The Peace Keeper

With my visitors all gone, and the house to myself, I took this precious time to myself to take a nice, long bath.

Gathering all my necessities (a change of clothes, fluffy towels, body wash, etc.), went into the bathroom.

The warm water poured into the Victorian style tub. It was a slightly off-white porcelain, and stood off the floor on four stubby legs. The smooth elliptical shape and deep bowl-like curves looked so inviting.

Stiffly, I stripped down from my jeans, allowing the steam that now filled the bathroom to warm my exposed skin. Taking off my shirt and bra, I removed the brace from my leg and stretched the cramped limb in front of me. My knee cracked twice, but other than that I felt fine. Finally, I rid myself of my lower clothing.

I took a second to stand back and look at my body in the full length mirror in the corner of the tiled room.

I couldn't help but frown at my reflection.

My ribs shown painfully through my skin. Razor sharp hip bones protruded from atop my legs, and knobby knees and elbows accented my skeletal-like appearance. I had been trying hard to re-gain the weight I had lost, but to no avail. As for the muscle mass... Well, I would have to wait until I could walk on my own again.

The golden bronze hue my skin once held was now dulled to a honey-color, making me look a lot like my grandfather (who I had only met once or twice, when I was younger, before he died). He was half-Irish. My father, brother, and I had all inherited his dark ringlets, as well has his light-colored eyes. Luckily, I had inherited the shape of my mother's face, but with my father's features. High cheekbones, a rounded chin, but with a strong jaw line (the only part that my father gave me) and a perfectly arched forehead. An ever-so-slight upturn of my nose, pouting lips, and large eyes I had gotten from my father. But, I also had my mother's sloping shoulders, medium-sized hips, and long limbs. Victor had also had long limbs, but a stocky torso, like my father. His face was more like our mother's too. A long, yet full smile that could stretch across his face, almond shaped eyes, and a pointed nose that would crinkle when he laughed.

There were also a few... Unwanted features that I had mixed feelings about...

One, thin, white scar ran about a quarter of an inch away from my hairline, starting at my temple, and ending near the top of my ear.

Then, of course, there was my c-section scar. Because the procedure was an older method, the scar ran just above my hips, along my front side like a belt. It was fairly thin and unnoticeable, but tended to stick out more once you noticed it. I traced the pink skin with my finger tips, tickling my abdomen slightly, but never smiling.

Lastly, the most noticeable blemish of them all, was a group of scars that covered my left thigh. The first one was clearly from my operation, where they inserted the metal rod into my leg. It was fairly dark, still, a thick dark-pink with small and evenly placed pinholes on either side of it from where the stitches had been. It was on the top side of my thigh, right above the knee. Almost directly below my right hip, and inch-thick dark brown jagged mark wrapped around the side of my leg. It began at the very top of my leg, almost at my groin, then swirled to the back, sloping down diagonally. There was a shorter, thinner one right below it, then another even smaller one below that. Each one was jagged and uneven, looking rough and unappealing.

Pursing my lips, I couldn't help but conflict my thought of these markings. They were unattractive, and a reminder of my painful ordeal... but they were also proof of my triumphs. Various things that told me how strong I was, how much I've already lived.

My favorite feature wasn't one that I was born with, or had gathered through injury (well, not unintentionally).

It was the tattoo on my left arm, of a blue feather with my Algonquian name, "Matunaggd," inscribed along the stem. Victor and I had both gotten matching tattoos at around the age of fourteen or so, after we assisted the chief of the tribe when demons attacked his household. He had given us our names shortly thereafter. Mine meaning fighter, and Victor's, "Achale," meaning spirit. These words held a spacial place in our heart, so we decided to get them marked on our arms. The tattoo was inked on my inner bicep on my left arm, so that if I held my arm out, palm up, you could see it clearly. As for Victor, he had his on the same place, only his right arm. His feather was orange. There was a picture, lost somewhere among the millions of photo albums I made sure we kept, of the two of us right after we had them done. Our arms were put together, flexing, and the feathers stood out bright and fresh beneath our grinning faces.

Feeling somewhat better about my appearance, I glanced away from the mirror and down at the tub. Realizing it was almost full, I turned the spout off and sunk into the steaming water.

All of the tense knots that plagued my aching muscles seemed to vanish as I soaked. All thoughts of Bhaltair, my injuries, and all other problems faded into the corners of my mind.

Contented, I allowed myself to briefly submerge underwater completely, before rising and smoothing out my now wet hair.

'It's so nice to bathe with out that chunky cast on my leg...' I though as I reached up for the coconut-lime scented body wash. Pouring the enticing gel onto a wash cloth, I started scrubbing my skin gently. It had been quite awhile since it had a through cleaning... Ever since I woke up from the coma, I had only been allowed to take quick showers.

I must have stayed in the tub for hours, switching from cleaning to relaxing, and sometimes doing both. Finally, after the water temperature had cooled considerably, I decided it was time to get out. Slowly, I stood and stepped out of the tub, using a nearby counter top as a crutch. Grabbing a mint green towel, and wrapping the soft piece of fabric around my petite frame, I gathered various items I needed for my post-bath routine.

I sat down at the vanity the old yet elegant bathroom provided, still covered by the towel. There, I dried my hair with a blow dryer, and spritzed it with a bottle of conditioning spray that kept it from frizzing too much. Then I proceeded to moisturize, brush, style, etc.

By the end of it all, my hair was almost completely dry. All the care I had put into it tonight made my curls fall neatly to either side of my head, a few short, thin ones falling on the sides of my face.

I smiled at my reflection, and dressed in a pair of fluffy polyester pajama shorts, which were black with pink polka dots, and a black cami. Re-applying my brace, I hobbled out of the bathroom, took a large, black, zip-up hoodie from my bedroom, and went downstairs.

There I was lucky to find (sarcasm) three uninvited werewolves lounging on my living room couch, watching the movie "Fight Club" on my television.

"I am Jill's complete lack of surprise." I joked, coming up from behind them. "Three intruders, and it's only my first day in the house."

Jake, Embry, and Quil turned their heads to look at me, surprised they didn't sense me coming earlier.

Jake grinned sleepishly, "Hey, Em." I smiled back. "Sorry we let ourselves in, but you didn't answer the door."

"Hope you don't mind." Quil added.

I chuckled and shrugged, "Doesn't matter to me. You guys are welcome anytime."

~~~

The four of us sat around for the rest of the night. Quil and Embry often switching from the edge of the couch, to the floor, then to the matching love seat or recliner chair. Jacob and I never once moved from our spots... Mostly because we didn't want to be away from the other for another second. I sat next to him by the arm of the couch, my head resting on his shoulder. He sat towards the middle, but still as close to me as humanly possible. For the most part, he kept his arm wrapped around my shoulders in a comforting yet protective manner.

At one point, he absent absentmindedly began running a hand up and down my thigh, in a fairly Innocent way. The first couple strokes were harmless, and tickled my smooth skin a bit, making me giggle or gasp under my breath. Jake too chuckled a bit. Then his large and rough fingers glanced over one of the ragged scars at the top of my leg...

I could easily feel him stiffen, composure tense, as he traced the three sections of marred skin. Slowly, almost fearfully, he looked down at my leg, pushing the fabric of my already short shorts up and inch or two. Jacob took a few minutes to analyze the scars, frowning at their ugliness. Saddened, he then embraced me across my shoulders, burying his face into the crook of my neck apologetically.

Immediately, I returned the embrace, lacing my arms around his waist. And, without thinking, I kissed his temple assuring him everything was alright, I was fine.