FIVE
WHAT HAPPENS IN THE SHOWER STAYS IN THE SHOWER
Nash
“Stop eatin’ the laundry, Pipe,” I called wearily from the kitchen floor. I was knee-deep in dead flower petals from the half dozen “sorry you got shot” floral arrangements people had sent during my recovery. It reminded me vaguely of my mom’s funeral.
The damn dog zoomed around the island, one of my clean socks hanging out of her mouth.
I was exhausted and exasperated.
I’d called the rescue in Lawlerville to see about dropping Piper off but was told they were full up after taking in a dozen pets displaced by a hurricane that had churned through Texas. I was welcome to try another shelter in DC they’d said. But after another couple of calls, all I’d gotten were more “sorry, we’re full” answers or warnings that dogs with medical issues or ones that didn’t get adopted out fast enough were at risk of being put down.
So here I was, the reluctant foster dad to a scruffy, anxiety-ridden mutt.
I could barely take care of myself. How in the hell was I supposed to take care of a dog?
We’d taken a field trip to the vet for a checkup, during which Piper had cowered behind me like the nice lady vet with treats was the devil. After her clean bill of health, we hit up Knockemout’s pet shop for some basic supplies. But owner and shrewd sales guy, Gael, had seen my dumb ass coming a mile away. One look at Piper’s happy little face when she found an entire aisle of stuffed animals and Gael had to put the Back in 15 sign in the window to help me haul all my purchases home.
Fancy health food, gourmet treats, leashes with matching collars, toys, an orthopedic dog bed nicer than my own mattress. He’d even thrown in a freaking sweater thing to keep “Princess Piper” warm on walks.
Piper pranced over and gave a muffled bark through the sock and the stuffed lamb she’d managed to cram into her mouth.
“What? I don’t know what you want.”
She spit the lamb out on top of the pile of dead flowers.
I scrubbed my hands over my face. I wasn’t equipped for this. Case in point: My apartment.
It looked like Knox’s bedroom as a teenager. Smelled like it too. I hadn’t really noticed it until I’d noticed Lina and then Gael noticing.
So instead of plodding through paperwork at the station like I’d planned, I’d turned on a football game, opened the damn blinds, and got to work cleaning.
The dishwasher was on its third and final load. I had a Mount Everest of clean laundry to put away—if I could get the dog to stop stealing it. I’d attacked the layers of dust and sticky furniture rings, tossed weeks’ worth of moldy takeout, and even managed to order a small grocery delivery.
Piper kept me company as I washed, scrubbed, sorted, purged, and put away. She didn’t care much for the vacuum cleaner. But then I figured she didn’t have room to complain seeing as how up until that morning, she’d been living in a drain pipe.
She cocked her head and danced in place, her newly trimmed toenails tapping on the wood floor.
On an oath, I tossed the lamb in the direction of the living room and watched the dog tear after it in delight.
My shoulder ached. My head pounded. Weariness made my bones feel brittle as if I had suffered a case of the permanent flu. How easy would it be to just sit here on the floor for the rest of whatever time I had left?
There was a loud thunk of the broom handle hitting the floor followed by a pitiful yip and the scrambling of toenails on the floor. Piper reappeared without the sock or the lamb and threw herself in my lap, trembling.
“Fuck me,” I muttered. “You think I’m capable of protecting you from anything? I can’t even protect myself.”
This didn’t seem to concern the little dog as she was too busy burrowing deeper into my crotch.
I sighed. “Okay, weirdo. Let’s go. I’ll save you from the big bad broom.”
I tucked her under my arm and creakily got to my feet, feeling like I was a hundred years old. I dumped the rest of the flower carcasses into the overflowing trash can, snagged the last basket of laundry, and trudged into the bedroom.
“There. Happy?” I asked, putting Piper and the basket on the bed.
She trotted to the head of the bed to my pillow, then curled in a tight ball, tail over nose, and let out a snorty sigh.
“Don’t get used to it. I just dropped eighty-six bucks on a dog bed for you, not to mention the second I can find a foster family, you’re out the door.”
She closed her eyes and ignored me.
“Fine. Keep the bed.”
It wasn’t like I’d been sleeping in it either. Instead, I camped out on the couch, letting the drone of QVC hosts lull me to sleep where the dreams haunted me until I woke again to the dark cloud that never let the light through.
It was a fun and productive cycle.
The mountain of folded laundry—nearly my entire wardrobe—sat there, daring me to ignore it.
“Christ.” How many gray T-shirts did I need? And why in the hell did an even number of socks never make it out of the dryer? Just another of life’s great mysteries that would never be solved. Like what was the point of it all and why did rabbits wait until you got up to speed before darting out in front of you?
The pill bottles on the nightstand caught my eye.
I hadn’t touched the pain pills. But the others, ones for depression, ones for anxiety, had helped in the beginning. Until I’d decided to just embrace that cold, dark emptiness. To wallow in it. To see how long I could survive in its murky depths.
I scraped the bottles into the drawer and shut it.
The dog let out a loud snore and I realized it was dark outside.
I’d made it through another day.
I’d eaten.
I’d cleaned.
I’d talked to people in more than just bad-tempered grunts.
And I hadn’t let anyone see the yawning chasm of emptiness that lived in my chest.
If I could squeeze in a shower and a shave, it would be enough.
Piper’s legs tensed and she let out a sleepy yip. She was dreaming and I wondered if it was a good dream or a nightmare. Careful not to wake her, I tucked the lamb next to her to ward off the bad and then headed into the bathroom.
I turned on the now clean shower and cranked the water temperature before stripping out of my clothes. The pink puckered scars caught my eye in the mirror. One on the shoulder, one on my lower abdomen from the shot that had gone clean through.
My body was healing, at least on the outside. But it was my mind I worried about.
Losing one’s mind and embracing a downward spiral unfortunately ran in the family.
There was only so far you could run from what was tattooed on your DNA.
The steam beckoned me into the shower. I let the water sluice over me, relaxing coils of tight muscle with its heat. I slapped my palms against the cool tile and ducked my head under the stream.
Lina.
An image of her laughing in a damp sports bra and little else surfaced, followed quickly by the rest of our morning together. Lina wide-eyed and worried. Lina on her hands and knees as I dragged her back against me. Lina grinning at me from my passenger seat as I drove us home.
My cock hung heavy between my legs, stirring to life as thoughts of her blurred into fantasies.
It was a depraved kind of longing. One I almost relished because feeling something, anything was better than nothing. And because that fucked-up need had given me something I was afraid I’d lost.