The Blood Under My Nails

The blood under my nails was black and I sat up in bed staring at it. I had been scratching in my sleep and my legs were raw and scabbed and the rash had spread.

Morning leaked in between the curtains and the hotel room was warm with a May heat. Marie came out of the bathroom. “I told you to bandage your fingertips last night.”

“I don’t need any fucking bandages. I wouldn't be able to sleep with them.”

“Well you wouldn't wake up bleeding itching and worse, either.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Me too. You want to bleach first and then find some breakfast?”

“No.”

“You should or else it will probably spread more today. At least the bleach might help slow it down.”

“Fine. Do we have any whiskey left?”

“I’ll look. Go get in the bath and if I find it, I’ll bring it in.”

I got out of bed. I wondered if I should leave a note for the maid, warning her, and decided I would but knew I’d forget.

Marie had showered while I was staring at my scabs and the bathroom floor was warm and wet and the mirror was still fogged. My legs burned a little where the skin was peeled back and I knew they would burn a lot more as soon as I hit that fucking water. I plugged the drain and poured what I assumed was a few cups of bleach into it then turned on the hot water and let it fill. It stung my eyes and I could feel the poison ivy curse me.

“You think this will stop me?” it asked. “Motherfucker, I can’t be stopped. I am forever. I will devour you.”

I heard it, but I didn't listen to it.

The tub filled and I climbed inside.

The burn was immediate and intense. It was hot and the bleach flooded every pore and wound and dried crack and I winced. The heat was enough to burn regardless. I clenched my jaw and lowered into the tub. It came up around my chest as I laid back and my balls burned and my legs burned and my asshole burned and all of the sensitive parts screamed at me to get out. To leap out. I clenched my teeth and prayed the bleach bath would kill the poison ivy.

Marie came in and she had the Jim Beam and handed the bottle to me. There was only half a bottle left after the night before but it was certainly better than nothing and if I were to drink a half a bottle of whiskey before breakfast I would probably have bigger problems than fucking poison ivy.

I unscrewed the cap and tossed it into the sink. I sipped and the whiskey was jarring and not the first thing you want to drink in the morning after drinking it all night.

I closed my eyes. My throat burned with each sip. My body burned with each second. What a fucking honeymoon, I thought.