It makes it seem as though there’s no door between us at all. The sound of water gathering, cascading, trailing along the planes, ridges, and hollows of his naked body feels more intimate than if he were standing in front of me wearing nothing at all.

With our seat belts still fastened, there’s no way for us to move closer, at least not without clearly stating our intentions to do so. And this is all too young and new for that.

There is a child – a baby – who long since kicked off her blankets. Her skin is ashen and her mouth open in a perpetual yet silent scream. She isn’t old enough to roll over, to sit up, to climb. So she lies there kicking her fat legs against the footboard of the crib, eternally calling for her mother. For food. For flesh.

Do you still believe that if you truly want something enough it can happen?” I ask. I think of all the times I wanted to stop the world from spinning, all the times I wanted to go back and start over again. All the things I’ve wanted to undo or take back. Did I not want them enough?

What if I don’t know what I want?” I ask her, voicing the fear that rages through me. “What if I never know? What if I’m wrong?

That’s the thing about silences and futures; someone always comes along to fill them in. If you let them.

She prays to God, but He’s silent. She searches for guidance, but the forest only moans.

I want to raise my hand to his cheek. I want to tell him it’s okay. That it’s pretty here in my head and it doesn’t hurt.

But of course everything presses forward, even as we dig our feet against the reality of it all.

I’d been hoping to get close enough to Grey to gain access to his room, but I hadn’t expected it to come so easily. All those convoluted plans and all I really had to do was stammer and blush.