Page 11 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

If he runs? Good.

Saves me from doing it first.

And for one long silent, stretched-out second, I think maybe he already has.

Until the shower kicks on⁠—

pipes rattling, water beating tile.

I lift my head, my throat raw.

All around me, steam rises and swells in the bathroom, and behind the fogged shower glass, he’s a silhouette as water hammers down on his bare back.

“You comin’ in or what?” His voice bounces off the tile, water nearly drowning it out. “Ain’t gonna lie, it’s hittin’ real good.”

I don’t know what to do.

I count to ten to get it together.

Then ten more to challenge myself to stand.

I flush with a shaky hand

and stand on shakier legs.

When I look over my shoulder,

the bathroom door’s shut.

There are two towels on the counter next to the sink.

I glance back at him.

He’s soaked, solid,

backlit by steam.

I can’t think straight.

Hell, I can’t think at all.

That has to be what moves me forward: no brain or useful thoughts, only two legs going into the shower.

Andrew moves aside,

leans against the tile,

keeping his eyes on me.

I tip my head back into the stream, and water crashes down, soaking my hair, flooding my face.

It slides down my skin

as if it could wash away my past.

But it doesn’t. It never does.

This is how it goes, how it is.