This body belonged to a sick woman. A husk. A sniveling, pathetic weakling. Because along with the physical losses—the weight, pregnancy and now the hair, there were those that couldn’t be seen—confidence, independence, empowerment. Cancer was slowly yet surely breaking me. I didn’t know this girl. She wasn’t me. She was the furthest thing from me I could have ever imagined. And I had no doubt in my mind that he felt the very same way. I swallowed that ever-present shame. It stabbed in my throat like a jagged piece of glass.
In minutes, Adam was holding out a towel in front of me, his head turned to the side so that he couldn’t see. “Stand up. I’m not looking.”
Slowly I stood and walked into the towel he held out, wrapping it around myself. He kept his eyes away from me as he went to grab the fluffy bathrobe off the hook in the corner and held it up while coaxing me into it. Then he turned and looked at the shower, which was still backed up. He grabbed the trashcan and sloshed into the shower, the legs of his jeans now entirely soaked. He proceeded to unclog the drain, pulling out clumps of my hair. The water ran down the drain with a hearty gulp.
Shaking, I watched his impassive face in the mirror. “I’ll clean up the mess. Please…let me.”
He didn’t look at me, grabbing extra towels to soak up the excess water on the floor. “No, you won’t.”
“But—”
“You aren’t cleaning anything. Don’t even try.”
“Adam—”
He stopped, straightened and looked at me in the mirror, bathroom trashcan still in hand. He met my gaze, his face dead serious. “Don’t argue with me, Mia. You aren’t cleaning. You’re a guest. My guests don’t clean.”
A guest. That word sounded so weird. I’d lived here. For three months this had been my home. Adam had once called it our house. But now I was a guest. Moving out in a huff must have demoted me to guest status.
He turned and finished up with the wet towels, grabbing them and throwing them in the second sink. “I’ll have Cora call the cleaning people in the morning.”
I hadn’t had a chance to turn my attention to my reflection in the mirror until that moment. What I saw almost made me gasp again in shock. My head looked like a sheep that had some kind of weird molting sickness. Patches of hair hung by barely a thread. Huge clumps had been pulled out and some of it was still firmly rooted in its place.
I’d been mentally preparing for this moment since I’d been prescribed chemotherapy. But it still struck me, almost taking my breath away. I sniffed and blinked, ferociously fighting new tears. Adam finished tidying the bathroom and then straightened, watching me watch myself in the mirror.
“Mia, take a deep breath…”
So I did. It was shaky and weak, like the rest of me. “I look like a leper.”
He came up behind me, reaching around to belt my robe, which I had left hanging open (but, mercifully, I was still covered by the towel). The feel of his arms coming around me was… thrilling and alien at the same time. I wanted him to wrap them around me, pull me to him, whisper in my ear that I was still beautiful to him. I avoided his gaze in the mirror.
I wasn’t beautiful to anyone.
“Come with me,” he said, taking my hand and leading me out of the bathroom. He pulled me through my bedroom and into the hall toward his bedroom.
“Where are we going?”
“My room,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I can see that. Why?”
“Trust me.”
I let him tow me along, his grip around my hand tightening. We went through his room and straight into the en suite bathroom. He stopped and bent to pull something out of the bottom cabinet. He had an ironic smile when he straightened.
In spite of myself I laughed when I saw what it was. Electric clippers.
“May I do the honors?” he said, waggling them in front of him. “I may have fantasized about shaving a beautiful woman’s head.”
“Sicko.” My eyes narrowed at him. “Shut the fuck up and turn those on.”
He grinned. “Oh God, please talk dirty to me. Hurt me, baby.”
I playfully slapped his chest with the back of my hand. I grabbed a towel and laid it across the sink. “Don’t want to be responsible for plugging any more drains.”
Then I bent over the towel while he plugged in the clippers. He gently placed them against the back of my neck and moved the clippers forward. They were cold and tickled my scalp, buzzing across my sensitive skin. I closed my eyes, waiting for it to be done.
“Good riddance to this white hair with the pink and purple. It’s god-awful My Little Pony hair. I’ve never been so glad to see hair go!”