Sometimes Temple thought her mind had some sort of docking station for moments like this one. Moments when her sense of equilibrium officially tipped too far to one side, she found herself hugging the front of her hospital gown possessively so nobody could try and make her wear the only set of actual clothes the had at Zenith, and she became faintly conscious that she was looking at the first guy as though he might be crazier than herself and Lisa combined. Was he? The blonde snapped that thought out of her head with her elastic band.
Hearing herself say “Not going back in there,” in a petulant tone that only she could know was a Bad Sign (another snap), Temple minimised her reaction to being touched to a twitch when the rest of her had been prepared to backhand Lisa. “Thank you.” For removing it. Her shoulders rolled in an involuntary shudder. Centipedes. Cockroaches. Beetles. “I need to talk to Cecilia.” And for the life of her she didn’t know why she had felt the need to say that out loud except it detracted from the bugs. Hadn’t Cecilia said she could talk to her if she needed to? Yes. Had Lisa said so too? Possibly. Maybe. Yes? Had she just made up one, the other or both? Then, from wherever Temple’s equilibrium had begun: “If I put my clothes in the drier, will it kill off the bugs?” Maybe she should wash them first. She wanted her boots to keep bugs away from them but didn’t trust that they weren’t full of them. Fuck.