Page 83 of The Time It Takes
I turn and walk toward what I think is the bedroom and hope to find the bathroom inside it. I shut the door behind me and stand on the other side, motionless as I stare under the door. It takes five minutes total before I hear the scuffle of his shoes on the wooden floor. When I realize they’re coming toward the room, the speed of my heart picks up. The shadows of his feet fall beneath the door. I stop breathing to keep quiet, wondering what he’ll do next.
I’m not sure how long he stands there or what he’s thinking, but after a while the shadows disappear, and I hear the door to the suite click shut. I let out a breath and swallow the fact that I wanted him to come after me. Now and ten years ago. I wished he would have come for me. I never got to tell him that.
When I walk into the bathroom, I gape at the tub. I could go for a swim in this thing. It’s big enough for at least four people. Sometimes I used to forget that Oliver had things like this. He never acted superior to anyone or flaunted his family’s wealth. Ollie was always just…Ollie.
I bend over and turn the nozzle until the water is hot enough to feel cold against my skin. I rummage through cabinets and find a familiar-looking bottle of shampoo and conditioner with the scent of coconut. Behind it is a big bottle of lavender and vanilla bubble bath. They’re my scents—exactly what I’ve always used. I frown at them, not knowing what to think. For some reason, it almost feels like this one had been waiting for me.
After pouring the contents of the bubble bath into the steaming water, I strip out of my clothes before slowly submerging myself, letting my skin adjust to the burn. I let my bones simmer as I recline myself entirely, resting my head back so that I’m staring at the ceiling. I sit like this for several minutes before letting my body slide, sinking my head beneath the water.
5 seconds.
I always wondered what my father felt in his last moments.
22 seconds.
I once heard that drowning was one of the more peaceful ways to go.
58 seconds.
It didn’t explain the burn in my lungs. How did it feel when his final seconds were approaching?
1 minute and 11 seconds.
Did he wait until he couldn’t hold his breath, or did he inhale the entire sea? Did he fight to stay above the surface?
2 minutes.
I wonder how long I could stay under here and feel what he did.
2 minutes and—
I dart out of the water, gasping for air. I reach for the washcloth and scrub ruthlessly at my skin. I don’t stop scrubbing until I merely just feel the pain more than I fear it. I scrub until it becomes a memory once more. I lather my hair with coconut until the scent takes over all my senses and wash it out with the detachable nozzle. I sit with my knees to my chest until all the water drains from the tub.
Stepping out, I dry off with a towel and realize I’ve left my suitcase sitting by the door. I glance around the bathroom and grab the white robe hanging on the wall.
I try to wrap it around myself quickly, but not before I catch a glimpse in the mirror. My eyes are rimmed with redness as they fall to my chest. There are patches of purple and yellow bruises. I thought they’d be worse for how they feel. I let the robe fall off my shoulders and wince at the sight of myself. My mother’s disgust with me is now visible.
There’s a gentle knock on the bathroom door and I jump, covering myself with the robe.
“Will?” Oliver asks, his voice muffled through the door.
I look around the bathroom in a panicked manner and spot a hamper in the corner of the room. I run over to my dirty clothes and throw them inside. I don’t know why I’m hiding them. He already saw them. I rush back to the counter and run my fingers through my hair since I left my comb in my suitcase.
“Come in,” I squeak and then cringe, clearing my throat.
Slowly, the door cracks open a little and then all the way. He doesn’t say anything right away as I continue to comb my hair with my hands.
“I thought you left,” I say, doing my best not to look at him.
He takes a step inside the bathroom, still silent. I stop then and turn my head to face him. I realize my mistake a little too late because his eyes drop down to my chest and his entire face hardens in fury. I wrap the robe tightly around my neck, taking the damage out of his view. Once he’s standing directly in front of me, he glares down at my hands that hide me from him.
Oliver lifts his palm, revealing two ibuprofen. In his other hand, an ice cold mini bottled water. I take the pills and he twists the cap on the water before handing it to me. I know he’s staring at the mess on my skin, but I don’t feel like arguing or thinking about it anymore.
It’s gone. I’ve washed it all away.
I pop the pills in my mouth and swallow them with three gulps.
He takes a deep breath that he seems to have needed and says my favorite words ever, “I brought pizza.”
