25. Bambi
BAMBI
Ihave got to stop maiming the man. I think I might actually like him after all.
It’s not like I’m doing any of it on purpose, but he’s eventually going to get the wrong idea.
Right?
Shaking my head, I flush the toilet and undress before stepping into the shower stall.
I feel grungy after sleeping in my makeup and clothes from last night.
Hitting the button for hot water, I stand under the relaxing cascade and sigh.
Basking in luxury like this is something I’m fast becoming accustomed to.
Grabbing my soap and vigorously scrubbing my body, I studiously ignore my scar-textured skin as always.
Thoughts are rolling around in my mind like water churning at the bottom of a waterfall. I learned a lot about Bikar last night, and I can’t deny it’s made me look at him in a different light.
The man has layers… like an onion.
What you see is definitely not what you get. The persona he shows everyone is just that… it’s a show. He shared things with me that even his brothers aren’t aware of.
That means something, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
He trusts me.
I’ve really given him no reason to, but he does. Last night proved it. Now the ball is in my court. Do I go out on a limb and reciprocate? Let him in and tell him about my panic attacks and why men scare me so much?
It’s only fair…
But… it doesn’t make it any easier.
My life hasn’t ever been fair, so why do I have to reciprocate?
I blocked those memories behind a steel door years ago, with no intention of ever letting them out again. Bikar’s probably figured out at least part of my issues, but I’m not sure anyone living knows the truth.
Heather doesn’t even know the full extent of what was done to me. I told her about my dad’s intention to sell my first time and plans to make me earn money on my back, but I didn’t tell her how those plans changed when I caught his eye.
She’s figured out a little and managed to fill in some blanks, but nothing close to the full scope of what I survived.
Guilt is an emotion I’m familiar with, and it never seems to ease with time.
Realistically, I know a lot of it’s misplaced.
I shouldn’t feel guilty for not being a good enough daughter… because the fault was with my father.
Not me.
That’s what the therapist at Janet’s rock shelter said, anyway. I was there long enough to have a couple of sessions with the gracious lady before those snake things abducted us. So, I at least have a few tools to try to help myself.
Then there’s the guilt I hold because I wasn’t able to save my mother. Again, I know it wasn’t my responsibility, but watching your father kill your mother after throwing you against the wall because you tried to stop him…
Well, it leaves a lasting impression.
Finally, there’s the guilt that after Heather and I grew close, she spilled her entire life story, which I only partially reciprocated.
Huffing in frustration, I cut the water off and turn on the dryer, pausing only long enough for the water droplets to disappear before stomping to my closet.
Yanking on my outfit for the day, I grumble when my hair gets caught in my shirt, and I have to force myself from ripping it off in a fit of rage.
Stupid feelings. Stupid outer space with its mystical insta-relationship crap.
Checking my wrist comm—thankful it’s waterproof since I forgot to take it off before showering—I look at the time and realize it’s only midmorning, so I haven’t missed much of the day. There’s no way Heather isn’t going to be waiting on me, ready to hear all about my date with Bikar.
Resigning myself to the interrogation I’m about to face, I leave my room and go in search of my bestie.