Page 39 of Those Two Words

I want to reply that she isn’t my girl. Not anymore.

Patrick: I will. Give Lottie a big hug for me in the morning please.

The steam coming from under the door reminds me that she’s been in there for a while, and I don’t want to overstep, but something doesn’t feel right. Taking cautious steps toward the door, I rap my knuckles against the wood. “Hey, everything okay in there?”

Silence.

I try not to panic, because that’s not what she needs right now. With my ear against the door, I listen carefully. After a minute I hear a faint sound above the running water. When I hear it a second time, my hand is already on the handle, steam hitting me in the face as I barrel into the room.

“Jo?” I call, louder this time.

It takes me a second, but when the steam clears, I see her. Sitting in the middle of the shower stall, her legs pressed to her chest, arms wrapped around them tightly. Seeing her so small and fragile like this again has my heart careening to the floor. Her skin is mottled red from the hot water, but even through the cascade of water, I can tell she’s crying. I’d hoped I was wrong about hearing her broken sobs through the door. Her tears disappear down the drain, but they’re not gone quick enough. I’d sell my soul not to see her cry ever again.

Approaching her slowly so she knows I’m here, I slide off my shoes and step onto the tiled floor. Her head shoots up from where it was resting against her knees, and her eyes go wide, mouth opening like she wants to protest, but a heart-wrenching whimper leaves her instead. Not caring about the hot water as it pelts down on me, soaking my clothes instantly, I crouch in front of her. I ignore the fact she’s naked and keep my eyes locked with hers.

“Hey, hey,” I say in a hushed tone. I brush the wet strands of hair from her face and cup her damp cheeks. “What can I do?”

“I-I-I can-n’t do-o-” Her words come out in short gasps, her chest heaving with the effort to get them out. She’s going to have another panic attack.

“Johanna, love, I need you to breathe for me. Like before, you remember? Look at me, watch me breathe in. Watch me breathe out.” I lean over her and turn off the water, before reaching behind me to grab a fresh towel from the hamper. Wrapping it around her, the white terry cloth swallows her, and then she’s back in my arms. “That’s it, nice and slow.”

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, I press my lips to her forehead. She smells like me, and I have to tamper down the wild thoughts that triggers and how I can make her smell like me in other ways. Wrapped up in my sheets. Wrapped up in me.

The tremors slow again, her breathing calmer now. “Let’s get you in bed,” I whisper into her hairline. I stand with her in my arms and shuffle out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of water behind us with each squelching step.

“You’re soaked,” she whispers.

“I needed a shower anyway.” I pause at the foot of the bed. “I’m going to put you down.”

When I place her securely on her feet, she glances around warily, like she’s forgotten where she is.

I point to the pile of clothes on the dark gray comforter. “I thought you could sleep in those. Not that you need to sleep in here, but it’s the biggest bed.”

Her long hair clings to the towel in a knotted mess, but there’s color in her cheeks now, and not just from the heat of the shower. Her eyes aren’t glassy and unfocused anymore. Seeing her return to herself comforts me.

She walks toward the clothes and looks over her shoulder at me, grasping the towel close to her chest. “Thank you,” she says, her voice clearer now. Her eyes dart back and forth from me to the hand that’s resting on the sweatpants. And that’s when I notice I’m just staring at her and she’s waiting to get changed.

“Oh, sorry.” I turn on my heel, almost slipping in my wet socks. “You get changed and make yourself at home.” In my bed.

Shut up, brain!

Once the door shuts behind me, I collect myself and peel off my drenched clothes on the way to the laundry room. Drying off my hair quickly before pulling a fresh T-shirt and some pajama pants from the dryer, I slip them on and head upstairs after I lock up. I’m passing Lottie’s room when a thought pops into my head.

I beg the rapid beating in my chest to stop. I have no clue if my heart rate is still high from seeing Jo in such a state or from having her in my space, but it needs to slow down.

Tapping lightly on the door to my room, I hear a soft “Yes” through the wood. My foot has barely landed when my heart rate picks up to an unhealthy rhythm again. Perhaps I’m dreaming. No, because my dreams have never looked like this. This is somehow better and worse. Johanna is wearing my old, baggy T-shirt, snuggled up in my comforter, and on my side of the bed. I haven’t shared a bed with another person in a long time, but I do have a preference for which side I sleep on.

For tonight, that’s her side, and damn, does she look perfect there.

Her hair is still a tangled mess and I know she’ll hate going to sleep like that. I hold up the hairbrush I grabbed from Lottie’s room in question. “I thought you might want to brush your hair.”

“Oh.” She runs her hands over the damp strands. “Wow, I must look like a wreck.”

Never in your life.

My lip stings with how hard I bite it not to let those words slip free. I sit in front of her and twirl my finger around.

“I can do it,” she argues and sits up straight to prove her point.

---