She takes showers, long showers that are too hot. Like a cold-blooded reptile she lets the water warm her frozen skin, bring her out of sleep, back to life. It's a violent awakening - she lets herself escape into the sensation of her blood boiling, of the heat and the steam wrapping her up like a blanket, numbing her mind. She thins of Goodwins knowing hands, tracing familiar patterns on her skin, spreading pleasant fire through her. She thinks of him and lets the memories comfort her.
Other times she scrubs herself furiously, scrubs her skin raw, and the smell of soap overpowers the senses; she's come to hate the smell of soap, never scented, always the same, the same smell everyone in this godforsaken community smells of. Dharma-brand soap, with the black and white logo on the box. And like a cleansing fire it washes away the traces of the man she hates. The heat gets to her and she begins to feel weak, so she sinks to the floor, back against the wall.
It leaves her skin red and dry, and very clean. She lets moisturizing lotion soothe her skin, but the heat is always gone too soon; she covers herself in layer upon layer of thin soft cotton, and begins her day.
Her days are days of hollow routines. She works on her research, never really expecting to come across anything new, never finding reason to hope for a breakthrough.
She goes to book club with nothing to offer but cold half-smiles and a quiet comment here and there.
No one reaches out; no one breaks through the ice. She's drowning, she knows she is.
"It doesn't have to be like this", Ben says, when they're alone. His stare is as intense as ever and even though he doesn't mean to, he unnerves her. He touches her arm, caringly, softly, but she jerks away and pretends not to see the hurt in his eyes. Pretends she doesn't know it's there.
"I have to go", she says under her breath, looking down, away from him, away from those piercing eyes.
And she showers.