She says nothing.
I don't know what I'm supposed to say.
Instead, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her to me, my head resting against her stomach. She runs her hands through my hair, caressing it, as I close my eyes, letting myself, for the moment, feel it.
Feel it all.
Every bit of it.
Everything I avoid, and push back, and ignore.
I'm in love with the one woman I should never have fallen for.
We're a tragedy in the making. The game of tug-of-war we're playing will end up destroying us, because she doesn't have it in her to surrender, and I can't let go.
It's something else I love about her.
There's a fight in her.
But it's a fight that'll be our downfall.
Because I have that same fight in me.
We still don't speak. I hold her, until the water starts to run cold, a chill in the air making a shiver run through her. She pulls away from me, slips out of my arms, and climbs out of the shower. I sit there for a while longer, listening to her walk out of the bathroom, before reaching over and turning off the water.
I give myself one more day.
That's it.
Just one more, before the paranoia gets to be too much and I can't just lay around anymore.
I put on my brave face and force myself back on my feet. There's hell to pay with each small step I take, but I keep making steps despite it.
It feels like there's burning lava in my gut.
I grit my teeth and don't let it show, even when my vision gets hazy, even when my head feels dizzy, even when the pain makes my knees want to buckle beneath me.
Karissa isn't in the bedroom.
It's dusk, I think, or maybe it's nearing dawn. I'm not sure anymore. All I know is the house feels dark. Too dark. I lost hours, too many hours, hours that left me exposed and vulnerable. A nagging feeling continually hounds me, the silence deafening in her absence.
At first I think she's gone, but light streaming out from the bathroom pushes those thoughts back down inside of me. I find the bathroom door cracked open a bit and I push it open further, glancing inside.
She's in the bathtub.
I lean against the doorframe and watch her for a moment. The water teaming with bubbles shields the most intimate places of her body, but I can see enough for my imagination to take over.
Once again, I'm struck by how beautiful she is.
The relief of her presence is enough to dull some of the pain, at least temporarily. She's so ingrained in my life these days, burrowed so deep in my heart, that I think killing her now would really be the death of me.
I managed to survive last time love ripped me apart.
I don't know if I can survive that again.
And that's what Ray doesn't understand, I think.
Ray doesn't understand love anymore. He has a wife, and a mistress, hundreds of men at his beck and call, but I don't think he's ever loved anyone outside of his daughter. Love destroyed him that day, too, and he never recovered.
He doesn't understand how I can.
Karissa's reading, a familiar old book in her hands, one I recognize with just a glance. The Prince. I've read it so many times I can quote it verbatim. Based on the crease along her forehead, the puckering of her lips as she glowers, I'd say she doesn't find it nearly as fascinating as I do.
She's reading it, though.
I'll give her some credit.
"The Prince."
My voice sounds magnified in the silent bathroom. She jumps, startled, not noticing me until now. The book slips from her hands, hitting the water with a splash. Cursing, she snatches it back up before it fully submerges, shooting me a panicked look. "Shit, sorry, I didn't mean—"
I hold my hands up to stop her. "Don't apologize."
"But your book," she says, shaking the water off of it. "It's wet."
I stroll toward her, shrugging. "It's just a book."
"It's your favorite book," she says. "I'm guessing, anyway, considering half of it is underlined and highlighted and you scribbled all in the margins. Ugh, and I'm ruining it… I'm sorry, really. I didn't mean to, but you scared me. How the hell do you keep doing that? You'd think I'd be used to it by now."
"You'd think," I say, "but you lack intuition."
She rolls her eyes. "Oh no, I have it, it's just going haywire. I think my mother's getting to me."
Hesitating, I debate for a second before pushing away from the door and slowly strolling over to her. Gritting my teeth at the stabbing pain, I slowly sit down on the edge of the tub. It eases once I'm sitting. "Why do you say that?"
"She was always paranoid, you know, thinking people were watching her, and I guess in her case they sort of were..." She shoots me a pointed look. "But I don't know... I keep getting that feeling, too."
"The feeling that somebody's watching you?"
"Yes. I felt it yesterday, when I went to the store, and then today I went to the driveway, and I know it's only like ten feet but I just..." She trails off, frowning. "I guess I'm just jumpy after what happened to you."