My eyes fall to my left forearm and the series of horizontal scars that line it, a constant reminder of my teenage years. I run my palm over the marks, thankful that time has mostly faded them into faint white lines. But the memory is still there. The memory of a kid who felt like he had to punish himself for piddly mistakes and awkward comments.
I release my grip on the handle and let my hand fall to my side. I twist around, letting the water massage my back as I bask in its warmth, wondering if maybe I’ve done enough, if maybe I’m too old to be beating myself up for simple mistakes.
***
Annaliese is still in the bathroom when I’ve showered and dressed.
I lingered outside the door for a few minutes to make sure I could hear her moving around in the water before I ventured into the kitchen.
She’s still in there when I’ve heated up the leek ravioli and when I’m rinsing my dishes to place in the dishwasher.
She’s still in there when I turn on the TV to catch up on sports highlights, and when the commercial breaks, I start to worry that something happened to her.
It’s then that I hear her faint voice call out for me, and I’m up. I scramble off the couch, practically racing down the hall to the bathroom.
I knock twice with my hand on the knob as I call out to ask if she’s okay. I pause, listening, giving her only a few seconds to respond before I burst through the door.
When she doesn’t answer, I knock once more, my hand already twisting the door knob as I ask if she’s okay.
When I open the door, a billow of steam slaps me in the face. I squint against the heat and my eyes immediately find her hunched over, seated on the closed toilet seat. The white, fluffy towel is wrapped around her, and she’s curled in on herself with her arms gripping her stomach.
I rush to her, falling to my knees and reaching a hand up to rub her back. She jolts at my touch, but then her head tilts to me, those perfect chocolate eyes meeting mine. “You with me, Sparky?”
She nods, but when she sits up, she wobbles for a moment, and I reach my arms out to steady her. “I’m so dizzy. I think I overdid it.”
“Let me help you.” I unzip her duffle, rifling through to find the clothes she tossed in earlier. I pull out a T-shirt and gather the fabric by the neck, ushering for her to lean forward.
She sits up straight, and I slip the soft material over her head. Wordlessly, we work together, putting her arms through the sleeves and letting it fall to her waist before I reach for her pajama pants. I kneel at her feet, helping her slip her right leg, and then her left inside. My thumbs graze along her smooth skin, still warm and damp from her bath as I bring the waistband to her knees, and usher her to stand.
With my hands surrounding her for balance, she stands on two shaking legs, like a baby fawn finding its footing for the first time. She pulls the bottoms up, and lets the towel fall from her waist. I keep my eyes glued to the ceiling, knowing that if I see even an inch of her naked form I’m a goner.
“My offer for a piggyback still stands,” I whisper, and she huffs out a laugh.
“If I don’t lay down soon, I just might take you up on that.”
I lead her out of the steaming bathroom and to the living room, moving the pillows to allow for her to lie down on the sectional. Once she’s safely on the sofa, I bring her a glass of water from the kitchen and set it in front of her.
I perch on the end of the ottoman, facing her. “What do you need? Can I get you something to eat? What is your glucose at?” I reach to tap the screen of her watch, noting she’s still running high.
“I don’t have an appetite right now. I just want to rest.”
“What do we need to do for your sugars?”
She rolls her wrist over, tapping the face of her watch to check her numbers. “I’m still a little high, but I gave myself a small dose of insulin.” She must catch the worried expression on my face, because she tilts her head, smiling. “I promise I’ll eat something soon, okay?”
With a heavy sigh, I move to the cabinet under the TV and pull out a few throw blankets, bringing the softest one over to drape it across her. She pulls it up to her neck, burrowing down underneath.
Her eyes close, and I watch her for a moment, not wanting to let her out of my sight with how fragile she’s feeling right now.
I must watch her for a moment too long, because she peeks one eye open to squint at me. “Are you going to stare at me all night long?”
I run a hand over the back of my head, lightly ruffling my still damp hair. “Annaliese, I … God, I’m so sorry.” I can’t seem to shake this frustration, this murderous feeling of guilt for what happened to her today.
She rolls to her back, sitting up and propping the pillows behind her. “I thought we talked about this.”
I nod. “We did, but it still doesn’t change how I’m feeling.”
“Do you always beat yourself up when situations are out of your control?”
