Rain – Moments with Sir
This story references this post: Shroedinger’s Rain.
I could hear him approach me, and I flinched. “I don’t want to be touched! Please…”
Sir stopped, one hand already outstretched to comfort. That hand hung for a moment in the air between us, then curled into a fist and I heard him sigh. “Okay.”
A spasm of agony wrenched my chest and I turned away from him, gripping the edges of the counter and focusing my gaze on the branches outside the kitchen window. I could hear the confusion in his voice, the threads of hurt and concern. I heard his footsteps retreat but then they stopped and I heard soft sounds I couldn’t identify. I turned my head just far enough to see him from the corner of my eye. He had pushed himself onto the counter top and was sitting, silent, watching me.
I turned away again and bowed my head. “I can’t…”
He said nothing and the silence swelled between us, pressing against my lungs, against the backs of my eyes. My breath caught in my chest and I fought it.
“What happened today?” he asked softly.
I shook my head.
“What happened in therapy?”
“Sir… I…” the tears building on my eyelids spilled over and spattered the counter top. I heard the thud as he hopped off of his perch and came to stand beside me. He leaned one shoulder against the front of the refrigerator, inches from me, but not touching.
“What happened?” his voice is gentle, soft. It digs in all of the places that hurt inside of me.
“Please don’t touch me… I’m too… I’m… repulsive…”
“Baby…” his voice is barely a whisper, but I hear it break.
“I… I can’t… I can’t even stand… I can’t stand being inside myself! I’m… I… am… repugnant!” The tears are a steady drip from my eyelashes, splashing onto my hands.
I feel his fingers brush the tips of my hair, but he doesn’t touch my skin. “It’s raining,” he murmurs. “It’s not raining.”
I sob, turn into his outstretched arm, and bury myself against his chest.
He folds me into a hug.
