The Breaking by Irma Gold

Author:Irma Gold
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MidnightSun Publishing

BY THE TIME WE arrived in Bangkok the sun had already fallen behind the skyscrapers, leaving an orange stain. Most of the parcels, including the goats, had been delivered. Most of the people too.

We unfolded our origamied bodies with difficulty, having held the lines for so long. I was somehow expecting the air outside to be refreshing but the heat still had its claws out.

We took a taxi to the hotel and I felt grateful for Deven’s ease in this place, again. The hotel was down a ruined side street but inside it was all Western-meets-Thai charm. I felt like a smudge against it. I was still dressed for elephants that didn’t care about hair and make-up and nice clothes.

The porter took our luggage and we travelled the lift together. The hallway was narrow and smelled musty, as if the carpet was slowly rotting. But when he showed us the room I had to stop myself from squealing in front of him. It was small but there were proper beds and a proper bathroom with a real shower and a real sink and a real bath. No buckets to be seen.

‘Can you believe it?’ I cried when he was gone, throwing myself across one of the white beds, which was all kinds of clean and soft.

‘It’s like freakin’ heaven,’ Deven said, collapsing onto hers.

‘Dibs on the bath.’

Deven groaned. ‘Hurry up then. I’m dying for it.’

I ran the bath deep, sank into it up to my chin and then slipped right under. Listened to the world warped by water. I could have lain like that for hours but Deven was waiting. So I soaped myself up, shaved my legs, under my arms. The bath turned cloudy with soap and dirt and stubble scum.

I hauled myself out, a brighter, plumped-up version, and opened a little bottle of lotion stamped with the hotel’s name. Rubbed it into every inch of my body. I hadn’t seen so much of myself in a mirror for a long time. It was as if I was wearing a white T-shirt and shorts, the tan lines scooping out my neck and stopping halfway up my arms and legs.

I let the bath out and ran my hand around the sides to get rid of the hair. Wrapping myself in a slightly brittle white towel, I’d never felt cleaner.

‘Your turn,’ I said to Deven, emerging on a cloud of steam.

‘About bloody time,’ she said, and practically high jumped past me into the bathroom.

I pulled on a black dress I’d had no reason to wear before, applied a little foundation and mascara. It was both strange and delicious to be taking care with my appearance. I took a selfie with the room framed behind me and sent it to Mum and Dad.

Deven emerged in an ankle-length skirt of blues and greens with frothy trails of white. Sorrento colours. I’d never seen her in a skirt before. It was weird, in a good way. She was wearing a bunch of silver rings on one hand, her eyes framed by spidery mascara.

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