Childtime Institutions

They appeared well-made, not like the inexpensive, do-it-yourself furniture that she was accustomed to. The comforter, window curtains—actual curtains—all spoke of wealth and a willingness to spend it.

Moving further into the room, Sarena discovered the small bathroom. It was only slightly larger than the one that she had shared with her entire family, but everything within it was polished and shone. There were no cracked or missing tiles, no stains of mildew and rot, and the rugs on the floor looked as new and even more plush than the carpet beneath her feet. The transparent glass enclosure of the shower was so clean that it was nearly invisible.

She looked around the entire space, trying to absorb it all. There were no windows, but its lighting prevented it from feeling as enclosed as it was. It felt as if natural light streamed in from somewhere above, which, for all Sarena, it very well might be. The room was small, but, if Sarena was right, she would have it all to herself—a luxury that she had never before known.

Sarena’s head buzzed, unable to take it all in. She had seen images of such places on the ‘net and in old magazines. While she could have imagined possibly visiting one during her lifetime, never would she have conceived of herself actually living in one, even by force—particularly by force. She turned, realizing that the door has closed behind her. Panic swelled inside her and she reached for it, tugging on the handle embedded within the door. It opened easily to reveal the empty hallway beyond it. Sarena almost wept with relief without quite knowing why.

And then she understood. She was not trapped her. At least, she was not being locked inside her room like a caged animal. She did not know whether it could happen—or would happen—but for now, she could open the door at her own will. She wondered then if it could be locked. A quick glance did not reveal any kind of locking mechanism, but that did not mean that there was not one. It could be controlled, she knew, from some other location, like the cells in a prison block. That thought sent a new chill of fear down her spine. As lushly furnished as it might be, the place might still be her prison. She just did not know . . . yet.

Turning back toward the bathroom, she eyed the shower, remembering Kayla’s instructions. She suddenly became aware of her own aroma, something which she had come to be able to ignore. Here though, in this clean and decorated space, it seemed like an affront, something that needed to be dispelled and dealt with.

She stepped into the alcove, blinking when the lights flickered into brightness upon her entry. She stood there, allowing her eyes a few moments to adjust against the sudden assault of illumination. The fixture gleamed now even more than they had from outside the space. It felt almost like a sin to disturb or utilize any of them. She felt a growing urgent need, though, not having been allowed to use a toilet since they have been rousted from their beds the night before. She hesitated and then allowed her basic biological needs to win out over awe.

When she finished with that, nervously listening as the flow of the water seemed to echo loudly within the small room, she looked once more at the shower stall. It controls were unfamiliar, but appeared to be obvious. There were three handles, two of which were each marked clearly with either a blue or red ring. She assumed that these meant what they always did and turned the handles. Water began to cascade from the twin shower heads above her, drenching the sleeve of her tattered shirt. She yanked her arm out of the shower, cursing herself for her own stupidity. She should have known better, she knew, resisting the urge to wring the water out onto the plush mat beneath her.

Stepping back from the shower, but with enough presence of mind to close the door so that water would not spray out onto the bathroom floor, Sarena looked for somewhere to put her clothes. There was no obvious place for them, and she did not want to put them back on after showering. She remembered that Kayla had told her that she find clothes for her in the room. Sarena had not seen any, but realized that they must be stored in the closet or chests.

She remained still, trying to decide what to do. The water was already running in the shower, but she did not want to wear anything that she still wore when she was done. Her eyes spied the short stack of towels and she decided that would be enough for the short trip back out into the main area of the apartment.

She undressed slowly, pausing to fold each item of her clothing onto a neat pile. Although she might never wear them again, she did not know that for certain. She wanted them nearby, just in case.

Naked now, she paused to examine herself in the two full-length mirrors mounted in a corner of the alcove. Dirt streaked her skin, but it could not hide the twin swells of her breasts or the unshaven patch of hair between her legs. She had never seen herself that way before, even at the clinic. She found the sight oddly compelling. In her mind’s eye, she could see past the snarled strands of hair and the tracks of grime on her flesh. She wondered, though, if that was who she really was underneath.

