Hot Water

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The porcelain is cold despite the hot water immersing me. Every inch of skin the white surface skimmed sent shivers throughout my body. Pain registered in uneven places along my back and arms, bruises exposed to the scalding liquid along my nerves. I shifted every so often to reduce this. The stinging sensation eased as I did this, but never for longer than a few moments. That’s all this was. Momentary relief. 

 

       If I were to reduce myself to a single idea, momentary relief would be it. This time in water, where the day was washed away, was bliss. The burden of work peeled away with the dead skin, dirt, and old blood. Everything I carried, hidden beneath layers of clothing, washed away, collecting above the drain like a ship ready to descend. It would disappear when I allowed it to, when the whirlpool was unsealed.

 

       I sunk deeper into the tub, the water consuming my hearing. The commotion outside couldn’t be heard anymore. Instead I could hear the sound of my own breathing. My heartbeat was in tune with my lungs, oxygen at the surface exhaled in invisible plumes of carbon dioxide. It was a natural chemistry we all composed.

       

       Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

       

       It was easy to ignore the fear of drowning, with my fingertips along the bottom of the tub below me. I could always push myself up. I also had the choice to pull myself further. If I wanted to, I could test my limits. I could hold my breath, wait for the air within me to burn and fester there like a gnawing hound. Starved dog.

       

       I wouldn’t.

     

        Instead I surfaced again, my back sliding up to rest at the back of the tub. My dark hair was glued to my skin, framing me with spiderwebs of hair. The water exposed to air sent a satisfying chill. The droplets slid down my back, mixing with the new flesh on my back. 

       

       I looked at the water. It was a tinted color, like diluted mud. I was new. I was reborn. The snakeskin was left behind.

       

       I pulled the drain, the sound of stirring water bringing me back to the present. A shaky breath left my lungs as I watched the dirt disappear with it. The warmth was replaced by the cold again, as I got to my feet. I supported myself on the ledge, looking at the bruises that still remained. The pain was dull now, the water washing most of the immediate threats. Infection was a problem of the past.

       

       I was clean.

       

       I wobbled out of the tub, reaching for a towel. I had to be delicate around the broken skin, instead focusing on my neater chest. Those were just scars, pale strings of white along a weathered canvas. I then brought the towel to my nose, my sinuses being reminded of the crooked frame they rested beside. A distorted cough followed. 

The noise had transformed into the static of a radio. Classical music. It wasn’t to my taste, overdramatic in most areas. That’s what he liked. It muffled the grunts of the other one, the one we disrupted. I heard the creaking of the plastic chair. I found it unpleasant. I readjusted the towel around my waist. Once. Twice. Thrice for luck. My hand rested on the metal of the doorknob. A part of me still missed the tub, but it wouldn’t be warm for long. It would be cold again. It only felt warm because it was filled with something else. My eyes grazed over the bathroom again.

 

       The grey tile would be gone. The sanctuary would be gone. I would carry scars with me to remember this room, but the safety would be gone. 

       

       I turned back to the doorknob, giving it a stiff turn. I took a breath, eyes sealed.

       

       I counted.

       

       I opened the door.