I remember Zuzu bathing me in it when I was little, the floating toys I had. It’s in the master bathroom because I just have a shower in the bathroom attached to my bedroom. But I loved playing in this tub when I was a kid.
He sets it up with scented soaps and his own fluffy robe and soft towels, then leaves me to my privacy.
I remember bubble baths and singing. I remember Zuzu brushing out my hair for me, and the soft, dark blue robe I had.
Zuzu practically raised me.
The more I think about my childhood, the more I remember. How, sometimes, we’d drive out to the woods, me and Mom and Dad. Dad would leave for “work,” which meant walking into the woods. We’d wait there and, pretty soon, Zuzu would walk out of the woods in his place. Mom would drive us back to town and Zuzu would stay and take care of me at the apartment. We’d spend the days exploring Cardiff on foot.
Going to the beach.
Working on my lessons. He’d cook for us and do the shopping, and while Dad was gone, Mom would rely on him to help care for me.
How she said he was like a brother to her.
I’m trying to rationalize that I shouldn’t be here, that this is dangerous, that being caught in this house could literally get all of us killed.
But I’m also clinging to my memories, and I want my truncated childhood back.
I want someone to takecareof me, and cuddle me, and feed me candy and tell me everything’s going to be okay. Since I was eight years old, I felt like I had to grow up fast and live in fear. Always looking over my shoulder. Never able to trust, because I didn’t know who I could trust, especially after Mom died.
I want Dexter.
That pain lances through my heart again.
Is that why I fell so hard for him? Because I feel safe with him and he has the ability to take care of me, to protect me? Because I’ve spent so many years living and working literally among the world’s most dangerous beings, and Dexter makes me feel…safe?
Because I’m half…jotnun, or whatever the hell I’m half of, and Dexter is stronger than me?
I sink below the water and get my hair wet. Dexter has a deeply nurturing streak, infinite compassion. If he was here right now, I know he’d be bathing me, tending to me.
Trying to make things better for me.
Look how long and hard Dexter searched for me after knowing me less than aweek. He didn’t give up when any other guy likely would have saidFTS, adios, chica.
In some ways, Dexter reminds me of a mix of Zuzu and Dad both.
I reach up to my neck, where he bit me in Alaska. Sometimes, it feels like it’s still throbbing, but in that good, sexy kind of way.
Will I ever see him again? Did I just condemn myself to a life of loneliness, hiding, and darkness? Never setting foot outside in the sunlight for fear of it meaning my death should I be seen?
Never again having a partner, or knowing romantic love?
#irony
Upstairs on the roof above me, I hear the workers doing their thing, and it reminds me I really need to finish my bath. I wrap my hair in a towel and put on the robe and let the water drain from the tub.
Even the soaps and shampoo smell the same as I remember, something else I’ve subconsciously sought all my life and never matched. How many hours have I spent in stores, sniffing different concoctions and never quite replicating what I didn’t realize I needed and desperately missed?
All of this brings a belated clarity to my life. A peace I always chased and never found.
For the first time since losing my dad, I feel like I’m not emotionally treading water. Like I can actually reach out and accept what Dexter’s offering me, fully embrace it and the life he wants to give me.
Again, the irony doesnotescape me.
I have to find a way back to him.
I grab the hairbrush and head downstairs, carrying my dirty clothes with me so I can put them in the small washer there in the kitchen. When I step into the kitchen, it hits me that I didn’t even hesitate while winding my way down the stairs and through the back hallway.
