Clothed Showers

I showered with all my clothes on today.

I was dissociated out of my mind before I did it, small and confused. All I needed to hear was the word preacher, and my brain exploded. I was in the car, I was in New Jersey, I was in a dress, I was in his arms, I was—

And then the water was flowing over my fingers, a warm, small stream. I sat there, staring into nothing, blinking slowly and silently, with my hands in the sink for five minutes before the staff noticed.

Then, later, I was there again. It was dark, and it was snowing, and the lamp light glowed orange on the street, and his hands—

And then the water was hot against my skin and clothes. I let out a shaky sigh of relief. I was in the shower; I knew where I was. Then I lifted my arm to my mouth and bit myself, and I really knew where I was.

I was old. I was safe. I was here.

― ρ