Page 48 of Out Of Time

She was an idiot.

But at least she was an idiot with good intentions.

Remi:

Are you okay? You don't get to ignore me this time. No more passes. No more leaving me worried. No more hiding. Not from me. I won't allow it. Not after last night.

Setting her phone on the small shelf that hung above the toilet, she stripped off her clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket when what she really wanted to do was burn them. Stepping into the scalding water, she allowed it to wash away the lingering ick from the day, other people’s filth, and the reminder of her childhood trauma. Maybe if it was hot enough it could also wash away the feeling in the pit of her stomach that was Max Miller.

The water nearly burned her skin, and she willed it so. She lathered her soap and scrubbed her legs, her feet, her arms, her neck. She could almost feel the maggots dripping down her skin, crawling in her hair. Using her fingernails on her scalp, she dug into her flesh. She would never feel clean enough in this moment, and she knew it.

The water ran down the drain full of soap suds, carrying away her day’s hard work. It felt symbolic. It always did.

Her shower.

Her sanctuary.

It was where she washed away her sins and the sins of the others she carried every time she punched in their door code or knocked on their battered screen.

Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back, willing the hot spray of the water to relax her. Her body began to soften, thetight muscles around her shoulders eased, and the throbbing in her knees dulled.

She would be okay.

She took a deep breath and pressed her head against the cool tile when she heard a loud knock at her door, startling her. Turning off the water, she got out of the shower and quickly dried off before slipping on her robe.

The knock came again, this time louder.

“I’m coming,” she called out, rushing to the door, hoping she was right in guessing who it was, but also preparing herself to find an Amazon package to avoid any more disappointment.

She pulled the door open, and there he was, hair wet from a recent shower, wearing his Anaheim Condor’s sweat suit. It dawned on her that today was the day he went back to practice.

“Well?” she asked, her tone sharper and crueler than she had known herself to be.

His eyes darted up to meet hers. “I’m ready to talk,” he said, his voice low and defeated.

“No more passes?” she asked.

“No more passes, Remi.”

***

He followed her into her small space, the overwhelming calm he felt just being in her presence seemed unreal. How could just being around someone lift the weight from his shoulders with such ease, when only hours ago, in front of a net,hisnet, his team, and his coach, he had felt such immense pressure and an overwhelming sense of dread? He would never push her away again; his heart couldn't take it, and her heart didn’t deserve it.

“I just got out of the shower,” she said, hinting at her wet, blonde hair.

“Me too,” he said, hinting at his.

“Did you just come from…” She paused.

“Practice, yeah,” he said, finishing her sentence.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

“I was able to fake it,” he said.

She offered him a weak smile. “Fake it ‘til ya make it,” she said, her attempt at a joke.

“Or fake it until they find out the truth,” he said.

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