I stepped into the shower, almost stepping right back out when the too-hot water scalded my skin. I decided that I needed it though, I needed to feel the burning pressure on my skin. I needed to feel pain physically, because I didn't have the strength to feel pain mentally.
Robotically, I took the soap and began to wash. I didn't notice as my own tears began to go down the drain.
I tried not to think as I bathed, I truly did. I didn't mean to start to think about him. Didn't mean to think of what the two of us used to do together. I didn't mean to play the sound of his laughter over and over inside my head.. Tried to not imagine what his hand felt like when it held mine. Tried to not think at all.
Didn't work even a little bit.
The water began to dip in temperature and I mechanically turned it off. I stood in the tub for a while, letting the water drip from my skin and hair, listening to the sound of its drops hitting the porcelain with a quiet splash. My shoulders began to quiver and shake, I was hunching them, trying to shield myself with my body. I felt my lungs burn as I tried to swallow sobs. My attempt failed and I cry out, louder than I intended to. The cries bounced off of the walls and back at me as I slid down into the tub.
I hit the bottom with a clunk; back slouched against its walls and was comforted by the coolness of it. I instantly curled into an upright fetal position and wrapped my arms around my legs, trying to keep the pieces of me together. By then I was churning out full-bodies sobs, surprised that nobody had heard my moans of heartbreak.
I was wrong though, someone did hear.
His ear was pressed against the door of the bathroom, listening to the cries as he tried to decipher the problem. He put his hand up against the wood, trying to get as close to the door as possible. He knew who was in the bathroom; he just didn't know why bawling and sounds of utter pain were flowing through the door.
Every time my tears would stop for a moment and I'd try to regain some composure, I would remember how close he'd lie beside me at night and how good his body-heat felt on my skin. I couldn't gain control of myself or my thoughts. All I could focus on was the pain and how it was ripping through my chest.
He thought that he had opened the door, but really he couldn't touch the object at all. He went into the bathroom and saw his love curled up in the tub, soaking wet with tears and water.
The room grew colder as I sat there, but I wasn't too focused on that. I didn't want to even move, I just wanted to lie there forever and never had to deal with anything ever again.
He reached out a hand to try and touch the bawling man, but he just couldn't get a grasp on the slippery skin.
I could almost feel his touch on my shoulder. I only cried harder when I realized that it was just a breeze blowing on my skin and not his breath.
He climbed into the tub and sat in front of the man. He tried to pull him into an embrace, but every time he tried he'd just end up behind the man with arms outstretched. He sat back in front of him and tried to plant a kiss on the shivering man's lips, but his own lips just hit air.
He couldn't hold onto him, couldn't even touch him.
The room was freezing now, and the sudden hint of cigarettes hit my nose, reminding me of the way that he smelled. I felt as if I would just reach out and touch him, but I knew that I couldn't. No one could touch him anymore.
He was getting angry now. He couldn't understand why he couldn't reach out and comfort his love. He wanted so badly to pull him into his arms, but nothing could touch him. He looked down and saw that he knees were only half visible, the other half resting on the hardwood floor that the tub was on. He jumped up in surprise and confusion.
'What did he do wrong? Why had he been the one to die? Why couldn't the truck have hit my side of the car? Or why not both of us?' I thought. 'It's not fair.'
He tried to scream his love's name, but the man didn't seem to stir.
I could almost hear him whisper my name, the way that he would when we'd lie together on the sofa while it thundered outside.
He put his hands on his head, trying to squeeze some sense from his skull. He couldn't figure out what was going on, why he wasn't physically there. He tried to punch the wall in frustration, but his fist only went through to the other side, straight into the living room. He brought his fist back and noticed all of the cuts and contusions that littered the skin, and he saw how pale the fingers were.
He suddenly realized why he couldn't touch anything without going right through it.
I just wanted him here with me. I wanted to get up and go to the bedroom to see him waiting for me. I wanted to be able to climb into his embrace, wrap myself in his arms. But that was never going to happen again, and that thought killed me.
