She pulls back, her hands resuming their work, and I exhale slowly, forcing the tension from my body.
"You're doing better," she says. "Your shoulder blade isn't as locked up as it was last week. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."
I am not doing anything.
She is doing everything.
But I do not say that.
"I will," I say instead.
She works in silence for a while, her hands moving across my back in steady, methodical strokes. The volcanic oil is slick and warm, and I can feel the heat radiating from her palms, seeping into my stone skin, softening the calcified tissue.
And then she speaks again.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yes."
"Why do you do this to yourself?"
I do not answer immediately.
"I mean," she continues, "you're clearly miserable. You work insane hours. You don't take care of yourself. You're literally turning into stone because you refuse to deal with your emotions. So... why?"
I am silent for a long moment.
And then I say, "Because it is easier."
"Easier than what?"
"Easier than feeling."
She does not respond.
But her hands slow, her touch becoming gentler, more deliberate.
And I realize, with a sudden, uncomfortable clarity, that she understands.
Because she is doing the same thing.
She is working herself into exhaustion because it is easier than confronting the reality of her situation. Because it is easier than admitting she needs help. Because it is easier than allowing herself to be vulnerable.
We are the same.
Two people running from our own fragility, using work and discipline and sheer stubborn willpower to avoid the terrifying reality of our own needs.
And I do not know how to fix that.
For either of us.
She finishes the session in silence, her hands moving across my back one final time before she climbs off the table. I hear her footsteps as she walks to the supply station, the sound of a towel being pulled from the shelf.
And then she is back, standing beside the table, the towel in her hands.
"Alright," she says. "Sit up. I need to wipe off the oil."
I push myself up slowly, my wings unfolding as I shift into a sitting position. The movement is smooth, effortless. There is no grinding. No calcification. No pain.
