Three Little Birds

Two Steps Forward, Three Steps Back

"You can do this, Mattie."

I wasn't so sure. Five days had passed since I had seen my parents for the first time since I was sixteen.

The shower was running, steam fogging the mirror as well as my perception of reality. We both stood naked, my arms wrapped around his neck, chest pressed against his, my face buried between my arms, head tucked underneath his chin.

Tears leaked from my eyes, and my chest heaved as my mind attempted to run away into my past.

My fingers, nails chewed to stubs, dug themselves into his shoulders. Mykel stood with his feet planted, arms wrapped securely around me, and I vaguely became aware he was rocking us back and forth.

The water still steamed up and around us, and I became aware his fingers sliding across my skin.

"You can do this, Mattie. I'm right here. She can't get you. She's not here. He's not here. It's just us."

Before I knew it we were at the side of the tub, and Mykel was drawing back the shower curtain, slow and careful. I didn't raise my head from where it rested, but I allowed him to guide me into the tub.

The water was at Mykel's back, little droplets bouncing off his body and landing on me. I felt the water collecting on my hair and as my breath quickened I raised my head.

"Come on, mon bonheur, open your beautiful eyes."

It was then I realized my eyes were screwed painfully shut, and I felt his gentle touch along my cheeks; but whether he was wiping away water or tears I don't know. My eyes fell open and locked with his.

His eyes were soft and there was a smile just behind them. I felt myself relax a fraction, though my fingers gripped him still as if my life depended upon it.

Mykel had gotten me almost used to daily showers with him, with less anxiety about the whole thing; but in that moment I felt back at square one. I looked away from him in shame, my heart breaking at the thought that I'd failed him.

"Mattie." Judging by the sound of his voice I knew he'd seen the shift of emotions glide across my face in that instant before turning away. I didn't look at him.

"Mattie, please look at me, mon bonheur." He cupped the side of my cheek, bringing my eyes to his. I felt the betrayal of stinging, hot tears fall, mixing with the spray of water off his shoulder. His eyes held questions that I couldn't answer. Not then in that moment. He read this clearly and nodded, reaching past me to grab the shampoo.

Going against the grain, he washed his hair first, before grabbing the body wash and scrubbing himself down rather quickly, but not missing anything important. Normally I would do this task, but he seemed to understand that I couldn't move right then.

After he rinsed he put more soap on the luffa and began gently washing me. I lost myself in his touch, concentrating on him alone, and I felt myself begin to calm. He turned me around to wash my back before wrapping his arms around me, his chest pressing completely against my back.

I knew what came next, and I felt the resolve I'd built up crumble. I stayed silent as he grabbed the shampoo. His fingers messaged my scalp and hair into a soapy blob.

I felt the water stream move and I knew he'd taken the shower head with its mobile function attached to a hose. He started at my shoulders, the water running down, rinsing soap from my body.

He did this so I could prepare. We both knew he'd have to essentially repeat this process after rinsing my hair.

"Ready?" This question always brought with it fear, but it had been less and less the past few months. This day the question brought with it a title wave of undiluted terror, and I felt overcome with tremors.