“Not like I haven’t seen it all before,” he remarks, and at his comment I tense. The past comes crashing back, reminding me of my grief, but most shockingly, the regret. I need to tell him.

“Where did you just go?” he asks, his eyes narrowing, watching me carefully like he can read me every which way.

“Nowhere.”

“You went somewhere. For a moment there, I thought I had you.”

“Had me?” I ask, coming to a stand, but I’m shaky on my feet. He reaches out, steadying me.

“A small glimpse at the old Holly,” he says.

“I’m still the same Holly,” I defend myself, yet at the same time I know exactly what he means. The old Holly wouldn’t be hiding.

“You keep pretending, and I worry I won’t ever get her back.”

“You say that like you had me in the first place,” I snap, not liking where this is going.

“Oh, I’ve had you, Holly. Don’t deny it. Had you with a snap of my fingers,” he purrs, the mischievous grin breaking out over his face. Oh, God, that shit works.

“Please, keep telling yourself that,” I say, still holding onto his arms. His strong, wet, naked arms. Releasing my hold, I step back out of his reach. I try to look anywhere but at him. My eyes have other ideas though as they keep drifting back to the towel wrapped low on his waist. They then zero in on the water droplets forming over his inked body. I wouldn’t be surprised if my mind and tongue took over and started worshiping each drawing he has etched into his skin.

“Like what you see?” he asks, catching me checking him out.

“I’ve seen better.” I go for the cool and collected vibe, failing miserably.

“You feeling okay now?” He ignores my blatant lie; it’s for the best. I even feel embarrassed for myself.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’ll just wait back in the room.” I go to walk past him, but he stops me in my escape.

“Probably best to get that vomit out of your hair first,” he says, pointing to my head. Oh, my God, it just keeps getting worse.

I turn fast, looking in the vanity mirror. Fuck. Chunks of spew sit on the ends of my hair. Just kill me already.

“Ewww,” I say, turning the tap on and leaning forward to rinse out the mess.

“Just get in the shower, and shampoo it out,” he says and I look up, catching his gaze through the mirror.

“Okay,” I respond, thinking how perfect a hot shower would feel right now. I turn and face him, noticing the smirk on his face.

“Why did you change your hair?” He asks the same question as last night, the one I don’t want to answer truthfully. I knew the drastic cut and color would shock everyone, and maybe that was my intention; get them to talk about something other than the fact that I’m fucked up from what happened.

“Wanted a change,” I go for a simple version. Because really, telling someone you hated yourself so much you wanted to feel like someone else, isn’t what they want to hear. “Why?”

“Just can’t believe you cut your hair.”

“What, you don’t like it?” I strike back.

“Didn’t say that.”

“Oh, you’re the type of guy who loves their woman long and blonde,” I accuse.

“Didn’t say that either. Just wanted to know why.”

“Well, now you know,” I say, feeling like I’ve just gone on the offensive for no reason whatsoever. “Are you done?” I ask, pointing to the empty shower, needing to get out of here.

“Yeah, all yours.” He nods, still not moving from his space.

“Umm, a little privacy please?” I ask after a moment of him not moving. The man has lost his damn mind if he thinks I’m undressing in front of him.

“Don’t worry, Holly, I’ve seen it all before,” he teases, but I can’t be sucked in by it.

“Well, I’m not going to undress in front of you.”

“I’ll turn around,” he smirks, and if it weren’t for the fact that the shower is completely glass, or that I would feel vulnerable standing naked in front of him again, I would do it. I never used to be like this. I never used to question everything I would normally do, but the thought of breaking down in front of this man has my hand going to my chest and forcing myself to steady my breaths.

“Are you okay?” he asks, taking a step forward.

“Yeah,” I say, taking my eyes, and casting them past his shoulder to stop panic from clawing at me.

“You’re not, but I’m not going to push. I’ll meet you out there.” He turns and leaves me standing there, giving me the moment I need.

“No, I’m not okay, but you can do this,” I talk to myself in the mirror. I should never have drunk that much last night and left myself open like this. All I need to do is get in the shower, wash the vomit out of my hair, and leave. I nod before pulling Sy’s shirt over my head and stepping out of my panties. Standing in the shower, I let the hot water wash away the vomit and alcohol seeping from my pores. If only it could wash away the grief and guilt. Wash away the lies I’ve told myself, my family, and my friends.

After ten minutes of hiding in the shower, I shut off the water and reach for a towel. I dry my now Sy-smelling hair, knowing I have to carry his smell around with me all day, and pull through the knots with a small comb I find in the vanity.

“Holly, are you almost done?” Sy calls through the door, startling me.

“Umm, almost,” I reply, hoping he doesn’t walk in here.

“I’ve got to go into the shop is all,” he says and I’m not sure if he wants me to leave with him or he’s saying goodbye. All I know is I’m not ready to leave this bathroom just yet.

“Okay you go,” I say, hoping I can get out of seeing him this morning.

“I’ll wait.” Fuck.

“No, go. I’m not feeling good. I might get back into the shower,” I lie, thinking fast. He’s quiet for a moment not saying anything.

“I know what you’re doing,” his voice is so close to the door my heart rate picks up waiting to see how this will play out. I don’t reply, just silently pray he doesn’t push this morning. It was wrong of me to come last night, and getting drunk and ending up in his bed was the last thing I needed.

“Your clothes are on my bed,” he finally breaks the silence.

“Okay, thank you, and sorry about last night,” I apologize, feeling more like a fool as the minutes tick by in our silence.

“I wish you would open the door, but I get it. I’ll see you soon and we’ll talk then.” I force myself to hold in my objection. I can’t see him again. I don’t think I would survive.

“Bye, Holly,” he whispers, but it doesn’t sound like a goodbye, more like a promise. After a few moments of quiet, I risk it and open the door. The room is empty, and my dress lies clean on the bed. Lost in the embarrassment, I quickly dress and try to hatch a plan to get out of here without being seen. The last thing I need is for everyone to think I’m doing the walk of shame. Even though Sy and I didn’t do anything, other than him cleaning up my vomit, I feel like I’m sneaking out. I hold in the urge to vomit again. I take a breath, send up a prayer and get the hell out of there.

PAST

Sy

“We want to take her home,” I say, exhausted and defeated. He warned us of this in the beginning when the bone marrow transplant failed, but Katie still held on to the hope it wouldn’t come to this. Today we’re letting go of that hope.

“We can discuss your options,” Dr. Parks says, looking up from his notes.

“As soon as possible,” I insist, looking down at her sleeping body. My daughter’s life slips away from me and I have to sit here, and watch it as it happens in this small fucking room. I can't take it any longer.

“We can arrange home hospice care. Let me talk with her team and we will go from there,” he says, leaving us alone.

“Are you sure you want this?” Katie asks across from me.