Log Entry 141019.120

I hadn't realised I had dozed off until I awoke with a start. Disorientated and confused, it took me a moment to remember where I was, and it was late. I checked the time. It was 4:30am, so what had disturbed me?
"Sorry," someone whispered loudly. "I tried not to wake you."
I sat up and peered in the direction of the voice. The lights were off but moonlight flooded through the window above my bed and illuminated the shadowy figure that stood in the doorway to the bathroom. I turned the lights on, immediately recoiling under their brilliance. As my eyes adjusted, I was startled by what I saw.
I hadn't considered what Cadet Elizabeth Buffalo might look like, but I wasn't expecting this. Before me stood an incredibly beautiful, slender woman immaculately presented in a stunning, black, sequined cocktail dress. With its rag-line hem, soft chiffon and her bare feet, (she had kicked her shoes off) it gave her a gypsy air. She had perfect, ebony hair that cascaded over her shoulders like a curtain of soft, dark velvet, and caramel coloured skin so flawless it could have been formed from porcelain. Her eyebrows, no doubt plucked daily, were even and clearly defined—not too thin and not too thick, and her makeup, so light and perfectly applied that she could have been on her way out for the evening, not just returning. There was also something vaguely familiar about her. I knew her from somewhere, but I was damned if I could remember from where. Her speckled, hazelnut eyes sparkled with life and beamed at me warmly.
"Sorry," she repeated. "I did try not to make a noise."
"S'okay," I muttered. "I'm Jenny Terran by the way," as if she didn't already know that, and held out my hand.
She hurried over to me and shook it, seemingly relieved.
"Lizzy Buffalo," she beamed. "But you have lessons in the morning. You should go back to sleep," she advised, her eyes scanning my uniform.
Ah, yes. I had fallen asleep in my clothes. I laughed weakly.
"I think I need to get ready for bed first."
We both laughed politely at that and then got ready for bed. I couldn't help but notice that when Lizzy took off her dress, she didn't throw it onto the floor as I had supposed she would. No. She opened her wardrobe, took out a coat hanger and hung it up, fussing over the folds as she did so. I caught a glimpse of the rest of her attire. A long, neat row of gorgeous evening and cocktail dresses far outnumbered the three uniforms at the end. I didn't see much more as she closed the doors and disappeared into the bathroom, so I got into my own pyjamas and hung my uniform up, not that I'd be wearing that one tomorrow. It was far too creased.
I needed to clean my teeth next, but Lizzy was still in the bathroom. The door was open though and all was quiet. I approached the door.
Lizzy was standing over the sink, staring at it pensively. She looked sad, deeply sad.
"Is there something wrong?" I asked.
She looked up. Her brow was deeply furrowed with concern.
"I'm sorry that you've been dragged into this. It's not fair on you," and her gaze returned to the sink. I approached to see what she was looking at.
The sink—the one I had cleaned—was now freshly spattered with toothpaste, and Lizzy seemed mesmerised by it. Was I missing something? Or did she have a screw loose?
"Um," I finally ventured. "Is there something significant about the sink?"
"It's symbolic," she declared and pursed her lips.
"Symbolic?"
"Yes. I'm debating if I should clean it. I don't want to—and I didn't have to when it was just me, but you're here now ... so it seems they have won this round."
She flicked the tap on high and water whooshed out violently. With a flick of her hand, she rinsed all the toothpaste away and then took a cloth and dried the sink and surrounding areas, leaving them pristinely clean. My mind boggled with confusion. I looked at Lizzy seeking answers, but all I could glean was that she was deeply troubled.
"As I say, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have been dragged into this. It's not your problem," and she turned and went to her bed. She climbed in and drew the covers tightly up to her chin.
"What's not my problem?" I asked, standing over her.
"It's late. You need your sleep and I need mine."
"What's not my problem?" I insisted.
"Tomorrow. We'll talk tomorrow," and with that, she turned over leaving me to stare at her back. But she was right. It was late and I did need my sleep, so I climbed into bed and turned the light out.

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