At first, he touches me as if I’m about to break—as if even the slightest contact will send me spiraling into more pain.
But it doesn’t.
It feels good.
The way he’s touching me now…
His hand on my neck, soothing, his rough fingers grazing over tender skin. He pushes damp hair off my forehead, off my neck, the same way Polina did.
But gentler.
Because it’shim.
His hands move lower, massaging the tight knots in my shoulders, the tension in my back, my arms, and the tops of my legs.
I’m no longer embarrassed by the mess I’ve made now.
The relief feels too good, and neither of them cares. So I don’t either.
"Good. Doing so good. Just like that. Just like that."
She’s talking to me in that soft, soothing voice, the kind that makes me want to weep.
She tells me about the medicine she gave me—something over the counter that actually helps staunch the flow of blood. Pain relievers.
"Water therapy will help too," she says. "Let’s get you through this next spasm. By then, the meds should start to kick in, and you’ll want to take a bath. I’ll start it."
Matvei sits with me, and we don’t speak.
I’m glad.
He wouldn’t know the questions to ask me like she does, but I’m afraid that if I speak right now, I’ll say too much.
And not just about my past.
It feels good.
I feel safe.
I love you.
No.
I can’t talk right now.
There’s something about being vulnerable—compromised—about bearing the weight of something all on your own for so long and then having someone else come in and take the other end of the yoke from your shoulders that makes a person feel even more exposed.
And I don’t do vulnerable.
"How are you doing?" Polina asks. “Scale of one to ten, where’s the pain at now?"
"Seven," I whisper.
"Good. That’s good. We’ll get you down to at least a two or three by the end of the afternoon."
"Two or three?" Matvei growls as if personally offended. "How about zero?"
"I’m not a magician," she says with a smirk. "Just a dropout midwifery student."