Chapter Twenty Nine #2
“Sit Iz.” Ronnie motions to the recliner beside her, and I collapse into it, bringing my thumb to my mouth so I can bite on my nail.
It’s been so long since I’ve done this… I guess old habits are truly hard to kill.
The room grows quiet besides the sound of blood rushing through my ears.
When the lights turn off, Ronnie's hand finds mine, and my pulse takes off.
My lips press together as the doctor talks Ronnie through the procedure.
My girl tenses as the probe is inserted, until the moment the little screen flickers with life, she stops.
“That’s it,” she chokes out, her voice heavy with emotion.
“That’s it,” Dr. DeSilva simply agrees, explaining everything she’s seeing with clear detail. It’s not much, but we have a gestational age and heartbeat.
It’s been a while since we were left alone, with the confirmation of the pregnancy.
I just held Ronnie in the comfortable silence between us, the darkness shielding us as it did back in that basement.
“I have blood under my fingernails, my hair is knotted, and I can smell the blood,” Ronnie whispers hoarsely.
It sounds like her, just more distant. The words dig into me, ferocious claws that rip open unseen wounds.
I look down at my own hands. A pang of sorrow stabs through me as I nod. “What do you need from me?”
She shrugs. “Can you help me erase him?” she asks quietly, not lifting her gaze to meet mine as she sits up on the hospital bed, motionless, the blue gown hanging off her slim shoulder, exposing the sun tattoo she has on the top portion of her arm.
Her hair is longer now, the red almost disappearing.
“I don’t know… but I want to try,” I say, answering the real question behind those words.
Can I help her? I'm not sure. I'm certain that a part of Ronnie died in that basement. Could I help that part come back to life? I don’t know, but I'm willing to try. And if I can’t, I will breathe life into new parts and make her whole again.
She nods, approving, her gaze moves to her matted red ends. “I smell like the basement .”
“I’ll start the shower for you,” I say, jumping to my feet and moving towards the small bathroom inside her room within seconds.
From behind me, I hear the bed shift as Ronnie gets out.
Turning on the faucet, I wait for her as she nervously walks up to the bathroom and undoes her gown, letting it fall to the ground, the fabric pooling beneath her.
She takes small, careful steps towards me, her hands holding something at her side.
Scissors. My breath catches in my throat. “Ronnie?”
Ronnie takes in a deep breath, opening her hand to show me. “I want to cut it.”
I give her a puzzled look, my brows pulling together.
“Cut it.” She nods, nervously biting her lip with a small hum.
“I don’t want to see the same woman who was in that basement.
I want to cut it.” With that, she saunters over in front of the mirror, not waiting for an answer.
The warm water from the shower fills the space with steam, creating condensation.
Ronnie lets out a small sigh before she turns to me, her grey eyes brimming with tears. “Please.”
The sound of her voice, so low and pained, sends a dagger into my heart.
Without any words or hesitation, I accept her private request, grab the scissors from her hand, and wait.
Her hand glides down the mirror, giving her a small glimpse of herself, and her lip curls into a small smirk as she nods, giving me permission.
In silence, I cut the red tips, or at least what’s left.
Once Ronnie is satisfied with the length, I stop.
We remain in place for what feels like eternity.
Seeing my butterfly break free from the cocoon, it’s a small step to reclaim herself…
, but it’s enough for now. I break the silence, my voice a croak from lack of use, “The water is going to get cold.”
She takes a deep breath, her head nodding as she wipes away the tears streaming down her beautiful face. “Join me.”
I swear I stop breathing when she says the words.
“After you,” I whisper.
Watching as she steps in, a small whimper escapes her lips as the hot water meets her skin.
Closing her eyes, she stands there, allowing the water to cleanse her.
The water coming down her body is dirty and bloody.
Unlike me, Ronnie preferred to sleep. I took a shower the moment a bag with my belongings was given to me.
Our parents had to wait around until we were ready, but it was nice to at least be clean and dressed in normal clothing after being dirty for so long.
Her eyebrows relax, her shoulders release the weight they’ve been carrying.
I hold out a bar of soap to her, and she takes it silently, rubbing it across her body. The scent of lavender fills the air.
“Is it too hot?” I ask, before stepping in behind her.
“It’s perfect.”
“Need help?”
Ronnie hums, letting her hand fall to her side. “Can you do my hair?”
“Of course.” I grab the shampoo I'm sure her mother brought her and pour some into my hand. The scent of strawberries fills the air as I gently apply it to her hair, rubbing it into a lather.
“Close your eyes,” I whisper, my fingers working in slow strokes, massaging her scalp.
Her head leans back into my touch, and I continue to work diligently, washing away the grime. My heart squeezes inside my chest, thankful that she trusts me enough to allow me to be close to her. To touch her. I don’t deserve this… And if I ever felt unworthy of her, right now I feel even more so.
I can’t help but think about how strong she is.
Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. She’s been through hell and back, and yet, here she stands even as the pieces continue to fall off her.
But it’s okay. I’ll be behind her, collecting them as we go.
I rinse the suds from her dark hair, my eyes never leaving her small figure.
As the last of the soap washes away, her hair tumbles down over her shoulders, stopping underneath her breasts, slick and shiny, clinging to her skin like a silken veil.
“That’s it,” I murmur, my voice barely more than a whisper as the water continues to fall around us.
She turns then and uses the bar of soap.
“Can I?” she asks, slowly lifting her gaze to meet mine.
Tears pool in her eyes when I nod, giving her permission to touch me.
Her hands move the bar of soap across my chest.
Her touch is so gentle it’s almost non-existent, as if she’s afraid of me breaking under the contact.
I lock my eyes with hers, encouraging her.
Her gaze flits downwards, eyelashes casting shadows over her sharp cheekbones, and she focuses on her task.
Her hands move in small circles, soap bubbles forming as she traces the bar of soap across my skin.
I can’t help but close my eyes, body tense as I concentrate on her every movement.
The scent of lavender mingles with the strawberry from her hair, and it’s an intoxicating aroma.
“Is it too much?” she asks, her voice a low murmur over the sound of cascading water. Her fingers pause, hovering just above my skin, waiting for my response.
“No,” I say, my voice sounding rougher than I’d intended. “It’s perfect.”
Slowly, and with a touch so careful it’s as if she’s handling glass, she continues.
Suddenly, sobs erupt from her, causing her to fall to her knees.
The soap slips from her hands, and I fall to my knees, too.
My arms wrap around her as I draw her close to me, the water falling on us as she sobs into me.
“Give it all to me, Trouble. I’m here,” I whisper, continuing to be her anchor.
Her body violently shakes, and her hands claw at my skin, but I hold firm.
“Let it all out. Let it all out. Don’t let him win.
Stay here with me. I need you.” Her cries echo hauntingly across the tile, a symphony of pain that’s heartbreaking to hear but necessary for her to release.
Slowly, her sobs begin to subside, and she quiets within my arms. The water continues to fall, steaming and drenching us, but it can’t wash away the past. It can’t erase the fear that’s been etched into her very bones.
But it provides a semblance of cleansing, the heat seeping into our skin, and for now, that’s enough.
As long as we are breathing, we are both living.
And as long as we are living, we can put the pieces back together or create something better.
Something beautiful.