she's worse

25

At eight fifty-five, I heard a knock on my door. Asteria was five minutes early. My hands were sweating. My heart was out of my body on a race track somewhere nearby. It was going to fast to stay anywhere inside my body.

I was allowing someone close to my back, the area of my back which I saw as most vulnerable, not for the anything scheme-like. But just for the sake of letting someone help me with something. There was no ulterior motive. I was letting this happen for the sake of it. I had to gather myself before Asteria saw that I was actually nervous over this.

"Come in," I called. I could feel my skin burning with anxiousness. So, to avoid her face, I turned away from her, took off my shirt, and laid down prone on the bed. I put my hair up above my head, exposing my entire back to her. I heard her half choke on her own breath when she saw me. I turned my head too look at her. Her deep brown skin didn't flush, but I could see her breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling. As she stepped closer, I felt emotionally nauseated. This was too vulnerable for me to handle.

I felt her finger trace a scar down my back. "Some of these are much older than the others. Who did this to you? All of them." I had never been afraid of Asteria, but deep rooted anger in her voice sent a near panic in me.

"I don't have to answer you." Photographic memory will never allow me to forget the names of the people who did this to me, even though I've already killed them. But my memory will also never allow me to forget anything from the times it was done.

"I'm not demanding anything of you. If you don't want to answer just say so. You aren't answering to me. You're just answering me." Right. Of course. "Calm down, I can feel you shaking. If you're cold I can turn that heater up higher." I nodded and she was back in less than ten seconds after adjusting the small heater in the corner of my room. "You ready?" She asked me.

"Yea," I said into my pillow.

"Okay, I'm going to put my hands on you now." Her chilled hands made contact with my back.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Fuck deep breaths. No, the more you breathe, the more time goes by. That means we can get this done faster.

Her hands on my back were soft and her fingers touched me so lightly, I could almost only feel the weight of the ointment. "All right Selene, I'm going to move to the left side of your back now, okay?" She kept mumbling what she was doing, trying to reassure me. She would tell me as she went up my back or down my back, how she applied the balm, where she applied it. She never let her fingers linger and she never went above my should or past the lowest scar close to my tailbone. "Breathe, I'm almost done, okay? I'm gonna add a second layer of the ointment on the newer scars and then it'll be over. You're okay."

I was shaking like crazy. My entire back was exposed to her. It was more than expose to her, she touching my back. My scars. She was seeing all the places I've been hurt back there before. Never stabbed in the back, but cut enough times to be cautious of a stab.

Her hands left my back and the blanket was pulled over my back. "I'm done, Selene. You're okay, it's over. Do you want me to get your shirt?" She asked as she stepped off my bed.

"Please." She picked it up from next to the bed and I put it on, faced away from her. I turned to look at her. I, for once, could not decipher the look on her face. It was more than just one thing. It was anger: a murderous stoicism in her eyes. I was fear: the part and tremble of her jaw. She bit the inside of her mouth. She was holding back words. She should. We are not here to converse in philosophy or feelings. But I couldn't help but ask, "What? You look like you're dying to say something I'm not going to like."