Page 43 of Backslide
That is not untrue. “So, what then? I just leave you here to die alone?”
“That’s fine,” she mutters. “It’s better for everyone.”
I hear a bump and a groan, like she’s given up and slid to the floor against the wall.
“Right. But it kind of goes against the oath I took.”
“Thou shalt not be a dickhead? Too late.”
I lean my forearm against the door and my forehead against my arm. “Yeah. That. And also, ‘Do no harm.’?”
She goes silent for a beat, and I do too.
Finally, I say, “So, what’s it gonna be? You going to let me help you or not? Because this holding pattern is getting us nowhere.”
“Fine,” she grunts. “You may enter. But don’t look.”
“I think that’s kind of going to make it hard to help.”
“Ugh. Fine! But don’t you dare laugh.”
The doorknob turns and the door wheezes open a crack. I push it wide to reveal a room that’s the mirror image of my own. Under dimmed lights, Nell is standing tangled up in the straps of a flowered dress.
For a second I do almost laugh. In my defense, the scene is pretty funny. The way she’s standing there, all flustered and mad, with her dress in a twist and metaphorical panties in a bunch. I at least deserve clearance for a smirk.
But then I take a step toward her and see that her hair is tangled up too. And I realize we’ll have to start from scratch, take the dress off completely, if I want to get her out of this. And I don’t know if I’m more upset for her or for me.
I am being tested. But I make a fist, close my eyes for a second to steel myself, and ignore what riots through me.
“Turn around,” I grunt because it’s the best I can do.
She pouts but does as she’s told.
I step close behind her and start to unwind a strand of her hair from the zipper at the back, easing the metal slowly down and revealing more skin as I go.
“What are you doing?” she snaps, all suspicious.
“Chill,” I say. “Your hair is caught. It’s a mess back here.”
Gently, I brush the bulk of her thick wavy hair off her neck and work the strands out of the teeth, edging the zipper lower and lower until it hits bottom. And so do I.
My breath is shallow. I have the strong sense that I’m tangled up too.
“Okay,” I say with genuine relief. “That part is done.”
“What now?” she asks miserably, hoarsely. Like she is out of juice.
“I think,” I say, careful to keep my voice even, “I need to pull the dress over your head and then put it back on the right way. The straps are crossed.”
“Pull itoff?” she says, despondent, glancing back at me. “But…”
“It’s up to you,” I say. “But I don’t see another way. Not with your shoulder in this state.”
“But I’m only wearing a bra and underwear under here.”
I force my voice to stay level, though I am anything but calm. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” I offer.
“It’s actually very much something you haven’t seen in like twenty-plus years.”
