The Bath

The Bath

In an everyday family bathroom, a teenager lays in a bath. Quite
normal, we might think, but the bath is red with the teenager's own
blood and the teenager is barely breathing.
It is late in the evening and two moths slap mindlessly against the
single, dim light overhead. The bathroom is rather large and the light
is only good for adding to the sense of foreboding.

We start over by the entrance. The cheap wooden door itself has a
single, lockable latch. We would be right to guess that it's locked. We
float over to the toilet, but nothing unusual there, nor the sink. The
bathroom cabinet, however, is a different matter. It's standing open,
and what strikes us first is not the contraceptive packet, that is only
missing Monday and Thursday's pills, but that there are all sorts of
various pill bottles and ointments strewn all around. Pills on the
floor, bottles smashed, gunk on the wall, the whole shebang. Somebody
wasn't in a very good mood earlier, and it doesn't take us long to
realise who.

We move to the bath next. A towel has been lain out before it and sits
there, waiting to be used. Wisps of warm vapour rise from the
bathwater, and there, like the key to the puzzle, lies three steel
razorblades sitting on the edge of the bath. Another two lay submerged
in the dilute blood bathwater by the side of the teenager's legs.

We move out of the bathroom, just float straight through the locked
door, to see if we can find out a cause to all this madness. We enter
the only teenager-looking bedroom in the house and are immediately
struck by how unisex this bedroom is. It really could belong to either
gender; pastel coloured walls, a neutral carpet and rug. Even the
posters plastered over the walls are of the groups adored by both
sexes.

Some schoolwork is sat on top of a sturdy set of drawers, it is graded
in red ink at the top, "D- Lucy, this is atrocious, SEE ME!".
Underneath that, we can see some of Lucy's attitude shine through. She
has sprawled "Fuck you!" underneath in pencil (so it can be easily
erased, we guess). We also know now, that this room belongs to Lucy,
the dying-in-the-bath-as-we-speak-teenager.
We explore the room even further and find what we are looking for, it
is very rude of us to read it's contents, but we promise we wont tell a
soul. The mobile phone sits atop a schoolbag (needless to say it could
belong to either sex, and is littered with badges featuring the names
of the bands we see on the walls).

We rifle through the "Contacts List" of the phone, but it does us no
good, they're all in some weird code; InPOzt0r and teH l00Zor being
some examples. But now we'll see what clues this phone holds. Under
"Messages" there is only one entry. It is from Tu pEnc3, whoever that
is. It is a serious one.

"U GOT PREGNANT?!?! U SED U WURE ON PILL! I CNT BELIVE THIS! IM ONLY
15! UR ON UR OWN."

Suddenly we know what has happened. Doing badly in school, forgetting
to take the pill and getting pregnant is too much for poor Lucy. We go
downstairs to see poor Lucy's poor mum.

Funnily enough, Lucy's mum is having a great time watching
"Millionnaire" on TV. There is no father in this house, but that
doesn't seem to stop mother and daughter having a good time, as we can
see by the framed photos all around the living room.

They've done everything together. There is a picture of the both of
them in front of the Eiffel Tower, a photo of them on a rollercoaster
at Alton Towers, the two of them holding a big Pike on the bank of some
British river. They've done a lot together.

Suddenly a hooter comes from the TV signalling the end of the show. A
reluctant mother gets up from her comfy armchair and switches the TV
off.

'Luce!' she shouts. 'You've had plenty of time up there, hurry up!' But
of course, there is no reply. We want to float quickly away for we know
what is going to happen. It is too much for us, so God knows how it
will be for Mum.

Mum walks to the foot of the stairs. 'Lucy? Do you hear me? Hurry up. I
have something to tell you!' she yells up the stairs.

Still nothing. Wait, a murmur, then a loud, shrill scream from the
bathroom.

'Lucy!' Mum screams, running as fast as she can up the stairs.

Strangely, what follows comes as a surprise to us. From the bathroom,
young Lucy begins laughing. No, not just laughing, whooping
triumphantly, almost like she has just been told she has beaten
cancer.

'Lucy! What's going on in there?' shouts mum, banging her fists against
the locked door.

We hear movement from the bathroom, watching eagerly from the other
side of the locked door. The once-dead daughter of Mum, opens the door.
The towel wrapped around her, and beaming from ear to ear, Lucy hugs
her mum. She jumps up and down, still clutching her bewildered
mother.

'I'm not pregnant!' she cries gleefully. 'I just had my period in the
bath!'

'You thought you were pregnant?' says Mum, trying to come to terms with
current events.
'
Yes! But I'm not!' Lucy's smile couldn't be wiped from her face, even
if her mother did know she was having underage sex. 'I fell asleep in
the bath and when I woke up?' she trails off, watching her mum's
face.

Her mum, not knowing quite what to make of it all, gives a confused
smile. 'I'm pregnant,' she says.