These were written when exploring thoughts about Zeke and Shauna's relationship.
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It had been long enough that he helped himself out more than twice. And so long that each attempt at satisfaction barely scraped the edge. When she moans its almost enough for him to forget the word control. If it weren't for the physical therapist teaching him how to help her, he would have dared and initiated full groping contact.
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Today is all about baking. He carries her burdens and picks her up when she falls. He massages her limbs and holds her when she cries. He has been at every event, appointment, and in every waiting room. If its possible, she'll pour gratitude from the sugar, spoon thankfulness out of flour, and sprinkle her devotion in the pinches of salt, baking soda and nutmeg. Even if she can say it over and over, baking is the last tool she has to show him.
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Disbelief. A small hole in and no hole out. So little blood and less pain than anyone could imagine. It's like a bee sting that shifted the world off it's axis. She's sore an stiff, inconsolable at times and angry at others. She doesn't blame anyone, not really, just hates the universe in one breath and thanks it for living in the other.
She sees things differently, now. Sees more beauty in the tired wrinkles of her mother's eyes and in the stern pucker of her father's lips. There's something secretive and hidden behind Lynn's eyes that's left unguarded by her own guilt.
Zeke has never seemed stronger to her. He pulls her up out of bed in one motion, like she weighs nothing but also like she's as precious as life itself. He's the only one that makes jokes around her, calls her short-stalk. He's who she needs. He doesn't treat her like she isn't Shauna. Like she's woken up missing more than just sensations.