Present Day
I awake with a start.
My body is covered in sweat and my heart is racing much too fast for only having been asleep. I turn slightly to glance at Jori, pushing my damp hair out of my face. Somehow, he managed to sleep through my rocking the bed as violently as I did. His mouth is slightly open and his quiet snoring helps fill the otherwise silent room.
I ease myself off the side of the bed and walk as quietly as I can to the bathroom. Once inside, I close the door and sit on the edge of the bathtub. I had the dream again, and if I tell him that, he’ll encourage me to brush it off like he always does.
Jori doesn’t like talking about that particular dream that usually only comes back to haunt me when something ominous is on the horizon.
He doesn’t care much for the past because he says it’s behind us for a reason, and that’s where it should stay. I beg to differ, but we’ve had that argument one too many times and it’s the only time I ever see him angry these days.
I take a few deep breaths before I get back to my feet and push the shower curtain aside. Maybe if I spend some time in a hot cascade of water, I can ignore the fact that things are trying to come back to haunt me when they should be dead and buried.
Once I have the temperature slightly above what I’m comfortable with, I pull my panties and bra off, tossing them into the hamper. I walk over to the small linen closet we keep our towels in and grab one, tossing it over the top of the curtain rod and step in.
I let my breath out in a rush. As it turns out, the water is a little more than slightly above my level of comfort, but I’ll take the punishment for the secrets I’ve kept, and for the ones that are trying to find their way into the light again.
I reach for my shower gel, then my loofah, squeezing a generous amount onto it, before I begin to scrub myself.
Dirty little girls are the devil’s handiwork. I’ve heard that about as often as being told I was hated, but the two always went hand in hand, and I never cared enough to try and discern them.
I lived with constantly being told I was dirty, and I hid whenever I heard the whispers of sweet candy, and all the while I had lost myself in trying to be the perfect daughter. I never got to know the true Gracie until Jori started spiriting me away to his tree house on my loneliest nights.
The more I think about it, the more I’m surprised that Millie never caught us up there; Uncle Jake knew about it—he told me as much, but he also reasoned that we were just kids, and that if he couldn’t make me feel better about everything that happened, at least someone could.
I let out a grunt and open my eyes; I’ve scratched myself with my nails and there are small trails of blood starting to run down my arm. I have to be much more careful with cleaning myself up, because if Jori sees the small nicks and cuts, he’ll know.
I let the loofah fall to the shower floor and decide to shampoo my hair. No matter how hard I’ve tried, I’ve never really been able to pull that out completely, and since it’s so damn thick and red, he won’t see if I hurt myself that way.
Penance, I correct myself. It’s such a bullshit thought; neither Momma nor Daddy were religious, and I was put through hell for sins I never committed. Maybe that’s why when things went south and I got a better understanding of how the world worked, I went ahead and racked up a few of my own.
“Good morning,” comes the sleepy voice as the door to the bathroom swings open.
I jump at the sound of Jori entering the room, but I manage to mumble a good morning as cheerfully as I can muster, and let out a sigh when I hear the toilet lid being lifted. I step as far under the water as I can so I don’t have to listen to him relieve himself while I’m trying to shower.
I can tell that today will be one of those days. Everything is going to bother me and he’ll think he’s done something wrong, and no matter how much I tell him it’s not him, he won’t believe me.
I turn around and lean my head back into the downpour as I wash the shampoo out of my hair. My eyes are closed tightly as I purposely grab two handfuls of hair and pull them as hard as I can, but I stop almost immediately when I feel hands on my waist.
Jori pulls my slick body toward his and holds me tightly as I attempt to untangle my hands from my hair. He scoffs when he realizes what I was doing, and keeps an arm wrapped firmly around me, while he uses his other hand to help me free myself from the bondage of pain I’ve set on my head. He kisses each hand as it’s pulled free, then takes each one and wraps them around his neck.
“Stop doing that to yourself,” he says softly. “There’s nothing bothering you that can’t be talked about. I may not be able to fix all your problems, Red, but I can at least listen to them and let you blow off some steam.”
I nod and lower my head. I don’t want him to see my trembling lip, and I damn sure don’t want him to mistake the anger in my tears for weakness.
“Red?” he says as he gently places his lips on my forehead.
I clear my throat and look back into his eyes, trying my best to smile, but instead a sob escapes me as I bury my head into his bare chest and begin to cry.
Jori runs his hands back over my hair and rocks me slowly back and forth. Simple things like this make all the difference in the world to me, and he knows it.
And that’s why I can’t ruin him with the secret I swore I would keep.