat-covered bed, she crossed the room over to the old, brown sofa, which she had found