Upon waking, in her clothes with blanket imprints on her cheek, Bette crawled in the shower and hung her head between her knees. Sitting down with the water running rivulets down her body she managed to push last night away. The shower was like a chrysalis she could hide in, somewhere clean and safe where anything dirty was washed down the drain with the water. The ends of Bettes hair rested near her ankles and her head, heavy with exhaustion, hung still. After what seemed like an eternity she gripped the side bar and pulled her sore body up. With the shower turned off the silence felt deafening. Dripping wet and shivering Bette dried off with her favorite blue towel. Dropping it Bette quickly went to get dressed. The once safe bedroom seemed to glower at her naked body and it took many minutes to get dressed properly. All the objects around Bette lost their familiarity and the room grew smaller and smaller until she stumbled out into the living room. Once there, the weight of the other night settled on Bettes shoulders and her head hung lower into her hands. Beautiful once, her hands now seemed ugly with betrayal, and hiding them in the mat of her hair Bettes body cringed and quaked.
Everything theyve ever shared, been through, touchedlovedran fast through Bettes mind. Countless times Tina touched her spontaneously, like that one night when Bette went hunting for the ginger tea which hid itself on the top shelf. Chivalrously Bette told T she would get it and climbed on the counter, supporting herself with one hand on the fridge and the other on the shelf. So caught up in the hunt, dust bunnies making her sniffle, Bette momentarily forgot about Tina waiting below. She dropped the tea bags when she felt Ts hand on the inside of her thigh, supporting her firmly but with a warm caress. Or at night, when Bette was at the very brink of falling asleep she felt a hot touch on her wrist, something T always did almost unconsciously. Not inviting or questioning but a reassurance of Bettes presence that she was there beside her and that touch on her wrist a confirmation. Or when Bette did the dishes after countless of their meals and T touched the small of Bettes back. They had their ways of cooperation which involved these links between them, whether it was brief touches, words, or the way T would watch Bette undress while reading in bed. Bette was usually aware of this and knew T would reach over to her during those nights. When arguments inevitably came between them, one of them would eventually reach for the other in a silent asking of forgiveness. Sometimes itd be Bette who would wrap her arms around her beloved and feel the others anger melt away, or it would be T who usually looked at her in the corner of her eye and smile, the both of them laughing at the hilarity of their fight. However in the months leading to the disaster one would forget those touches, the space between them getting bigger with everything they didnt say to each other. Eventually they hardly touched at all, both feeling alienated from the stresses of Bettes work or Tinas passive anger, both afraid to cross that bridge. And now she might have well torn it down All the quirks and habits of their union felt suddenly important, more important than she ever thought it. Bettes head ached and holding onto it she felt suddenly ashamed, dirty and sore. She hadnt felt like this in a very long time. Her head felt like a smashed melon and she was afraid to touch her temple, she could feel it swelled and bruised. The crack of that slap would be imprinted in Bettes memory forever, and what followed would shame her for a long time too. Never had things get so out of control between them, one would always stable the other when things got heated, before. Now it was up in the air and Bette didnt think she could catch everything before everything was smashed, destroyed. Suddenly bile rose up in her throat and Bette grabbed her jacket and flew out of the house. Claustrophobic and panicking Bette scrambled inside her Saab and backed out, nearly hitting two teenagers crossing her driveway. Their curses following her Bette sped down the street, trying to calm herself down, afraid of losing control again.
Where could T be? Where where where where where where? The word buzzed in her head like a horsefly, hurting her already aching mind. Her brief lethargic self vanished and Bette felt a frenzied urge to find T grip her. After their shameful episode, T lifted herself off Bette with her arms and got dressed in more appropriate clothes, clothes that were not ripped at least. Bette just lay there, gazing up at the ceiling feeling everything slip away and too helpless to run after it. Hearing the door close she finally sat up suddenly sick and very very tired. Scratches on her arms, from when T tried to get Bette off her, stung and she felt the coming scabs. She had got up, walked around the house, and fell asleep on the bed. Now she swore at herself, stupid stupid stupid to let her go…WHY!!!? And where the ***** could she be?