My uncle tells me today that he wants to visit the cottage again. That brings back a tidal wave of memories I hadn't even realized I was suppressing. An ache claws at my belly until I get home, knocking me to my knees.
With fumbling fingers, I start the shower scalding hot. I step inside and let my mind drift back, peeling back the chapters of time like the layers of an onion. The names and faces of my conquests bob before my eyes, blotting my vision. Panting, I lean my arms against the wall and breathe deeply under the stream, my eyes burning, skin scalding from the shame and the water. Grabbing my loofah, I start to scrub at my skin - hard - wanting to erase, erase, erase, or just forget, wishing I could start over and knowing it's impossible, too late. The tears spill, and I'm still retching, as though every mistake I've ever made is in my stomach and can be flushed like food.
"Brandon?"
Emery rushes in to the bathroom and steps under the stream in his clothes.
"Em," I gasp, my hands settling on his frantic face. "I promise it won't be like the others. I won't go running; I won't throw you away; I w... Emery, I promise-"
"I know." Emery loops his arms around my neck and presses our foreheads together. "I love you, Brandon." His hands card through my hair.
"Emery, I'm so sorry-"
"I know."