She looked down, feeling somewhat ashamed. Such vanity was for other girls, for those who had wealth and power—like those who apparently dwelled here. She knew of her girls her own age who sold their bodies to others so they could look nice and dress pretty, but she the thought of giving herself to someone like that made her feel vaguely ill. That she might now be in such a situation she tried not to consider . . . at least not yet.

After a moment she looked up and turned back toward the shower. She paused, struck by the sight before her.

Steam rose from behind the transparent barrier, misting its surface with fine droplets. Sarena could not remember the last she had taken a hot shower. The water at her family’s home had always been lukewarm at best, and only when the sun heated the exposed pipes through which the water flowed. During the cold seasons, it was almost intolerable. During the winter months, she would go several days at a time without bathing. She could still remember huddling under layers of blankets afterward, trying to recover from the deep chill that filled her body afterward.

Stepping to the shower now, she wondered if she had made it too hot. The air around her felt moist now, but it cooled the moment that it touched her skin. She opened the door cautiously and tentatively reached her hand inside. The water stung and she almost jerked her hand back. She managed to hold it in place, though, to test the true temperature of the water.

It was hot, perhaps warmer than she had intended it to be, but not intolerable. Sarena reached further in and adjusted it, and then let out a relieved sigh when the water’s temperature became much more comfortable. She stepped into the stall and closed the door, breathing deeply, allowing the warm, moist air penetrate her nostrils. She stepped into the spray, feeling as though she could sense every pore on her body as the hot water washed over them.

Inside the shower, nestled on small shelved alcoves, were several containers in varying sizes. Some of these she understood. She knew what body wash and shampoo were, although she did not understand why there was a variety of ones to choose from. She found one labeled “conditioner”, but did not understand what that one was for, so she left it alone.

She was able to wash the grime from her body quickly, allowing herself two uses of a lightly scented body wash from a translucent blue container. Her hair, however, required a great deal more effort. Even when she was sure that its surface was clean, it remained tightly snarled in several places. She winced in pain several times as she attempted to use her fingers to loosen the worst of the tangles. She tried to work quickly, afraid that the warmth of the water might vanish at any moment. Finally, she washed it one more time, hoping that there would be a thick hairbrush in one of the room’s many drawers.

Sarena did not know how long she remained under the shower’s spray. When she finally turned it off, deep wrinkles lined the inside of her fingers and toes. She could not remember that last time she had seen herself like that, except for when she had washed dishes at the hotel restaurant for a short time about two years earlier.

She opened the door and felt an immediate chill. She quickly reached for one of the towels and wrapped it around her, wiping at the water that remained on her skin in order to warm herself. The towel was thick and luxurious, far from the thin and worn scraps of cloth that she had used at home.

It took her only moments to towel herself dry, except for her hair. It required mental effort to convince herself that, yes, she could use another towel for that. If she wanted, she could probably use them all right then and no one else would suffer for it. She dried her hair as best she could and then roughly wrapped the second towel around it. Draping the other towel around her body, she headed back into the main room to locate the promised clothing.

She opened the closet first and then stepped back in astonished surprise to study its contents. Arrayed within it where a variety of tunics and dresses, each sorted by color. The selection included lightweight blouses that looked ideal for warm weather to full-length dresses that Sarena could imagine only being worn to a Governor’s Ball. Just looking at them, she had no idea whether any of them would fit her. None of them, though, seemed appropriate for the moment. Or rather, she had no idea which one might be appropriate. She hoped that Kayla could tell her.

The thought of the young woman made Sarena suddenly feel acutely aware that she wore nothing more than two towels. Glancing through the selections in the closet again, Sarena removed a long, pale green tunic. It looked long enough to hang down to her knees. As she needed, she determined, was some kind of belt or sash to gather it around her waist. She placed it carefully onto the bed and began searching the drawers.

She discovered a wide variety of accessories and jewelry. Overwhelmed by the choices, she could not decide whether to choose a turquoise belt or a pastel rainbow scarf to use with the tunic. The jewelry she chose to ignore, having never owned or worn any, and uncertain what might or might not be appropriate. And then her gaze fell onto a necklace.