The shower was the size of a small closet. Claire could stand up in it without a problem but she knew Owen's head was mere inches away from the ceiling. It was isolated from the rest of the van, perfectly safe to use and no water or humidity could come out once the door was properly sealed. The water could escape down in the drain (and Owen would later empty the tank of dirty water in the bushes nearby) and all the humidity that gathered was filtered through a small gridded hole at the top of the wall (it was so efficient, that in the winter Owen often had to plug the hole with something to prevent the cold from entering, which also explained why he wasn't a fan of living in his van when it was really cold).
Claire gingerly stepped in it after taking off her socks. She only used her crutches outside if she was really tired and she was proud to say that she required them less and less. A small blush crept up her cheeks when she looked at Owen. "I'll be alright. But, please stay nearby?"
It was Owen's turn to blush. He hadn't insinuated anything when he suggested Claire cleaned up, he had just seen the way her clothes stuck to her skin because of the sweat and thought a good shower would help her feel better. That's what he always did after an episode; the water helped him clear his mind.
"Sure. Call me if you need anything." She smiled in return and closed the door.
A minute later, she handed him her clothes and he prepared her towel. The shower was so small there was no place to hang any towel inside, or even the products they used, which he handed to her with his eyes closed. Owen only relaxed when he heard the water running and bottles being opened and closed.
It took all of Claire's willpower not to run away from the shower. She didn't mind the water itself, she could drink it or splash a bit of it on her face on a hot day when she helped Owen build the cabin. But she hated that shower. The space was too small; she could touch each wall when she opened her arms. The sealing noise of the door reminded her too much of the Gyrosphere. She felt vulnerable inside this shower, trapped and left to die.
She knew Owen was right outside the door. She could actually hear him hum some song they heard on the radio during their last groceries run. After her first episode with the shower, he had started to do that to let her know at all times that he was right there, only a door away. It helped her relax and most days, it allowed her to go through the shower, to push the trauma to the side.
But not today.
The nightmare was still too vivid in her mind; she could still see sharp teeth and sticking bones whenever she closed her eyes. So she kept them open for as long as she could, leaned closer to the water and started to lather her arms. Being the organized person she was, she had a pattern to wash herself. She always started with her hands, then her arms, spending a lot of time on them since it had been the part that got the dirtiest. Then she cleaned her shoulders and neck, but never above. Then it was chest, stomach and back, before she did her knees and feet, always leaving her thighs last.
She always took extra time to clean her wound properly. The stitches were well done and she hadn't popped them so far, despite how much she sometimes exhausted herself when she helped Owen lift wooden beams and nail them into place. She undid the bandages and left them on the side of the shower, planning on getting rid of them later. She cleaned her wound, although difficult at first and she had required Owen's help the first few days (they had actually cleaned her wound outside, seeing as they could hardly both fit in the shower). Now, she could do it on her own, although it still hurt.
Leaning against the right wall of the shower and lifting her right leg slightly, she let the water clean the wound, only using her fingers to smooth the edges of the stitches, wincing whenever she hit a sensitive spot. Owen kept humming outside the door, grounding her.
That is until she put her leg back down and made the mistake of leaning a bit too much and water splashed on her head.
She was immediately brought back inside the Gyrosphere, water filling the glass ball so fast she could see it rising. She tried to get away, to find a way out, but all she could see was water. In her panic, she brutally spun back and hit the back wall of the shower so hard, the noise startled Owen who called out to her, asking her if she was okay.
She didn't hear his plea, didn't notice that there was no more water on her head, that it had only wet the front strands of hair on her head, sticking them to her forehead. She didn't feel the pain in her back as her naked body hit the wall again. She just had to get away, she needed to escape.
With both hands, she clawed at the walls on either side, her breaths coming faster every second. Her whole body was shivering and yet the water running from the shower head was warm, even too warm according to Owen. There was buzzing in her ears and she felt light headed, her eyesight starting to dance as she lacked oxygen. She felt like she was drowning and her lungs burned under the pressure. She wanted to scream, but nothing came out of her mouth as if her tongue had been cut out.
The next second, the door was opened and Owen threw something soft on her. In the same movement, he turned the shower off and pulled her in his embrace. He carried her out of the shower, almost like a sack of potatoes and into the main room of the van, sitting with her on the floor where the sunlight was pouring through the open door. He could see Maisie picking flowers in the distance, right next to the pile of wooden beams.
Owen replaced the towel a bit better on Claire's body and held her close while stroking smoothing circles on her back and whispering softly in her ear. It took her nearly five minutes to calm down, to stop hyperventilating and to synchronize her heartbeat with Owen's. She was about to apologize but Owen spoke first. "It's okay. We got this. It'll get better." She nodded and rested her head on his chest while holding the towel tighter around her naked body.
"Did you manage to wash your wound?" Owen then asked, eyeing the injury.
"Yes. The only thing I didn't wash was my hair. And I was hoping I would manage to do so, seeing as it's been dirty for far too long."
"Tell you what," he said, standing up and pulling her up with him, mindful of her injured leg on which he noticed she didn't stand. "You go and dress, then we'll put another bandage on that wound and I'll wash your hair outside. Like, we can figure something out with a bucket and a chair. This way you don't have to put your whole head under the spray, you won't get submerged."
Submerged. She hated that word.
While Owen disappeared outside, Claire proceeded to dry herself and rinse the remaining spots of soap from her body. She was clad in one of her tank tops and a pair of shorts when Owen came back and applied a fresh roll of bandages around her thigh. When they walk together out of the van, Claire noticed that Owen had already set up a chair in front of a low table where he had filled a bucket with clear water. He had her shampoo and conditioner ready and a new towel. When she sat on the chair, he put a flat cushion around her neck and gently pushed her head back so her neck was resting on the edge of the bucket. "See? Just like at the hairdresser."
Claire couldn't help but smile.
There were moments when she almost bolted out of the chair, when the water was too close to her face and when her breathing quickened. But she closed her eyes, held Maisie's hand and breathed through the panic, Owen's fingers tracing gentle circles on her scalp. It took them a while to wash her hair and Claire listened to every story Maisie told her to keep her mind busy, but they eventually managed to wash Claire's hair properly.
The victory was small and Claire hated not being able to do some of the simplest things, but it was a victory nonetheless and tomorrow would be a better day.