Connie. Connie did not like being teased.
“You’re just jealous because now Dove is the only girl in the world with Venom perfume,” said Timmy. He ruffled Dove’s hair. How soft and affectionate the gesture was. Dove would have given him the world then if she had owned it. How starved she was for affection! She had not even known this fact until Timmy touched her. Her parents could have their phones and their faxes. She wanted affection.
“But hardly the right perfume for a Dove.” Timmy’s voice was soft, and just for her.
Just for me! thought Dove Daniel.
Don’t be a fool, Dove, said the person in her head. Nothing is just for you. It never was. There are two of us in here, and just because you hid me away this time doesn’t mean you can always hide me away. There’s plenty of Venom where Venom came from.
“I left the bottle of perfume in school,” said Dove.
I didn’t, said Wing.
Chapter 12
T HE NEXT MORNING, DOVE TOOK a long soothing shower.
She had always loved having her own bathroom. Such delicious privacy and peace. How sorry Dove was for her friends who shared bathrooms with brothers and sisters and parents.
Can you imagine, Dove thought to herself, luxuriating under the hot pounding water, how awful it must be? Every morning, whining voices screaming through the bathroom door at you? Hurry! My turn! You used up the toothpaste!
Dove arched into the hot shower, letting it massage the back of her neck. It was true that water washed away cares. Here in the little pink-tiled box of the shower there was nothing but skin and water. Nothing but peace pouring down.
I’ve never had to share with anybody, thought Dove contentedly.
It felt as if an iron wrench tightened inside her skull, turning her brain as if it were a bolt.
“Aaaaaahhhh!” she screamed. “Stop!” she screamed. “What are you doing? You’re hurting me!”
I have a tumor, she thought. Or somebody shot me. My skull just opened up. She clung to the shower curtain. She was blind with pain. The shower curtain was nothing. It slipped from her hands and she fell to the tile floor, cracking her elbows.
“That’s the point, Dovey,” said Wing viciously. “You never shared. I was in here all the time and you never shared . Never asked. Never cared .”
Dove tried to breathe. But the pain had tightened around her chest as well. The tiny panting puffs of air hardly helped at all. She was sobbing now, but the tears washed down the drain with the shower water. “You didn’t tell me you were there,” cried Dove. “How was I supposed to know I had a sister?”
“You don’t have a sister,” said Wing. Her voice came out like sandpaper against Dove’s throat.
“Then who are you?” whispered Dove. I am beaten, she thought. I am a naked, cowering, shivering piece of skin lying under water.
“I am you,” said Wing.
“You can’t be me! I’m me.”
Wing said nothing. She had said all there was to say.
The pain ceased. Her throat was no longer sore. Her lungs worked.
Dove clung to the sides of the shower and hauled herself upright. It seemed the work of centuries to find the handle, turn off the water, step out of the shower. The mat on the floor felt soft and cottony and ordinary under her bare feet. She chose the largest towel, a beach towel, really, and wrapped herself in it.
Like a mummy, thought Dove. This is the shroud they will bury me in. Wing is going to kill me.
The mirror was fogged up. The blurry pale face and misty dark hair could have been anybody. Maybe it is anybody, thought Dove. Maybe anybody could come into my body and live there.
What terrible power that perfume had, that it could open the body to invasions by other souls. How was it that Wing had lain quiet and unknown for fifteen years, only to be released by the perfume? Did this happen to other people? It had not happened to Mr. Phinney. Luce and Connie and Laurence and Timmy seemed to be single people in single bodies.
Dove dressed. Buttons
“You’re just jealous because now Dove is the only girl in the world with Venom perfume,” said Timmy. He ruffled Dove’s hair. How soft and affectionate the gesture was. Dove would have given him the world then if she had owned it. How starved she was for affection! She had not even known this fact until Timmy touched her. Her parents could have their phones and their faxes. She wanted affection.
“But hardly the right perfume for a Dove.” Timmy’s voice was soft, and just for her.
Just for me! thought Dove Daniel.
Don’t be a fool, Dove, said the person in her head. Nothing is just for you. It never was. There are two of us in here, and just because you hid me away this time doesn’t mean you can always hide me away. There’s plenty of Venom where Venom came from.
“I left the bottle of perfume in school,” said Dove.
I didn’t, said Wing.
Chapter 12
T HE NEXT MORNING, DOVE TOOK a long soothing shower.
She had always loved having her own bathroom. Such delicious privacy and peace. How sorry Dove was for her friends who shared bathrooms with brothers and sisters and parents.
Can you imagine, Dove thought to herself, luxuriating under the hot pounding water, how awful it must be? Every morning, whining voices screaming through the bathroom door at you? Hurry! My turn! You used up the toothpaste!
Dove arched into the hot shower, letting it massage the back of her neck. It was true that water washed away cares. Here in the little pink-tiled box of the shower there was nothing but skin and water. Nothing but peace pouring down.
I’ve never had to share with anybody, thought Dove contentedly.
It felt as if an iron wrench tightened inside her skull, turning her brain as if it were a bolt.
“Aaaaaahhhh!” she screamed. “Stop!” she screamed. “What are you doing? You’re hurting me!”
I have a tumor, she thought. Or somebody shot me. My skull just opened up. She clung to the shower curtain. She was blind with pain. The shower curtain was nothing. It slipped from her hands and she fell to the tile floor, cracking her elbows.
“That’s the point, Dovey,” said Wing viciously. “You never shared. I was in here all the time and you never shared . Never asked. Never cared .”
Dove tried to breathe. But the pain had tightened around her chest as well. The tiny panting puffs of air hardly helped at all. She was sobbing now, but the tears washed down the drain with the shower water. “You didn’t tell me you were there,” cried Dove. “How was I supposed to know I had a sister?”
“You don’t have a sister,” said Wing. Her voice came out like sandpaper against Dove’s throat.
“Then who are you?” whispered Dove. I am beaten, she thought. I am a naked, cowering, shivering piece of skin lying under water.
“I am you,” said Wing.
“You can’t be me! I’m me.”
Wing said nothing. She had said all there was to say.
The pain ceased. Her throat was no longer sore. Her lungs worked.
Dove clung to the sides of the shower and hauled herself upright. It seemed the work of centuries to find the handle, turn off the water, step out of the shower. The mat on the floor felt soft and cottony and ordinary under her bare feet. She chose the largest towel, a beach towel, really, and wrapped herself in it.
Like a mummy, thought Dove. This is the shroud they will bury me in. Wing is going to kill me.
The mirror was fogged up. The blurry pale face and misty dark hair could have been anybody. Maybe it is anybody, thought Dove. Maybe anybody could come into my body and live there.
What terrible power that perfume had, that it could open the body to invasions by other souls. How was it that Wing had lain quiet and unknown for fifteen years, only to be released by the perfume? Did this happen to other people? It had not happened to Mr. Phinney. Luce and Connie and Laurence and Timmy seemed to be single people in single bodies.
Dove dressed. Buttons
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