Some rational part of my brain was screaming at me in the distance. This wasn’t normal. Who was this guy? Why was he helping me? Being so nice?
He killed… he killed Dennis. Violently. Why wasn’t I screaming bloody murder? Demanding he get away from me, and calling the police, and… and…
All the possibilities of what I could but wasn’t doing made my mind spin out.
In the end, I couldn’t scream, couldn’t demand he get away from me, couldn’t ask questions… couldn’t even talk.
“Alright, then. I’m going to have to leave this open, so I can see you. Sorry.”
Again, I wasn’t sure why he was apologizing. Or why I couldn’t respond.
Only when he left the room, carefully not closing the door behind him, did my heart finally stop banging against the wall of my chest.
In a sudden whoosh, all the adrenaline left my body. I sank down into the warm water. It felt so good on my sore muscles.
Everything hurt. Especially my brain, where I was trying so hard to do a patch job on my reasoning center.
Walker… Boone… That was the name of the man who killed Dennis.
He was beautiful, in a weird way. Like theFarnese Herculesstatue come to life. The art voice I hadn’t heard from in years whispered across my mind.Maybe you should sketch him.
But that was the shock and adrenaline-loss talking. No…
I needed to wash up before he got back. Get my mental together, so I could tell him I was fine now and needed him to leave.
But first… I found myself resting my head against the back of the tub. Closing my eyes… just for a little bit. Then I’d tell the violent male who’d saved me thank you. And send him away.
8/
i can take care of myself
BELL
In the bathtub, I resolved to tell my unexpected savior it was time for him to leave one moment…
…and woke up under my winter duvet covers the next.
Morning sunlight flooded the room. The curtains were open. And though Dennis always slept in—often until noon—his side of the bed was empty.
What in the…?
Yesterday rushed back. The unexpected savior. Dennis’s death. The bath.
I was still sore, but I could see through both eyes now. And when I lifted my arm, the metal bracelets were gone from my wrists.
Had it all been a dream?
My heart sank because that explained everything. A savior who looked like my favorite Greek statue come to life. The bath soakI always needed after one of Dennis’s beatings—but could never manage to run for myself….
Obviously, it was only a dream. My daughters had written me off. Rightfully. Of course they hadn’t sent some impossibly yoked statue to rescue me from?—
“Good. You’re awake.” Yesterday’s impossible hallucination barged in, holding a mason jar of water in one of his large hands. “I just made a big-ass pot of oatmeal, and I was hoping I wouldn’t have to eat it by myself.”
He was no longer splattered in blood, and he wore clothes today: cargo pants and a tee that said SMOKE HAPPENS. There was a strange scar on left forearm, I noticed. An arc of jagged indentation marks—like something had bit him there. Had he been attacked by a dog when he was younger?
"Mornin', sugar." Boone set the water on the nightstand, and the bed groaned when he sat on the edge—just like it had yesterday.
“How’re your pain levels? I wanted to wake you up and give you something last night after you fell asleep in the bath, but there wasn’t anything in the medicine cabinet.”
