“Good.” Her mother sat down beside her and brushed some of her hair away from her face. “Do you feel like getting up? Maybe taking a shower?”
All she wanted to do was lie there and do nothing. Why was that so fucking hard to understand?
She sighed internally but pasted on another fake smile. “Sure.”
“Good. Do you need any help?”
“No.”Just leave me alone.
“All right. Just yell if you do. I’ll get some lunch sorted in the meantime.” Her mother pushed her covers back and Rebecca had no choice but to get up. It seemed her mother would wait until she got to the bathroom. Damn it.
As she shuffled away, her mother called back, “Don’t forget to wash your hair. I think you’ll feel better if you do.”
Fuck. Now she was actually going to have to shower properly. She’d been planning just to stand under the water for a few minutes, but now she’d have to put in the effort or else her mother would know.
She turned on the water and slipped off her clothes, being careful with her underwear. She’d been wearing sanitary pads since the surgery—the doctor told her she’d have intermittent bleeding for a couple weeks, though it seemed more like consistent than intermittent to her.
She stood underneath the hot, nearly scalding water and closed her eyes. She let the warmth penetrate her skin, cascade down and through her hair, and over the weak and bruised parts of her, inside and out.
It had been so hard simply tofeelthese last few days. It was so unlike her, but she didn’t care enough to do anything about it. She just wanted to sleep or sit and be fucking still for once in her life.
It was also a struggle to shower. Her arms felt heavy and just lifting them to rub and rinse the shampoo from her hair seemed totake all her energy, so she didn’t bother with conditioner. The thing she was most worried about was drying her hair; she wasn’t sure she could make the effort for that, but she didn’t want to lie in bed with wet hair.
A few knocks on the door startled her.
“How’s it going?”
“Fine, Mama. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“All right. Just let me know if you need help.”
Maybe she could convince her mother to dry her hair. Then she wouldn’t have to make any effort, and she could get to sleep sooner. Her mother should do it, Rebecca reasoned. After all, it was her fault Rebecca had to wash her hair in the first place.
She dressed in the same clothes again and stared at her sink and the various bottles and lotions and serums around it. She even had a little fridge she used to store some of them, but she couldn’t handle doing anything but brushing her teeth and putting on deodorant.
When she came out, her mother had a fresh set of clothes laid out on the bed. Ugh. She was already dressed. Wasn’t that good enough?
“I’ll help you change. Come on.”
Too weak, or likely too apathetic, to care, she raised her arms and let her mother swap out one tee for another, one pair of sweatpants for another.
“Can I dry your hair for you? Or did you want to do it yourself?”
Damn it, she wanted to convince her mother to dry her hair, but now she was just offering to help. Rebecca wanted to be mad and annoyed and upset at her mother, but she was making it really difficult. “You can do it.”
Her mother led her to her vanity, which was settled in a corner of the bathroom, and sat her down. Once again, Rebecca was faced with a mirror and didn’t like what she saw, though at least it was a cleaner version of herself from this morning. She could begrudgingly admit that maybe the shower had been a good idea. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d showered. After the surgery maybe?
As her mother brushed and dried her hair, Rebecca closed hereyes and let her mind roam. She still felt disconnected from herself, but her mother’s familiar hands were comforting.
Her mother led her into the bedroom when she finished, and Rebecca saw the sheets and covers had been changed.
“I know the bed looks inviting, but let’s have lunch first and then you can take a nap. Okay?”
Rebecca automatically followed her mother down the hall towards their little dining room, where soup and sandwiches were waiting. Rebecca wasn’t actually that fond of soup, but it took less effort to have it than it did to eat anything else. They ate quietly, her mother never pushing or forcing conversation. Though Rebecca still had her guard up, she could almost relax.
“I’ll be in the sitting room for a while if you need anything, all right?” her mother said as she tucked her into soft, fresh sheets. She kissed Rebecca on the head, pressed a hand to her cheek for a moment, then went out, leaving the door cracked and the light off.
Rebecca lay in bed thinking over the past hour or so. She’d exerted herself more in that hour than she had in days, yet she wasn’t completely exhausted as she usually was. What did that mean? She drifted off to sleep while trying and failing to figure it out.
