“You have to get comfortable with being naked again sometime.”
No, I don’t.
“Just get out of the tub and get the robe.”
My voice mimics my mother’s on that last sentence, and for reasons that I should probably discuss with a therapist, it works.
My mind’s made up.
I’m grabbing the robe.
And you know what?
If I’m doing it,I’m doing it.
I’m strong, I’m capable, and I can do this.
I already got my shampooed hair wrapped up without getting soap in my eyes, didn’t I?
Yes.
Yes, I did.
Just like the old Cricket of a week ago who never got soap in her eyes too.
I might’ve gotten into the shower fully dressed and tossed my clothes over the curtain rod when I started this shower, but now, I’m grabbing the edge of the shower curtain and yanking it open.
The bathroom blinds are closed,andthe decorative curtain with its grapevine pattern is closed over it.
The bathroom door is closed.
There are no cameras in here.
No phones.
I’m alone.
I’m alone.
I’m alone and naked and fully exposedin a whole room, and I amfine.
I start to smile.
But as I’m reaching for the back of the door, it swings open.
Zombie ghost, my brain screams, except that’s not a zombie or a ghost walking into the bathroom.
That’s a tall, thick, bearded man.
A human being.
A real person.
He flips the switch on the fan as he’s turning toward me, our eyes meet, and then—well, I do what any woman would do in this situation.
I scream as I swing my fist into his face.
“Ow, dammit.” He gasps, bending double and flinging himself against the wall with the window opposite the bathtub. “Who?—”
