Page 97 of Beneath the Blue Moon

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I’m lying in his bed, looking up at his ceiling and the

wonderful thing he did for me. How thoughtful is this man? I know he did it to

try and cheer me up, but it just brings back so many memories of my childhood… my

parents. Now he’s making me a snack. Men don’t get any better than him. At

least none I’ve ever met.

He walks back into the room, and the aroma of the food hits

me. When was the last time I ate? I sit up, and he places the tray in my lap.

There’s soup, a BLT sandwich, and orange juice. He joins me on the bed, watching

while I eat. Even in my distraught state, I’m still highly aware of him. His

strong arms beckon me, and I just want him to wrap them around me and make me

feel safe. But it can’t happen. He’s not mine.

When I drain the last of my juice, he sets the tray aside.

“Now, I’m going to run you a bath.”

“No baths, remember?”

“Oh. Shower then.”

He heads to the bathroom, and the shower comes on. I could

use a good soak, but I guess I’ll have to wait. He comes back in and lifts me

from the bed before I can stop him. In the bathroom, he places me on my feet

and reaches for the top of the scrubs I wore home from the hospital. I place my

hand over his, stopping him.

“I can take it from here.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Well, holler if you need anything.”

“Um… my bag?”

“Sure thing.” He returns with the bag and a pair of my

stolen panties, a sheepish expression on his face. “Thought you might need this.”

“Thanks.”

After he leaves, I strip down and step into the tub. I sink

down, pulling my knees up under my chin. I should give my body time to heal—that’s

what the doctor said—but what about my emotional pain? Is there a cure for

that? I stare down at the tub, watching my blood mix with the water. Blood.

Blood from the death of my children. Daddy’s blood all over my clothes. I see Daddy’s

face, his smile, his twinkling green eyes, so much like mine. I lick my lips,

and the taste of salty tears makes me realize I’m crying. If I hadn’t been

sitting out in the dark like an idiot, he’d still be alive. My babies would

still be alive.

The chill of the water drags me away from my thoughts and

gets me moving. I don’t even know how long I’ve been in here. I watch as the

water spirals down the drain, much like my pathetic life. After I shower and

wash my hair, I walk back to the bedroom and find a T-shirt and a pair of boxer

briefs on the bed. I put them on, trying to ignore the fact that they smell

just like him, and slip beneath the covers.