Cold
Allowing herself a brief tired sigh, Vanessa rests her head against the damp bathroom tiles. The water is starting to cool to the point of tepid and there is still no sign of Charity. The heavy footsteps of teenagers thundering to their rooms had echoed around the cottage over fifteen minutes ago, yet her fiancée was still unaccounted for. The familiar pull in her stomach, the one she could blame on the treasonous cells in her gut turning against her piece by piece, was back and she strained her ears for any sign that she was in fact the only adult left in the house. Not that that was anything new. The unsolicited thought slipped in and for a moment she let the bitter anger well up inside her. Wasn't that her thing, being the adult? The sensible one, the stoic on, the one who made sure that uniforms were washed, that there was vaguely nutritious food in the fridge, that Charity had the stability she so desperately craved – that she deserved. No matter the personal cost.
No, that wasn't fair; Vanessa stops herself. She'd meant what she'd said to Tracy the previous day. Charity was trying. Charity was reading and researching. Charity was doing her best. Okay, so there was an initial blip, but she'd expected that, right? She'd said it herself, and thought it many times more since that first day when the careful voice in her head sent her to Manpreet's surgery, and the niggling doubt became a persistent fear that fell heavily in every step she took, every cross word she had exchanged. None of this was fair. How could she expect Charity to have the emotional foundation to withstand this shock wave? Not when she wasn't even sure that she, herself, did. Yet it doesn't dull the ache, deep in her chest, the nagging reminder of sheer loneliness as she dragged herself upstairs that first night. The surge of relief, as she listened to Charity gently shut the front door behind her as she returned from her shift; the flash of hope as she listened to the movement outside their bedroom, indecision incarnate in the comforting sound of footsteps nearing the bedroom door; the sinking feeling as the sound retreated down the stairs, realising there were no tears left to shed as her eyes drifted closed.
And now is no different, she supposes. The naïve anticipation of soft steps mounting the stairs. The lingering optimism that Charity will just be there. Although the answer as to why is starting to seem hazy and somehow out of reach, a million miles away from the playful memories that she still permits to linger in the crevices of her memory. The time when their lives, her life was not demarcated by an intangible line, before and after.
Pulling herself upright, Vanessa allows herself a moment to take in the subtle details of her naked body; the thin silver lines, a permanent reminder of motherhood; the puckered skin delineating her previous skirmish with mortality. There was life before Charity, before the unlikely family they had forged, but it seemed distant, out of reach. But then so too, did the details of that life, the simple joys it brought; overwhelmed by the suffocating presence that had announced itself without fanfare but somehow, in a matter of only weeks, consumed everything in its path.
Shutting down the train of thought before it derailed her completely, Vanessa was caught off guard by a shadow under the door. Her brow crinkles as the door handle moves slowly and she is met by an apprehensive face. Slipping into the room, Charity clears her throat before forcing out a smile. But her eyes hold that now familiar pull of sadness, the one they both do their best to ignore.
Vanessa isn't daft. She knows Charity is, in any given many moment since her admission, at best only seconds away from tears, or panic, or flight, or whatever comes after that bubbling up from years of trauma and pain laid to rest on false promise and misplaced trust that this time things would somehow be different. The cancer may be affecting her body, but it hasn't dulled her mind. Her fiancée is still an unpredictably open book. The Charity code laid bare, exposed in its complex simplicity. And she gets it. She's frightened, terrified, that this easy domesticity, this unexpected security would come crashing down, as experience has taught. Yet somehow, Vanessa has convinced her, convinced them both, that she could somehow turn the inevitable tide, prevent the inescapable descent into heartache and pain. And for what? For the promise of a future that it turns out she had no right to make? The audacity to believe that maybe this time things would work out? Maybe anger is easier.
Charity is watching her cautiously, almost warily, the silent communication normally hardwired between them thinned to a gossamer thread. It's ironic, she thinks, that she's probably never understood Charity better.
Tucking stray hair behind her ear, Charity swallows. "You ok?"
Vanessa raises an eyebrow, her shoulders relaxing when Charity finally meets her eyes, before sighing softly.
"Sorry. Stupid question."
A shiver runs down Vanessa's spine and she winces as Charity's face falls for a moment before she schools it back to a careful smile.
"Come on, let's get you out of there before the water freezes."
Vanessa knows she's leaning on Charity a little more heavily than she would like as she forces herself up and out of the water, warm hands remaining on her shoulders until she is steady on her feet. A soft towel is promptly wrapped around her and Charity hovers for a moment before taking a step back smiling self-consciously. Feeling herself mirroring the expression, she is surprised to see that her own arm has reached out until familiar fingers are entangled with her own.
The cool air as she opens the bathroom door, hits Vanessa harder than she anticipated. Charity passes no comment but grabs another towel from the rail. As the bedroom door closes behind them, she feels it wrap around her shoulders as Charity silently busies herself with the task at hand. She tries to take the towel from Charity to complete the action herself, but her limbs feel heavy and graceless and she knows that despite her best effort, Charity can see the sheer force of will it is taking her to remain upright. Instead she casts her eyes down as a clean robe is wrapped around her and tied carefully around her waist. There is a brief pressure on her hand before Charity steers her over to the bed, pushing her gently down onto it. She wants to protest as it's barely teatime, and this is the opposite of the normal she had practically demanded only days earlier, but all she can do is look up to meet an understanding nod.
"Just for a bit, yeah, babe?"
Despite the fatigue that has settled deep in her bones and shows no sign of leaving anytime soon, Vanessa moves to object. But Charity is looking at her so softly. She scans her face for pity but sees only care and what she has come to trust as love, and instead lets herself be guided tenderly under the covers. As her head meets the pillow, she is almost relieved at the wave of exhaustion that will at least tamp down the thoughts running their dangerous course alone with only their own treacherous company. She prepares herself for the inevitable solitude, but instead Charity rounds the bed slipping in her side and shuffling over until she can curve an arm around Vanessa's shoulders, pulling her firmly against her. Vanessa stills for a moment. Yet, as a hand smooths over her arm she is surprised to feel some of the coiled tension release, and she yawns deeply. Charity tugs her tentatively and she complies, rolling over until her head comes to rest on warm skin. Taking a breath, the feeling calms her and despite the earlier voice in her head, she seeks comfort in the familiar sensation. There is movement beneath her as a hand reaches up drifting through her hair as lips press gently to her forehead. The warmth settles over her as her eyes drift closed.