Page 23 of For the Strange and Surprising

E.

I snort to myself, hesitating before I take a bite. It feels fuzzy and firm with a slight give to it, similar to a peach, though it’s the color of a granny smith apple. It smells of sweet citrus fruit, so I take the plunge, sinking my teeth into the outer skin.

The moan that leaves my mouth is ridiculous, but this is the best fucking grapefruit I’ve ever tasted. I don’t care what they call it here, what it looks like, or the fact that it doesn’t have a rind.

I know exactly what this is.

There were three grapefruit trees mixed among the magnolias and stone fruit trees in the backyard of my childhood home. I loved basking in the aroma from the flowers while envisioning myself as the main character in my fantasy books.

And I hate that something so good sours my mood. The last thing I need to think about is bittersweet memories.

What I need is to find a way back home.

Also, a shower would be grand.

I find myself gliding toward the gray stone basin, searching the walls and ceiling for a showerhead. There isn’t one, and there isn’t a faucet either.

Several bars of soap and a washcloth wait on the edge of the basin. I pick each one up, smelling them as I do. A sweet, calming scent makes me pause, tugging at those same childhood memories.

I prop myself against the lip of the stone bowl, holding the soap to my nose as I breathe deeply. I remove my shirt, glancing down to see the corner of the laminated picture sticking out of my bra. Tears pool in my eyes as I stare at my family.

Hot water fills the basin of its own accord.

The steam rises, wrapping around my shoulders as if to soothe me. I let the grief overcome me, thinking of all that I’ve lost. But I can’t allow myself to be sucked into the past right now. No matter how recent that past may be.

Those things were out of my control. Mostly.

I strip down, dropping my dirty clothes in a pile on the floor, and ease into the water. I submerge myself, hoping when I surface again, I’ll be home, or at least back in the Atlantic ocean.

It doesn’t work, though I do feel my head clear while I soak my sore body.

I’m brimming with questions to ask Isolde, but I’m not sure where to start.

I scrub with the floral soap and rough washcloth, thankful that it feels more like exfoliating than scratching my skin off. The sweet scent will help remind me of the good moments in my life. So I wash my body a second time, praying that the aroma lingers with me throughout the day.

I use the same soap for my hair, and then decide that I’ll also mourn the loss of conditioner. But my thick auburn mane feels soft when I rinse it.

All the little things that fall into place so perfectly make me want to scream and lash out.

This isn’t my home.

I’m not staying.

But I don’t hate this place as much as I wish I did.

Not while I’m alone, anyway.

I twist my hair, wringing the water out before I braid it. And then I praise all the water gods that I can name when I realize that I didn’t lose the hair tie on my wrist. Small miracles, I guess. I’ll have to treasure this single elastic band until I get home, because I doubt I’ll find another here.

Once the cooling water makes me shiver, I climb out of the basin. As much as I’d rather avoid the world around me, I do have a queen to visit.

The idea of chatting with any type of royalty is absurd, but I still haven’t found anything that resembles technology. There have been no cameras, cords, or production teams in sight. They certainly haven’t stopped to ask my opinion on their script yet.

I snatch my dirty t-shirt up, covering my naked body as I begin my paranoid hunt all over again. I methodologically move every object I can lift… But there’s nothing.

The only thing that watches me is the pale aqua dress in the open wardrobe.

It returns my gaze expectantly, daring me to touch it. I finally relent, brushing my fingertips across the straps and down the skirt.