We are not going back

Chapter sixty-seven

The water dripped off my skin as I stepped out of the shower, the steam rising in the cool air of the bathroom. My body felt heavy, weighed down by the bruises, the stitches, the reminders of what happened. I couldn't even bring myself to look in the mirror. Instead, I grabbed a towel, wrapping it tight around me, shielding my skin from the world. Or maybe shielding myself from the sight of it.

And then she was there.

I stood there, towel clutched to my chest like it was the last shield I had left. The cold from the tiles seeped into my feet, but I barely felt it over the ache gnawing at my core. My reflection in the foggy mirror was a blurred silhouette of a person I didn’t recognize anymore- just shapes and lines hiding what lay beneath.

Kamala was quiet, standing near the bathroom door, watching me. Her presence, usually comforting, felt unbearable now. I couldn’t bear to let her see me like this. This. The bruises blooming across my ribs, the stitches running down my side, the patchwork of skin that had once been mine, unscarred, unmarked.

“Eleonora,” she said softly, but her voice felt like a wave crashing against me. I couldn’t let her voice pull me under. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

I bit down hard on my lip, my fingers digging into the towel, knuckles white. "I don't want you to see this... to see me."

She stepped forward, but I flinched, pulling the towel tighter, turning slightly to shield myself. I heard the quiet exhale from her, that soft sigh she gave when she was trying to be patient with me. But I couldn’t look at her, not like this.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, voice firm now, standing just a few feet from me. “I’ll wait as long as you need. But I want you to know something.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The lump in my throat was too thick, my breath shallow as my chest tightened. The steam from the shower clung to my skin, but the shame felt heavier than any of it.

“You’re still the strongest woman I’ve ever known,” Kamala continued, her voice unwavering. “And the most beautiful.”

A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Beautiful? How could she say that when I felt anything but? I shook my head, finally finding the words. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” she replied softly, but there was steel beneath her tone. Kamala didn’t back down, even when I wanted her to. Especially when I wanted her to.

I shook my head again, my voice breaking, “You don’t know what it’s like to feel this…this ugly.”

Her footsteps came closer, and I could feel her standing just behind me, so close her breath stirred the strands of my wet hair. I thought she was going to touch me, to pull me into her arms like she’d always done, but she didn’t. She was waiting. Always so damn patient with me.

When I didn’t move, she spoke again, her voice lower this time, almost a whisper. “Look at me, Eleonora.”

Slowly, hesitantly, I turned, my eyes downcast, focusing on her feet before they lifted to her legs, then her waist, but not higher. I couldn’t meet her eyes. Not yet.

Kamala reached down, catching my chin gently between her fingers, forcing my eyes up to hers. Her gaze was soft, but there was something fierce in it, something unyielding.

“Let me show you,” she said, and before I could ask what she meant, she reached for the hem of her shirt. In one smooth motion, she pulled it over her head and stood there, bare-chested before me. My breath caught as I saw her body- the stitches that ran across her abdomen, the scars that marred her skin. Wounds I hadn’t seen up close, not like this.