Michael’s POV
“Hey, Michael…those pregnancy brochures are for me. Lemme have them!”
“Wait, wait…this is fascinating!”
“Which part? The morning sickness or the swollen feet?”
“It says here that as soon as you learn the baby’s sex you should start talking to it using the name you chose…and refer to the baby as “he” or “she”. It helps develop the child’s sexual identity.”
“And people got paid to write this??? Geez, it’s obvious that the poor kid is gonna be confused if you keep calling it “baby” all the time!”
“And it also says that a warm, scented bath helps with your mood swings.”
“Hm…I have to agree to that.”
“Alright then. I’ll get it ready for you.”
I go and prepare the bath making sure it’s not too hot or too cold and I put lots of scented bath foam in it to make it bubbly and nice.
“OK…bath is ready.”
“Coming!”
She comes in the bathroom completely naked and in a second my jaw is on the floor. She always has this effect on me. I get myself together and help her inside the bath.
“And you join me, mister” she declares.
I bite my lip and shake my head no. I don’t want her to see those horrible discolorations. I don’t want her to shrink from me in disgust seeing what a wreck of a skin I’ve got. I’d lose all my joy of living if that happened, especially now that we’re expecting a baby together.
“Michael, you must stop hiding from me, baby. Look…I know how hard it is for you…first your father belittling you as a child and teenager…then the Vitiligo. And I am the last person on Earth to judge you. Because you got to get it through that thick skull of yours that I LOVE YOU. I love you with your Vitiligo, and with your insecurities and with everything that is you. Please, baby. Do this…for us.”
I close my eyes and open the first button of my shirt. Oh God, will I be able to do it? Suddenly I feel Belinda’s wet hands over mine, working nimbly down my shirt and then pulling it out of my trousers.
“Open your eyes, Michael. Look at me.”
Jesus, You are trying me! How can I look in her eyes? I clench my jaw and do it. She is in my face, standing up in the bath and pushing the shirt off my shoulders. My last barrier is my T-shirt, but she quickly starts pulling at it and I am too paralyzed with dread to stop her. I sit still, like a rag doll, ready to receive the full blow of fate over my head. She can’t possibly like what she is about to see. She can’t…
“You are so beautiful…so finely toned…yet so delicate….you skin is so soft…all this time I yearned to do this in full daylight…to touch, and feel and see you….all of you.”
“Belinda…don’t…don’t do it.”
“Don’t do what? Tell the man I love how gorgeous and sexy he is? Mmmm? Is that a crime?”
“Don’t lie to me, Belinda.”
“OPEN YOUR EYES NOW!”
Her hands are grabbing my face and forcing me to look at her.
“Do you think I am blind or delusional, Michael? I am not! I see you have Vitiligo. I’ve seen Vitiligo since I was 7 and my uncle started developing it. And every time there’d be a new discoloration, he’d roll up his sleeves or opened his shirt and yelled “Come to see the new one, folks!” He learned to live with that because he knew there was no turning back. And he acknowledged his uniqueness and the fact that he was no less the man he used to be because of that. And this is true for you. You’re just as much of a wonderful, talented, loving and caring man with or without your Vitiligo. And I love you with that! And from now on I refuse to see you hiding from me, being ashamed with yourself in front of me. I refuse that! You will learn to love yourself at least as much as I love you! Got it?”
