Safe. Right. I'm safe.
But my breathing won't slow down, won't calm down no matter what I tell myself.
"You okay in there?"
No. I'm not okay. I'm standing naked in a dark shower with cold water beating down on me and the only thing my brain can seem to focus on is that he's right on the other side of this door and there are approximately two inches of wood between him and me and nothing else.
"Isabella?"
"I'm here." My voice comes out lower than usual, which I'm blaming entirely on the dark.
"You went quiet."
"I'm thinking."
A beat. "About what?"
I tip my head back and close my eyes because there's no difference between open and closed right now anyway. "About the fact that you're right there, I'm in here and it's very dark and I'm very—" I stop. Restart. "The water's cold."
"Turn it off, Isabella."
I do, grumbling “Turn it off, Isabella… pfft” back at him.
I know he heard me but he doesn’t say anything.
The silence that follows is a different kind of silence than before, thicker somehow, the two of us breathing on opposite sides of the same door in the dark.
"Better?" His voice has dropped slightly.
"Not really," I say honestly.
Another silence. Longer.
"I'm right here," he says finally, and something about the way he says it, low and quiet and deliberate, makes it sound like considerably more than a statement of location.
"I know," I say. "That's not helping."
"You want to hear a story?"
My brain pauses.
Uhh?!
"What?"
"A story. About the worst job I ever had."
Is he serious right now?
"Enzo, I'm naked in a d-dark shower and y-you want to tell me a story?"
"Unless you have a better idea."
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep, short and breathless and borderline hysterical.
"Fine. Tell me your stupid story." I huff.
I hear him settle against the wall outside, the floor creaking under his weight.
