A shiver creeps up Krystal's spine as the tip of her toe slowly meets the surface of the lukewarm bathwater. It’s dyed green, and the water ripples away from her foot, and she thinks it may resemble the wind blowing long strands of grass in the wind. She looks at the blue tiles above the bathtub and envisions a sky (breathe.) and pictures a sunny day. Her left hand has a strong grip on the clear shower curtains, and the other rests against the wall of tiles beside her. She looks at her right hand and (breathe!) traces a small sun into the foggy glass tile.

From behind her, feather-light fingertips touch her elbow, just a slight sensation that brings her back to reality all in one motion. Her chest hollows as she releases a lungful of air she’d been holding onto and gasps for a few seconds, trying to catch her breath. She doesn’t realize that tears are falling from her eyes until she hears the tiny pit-pat on the edge of the porcelain tub.

There’s a shift behind her, and cool fingers wipe the tears under eyes. Krystal feels, rather than hears, a voice at her ear: Breathe. Another shiver wracks her body, another breath, she tries to bring up the windy meadow, the baby blue sky and the sunshine.

But the water isn’t green anymore. It’s turned a putrid, bloody mess, there are bits of pale skin floating in the water, and greasy pools of oil are collecting on the sides of the tub. She turns her eyes to the blue tiles and jerks her foot away from the water, hitting her heel against the tub. This time, when she pulls in a breath of air, the unmistakable stench of a rotten body fills her lungs. Her eyes begin to water as she gags, then begins to puke into the water below. 

As pale hands pull her away from the tub, a warm towel pressed to when she’s finished retching, she realizes that the colour of the water is still green, as it were before.

Krystal lets out a sigh of relief when the plug on the drain is pulled and the shower curtain is pulled shut, and she’s gently led to sit in the stool behind her, occupied moments before. Victoria pulls another stool in front of her to wipe her chin, before switching to another warm cloth to wipe her tears and her runny nose away.

Catching her breath, a question suddenly dawns on her, one she never considered during the police investigation, nor her time in the hospital. Like watching a bird hit a kitchen window, when Krystal tentatively asks “Why does a corpse float?” the shock registers afterwards.

Victoria’s expression stays nearly blank, as it always does, but there is a small tilt to her head, one eyebrow raises slightly, and her hands still. Finally, Victoria says, "I imagine after death, the chest cavity will fill with methane, carbon dioxide, and other gases that would allow the body to float". The pale woman then continues to wipe the sweat from her face, then the back of her neck.

After a long silence, Krystal remarks, “You seem to know small details about a wide range of subjects, Victoria.”

"An earthworm has five hearts."

Krystal almost cracks a smile at this, feels the corner of twitch. Instead, she closes her eyes and lets Victoria wipe her neck, shoulders and chest. She tries to focus on the warm cloth as her teeth dig into her bottom lip but she can’t help the frustrated tears that roll down her cheeks. She keeps the sour words glued to her tongue, but it doesn’t stop her from thinking them. (Spineless.)

Cool arms wrap around her waist, and Victoria presses her face into the crook of her neck. "Don’t be disappointed," she whispers.

Appreciatively, she brings her arms around Victoria in comfort. She’s grateful to have her – Victoria had been here for almost a year now. When they met, Krystal had already been in the hospital for a while, and was finally feeling a little better. She had been anxious to be alone again, but Victoria had offered to stay with her.

At first it felt strange to have someone unfamiliar in her home, but Victoria had taken this year to slowly and patiently open Krystal's heart, little by little. It wasn’t strange anymore, she thinks, as Victoria rises from her chair and puts one arm under her kneecaps, the other around her back, and carries her like a child back to her room.

Victoria places her gently on top of soft white covers, letting go of her only to put both hands on each side of her face. "How do you feel?"

“Fine,” Krystal says, then with a sad smile, adds “I’m sorry it was a waste of time. Again.”

She always expects any amount of emotion from apologies on her behalf, but it’s just not the way Victoria handles her. Instead, she’s met with a steady gaze, unfaltering, and feels a crisp calm come over her. Victoria opts to tucking strands of baby hairs delicately behind her ears. "Last time you wouldn’t even take off your shoes. This time we nearly took a step into the bath. It’s all right. You have to be patient."

A blanket is wrapped around Krystal's shoulders, and she realizes that she’s probably been shivering for a while. Standing in front of a bathtub for nearly a half hour would have chilled her. Yet strangely, she feels a bit warm as she watches Victoria cross the room and crouch to look through the bottom drawers of her dresser. It’s a simple thing, but the sunlight is filling the space she enters, and there’s pale hair covering the woman like a sheer curtain. Large, black doe eyes meet Krystal's as she stands with a shirt in hand. "Are you sure you’re feeling all right?"

Krystal nods, and lets the blanket fall around her waist as she puts her arms up, and allows Victoria to put the large t-shirt on her, as well as sit behind her to tie her hair in a loose braid. “Everything is also just so…” she begins. Victoria's hands pause, so she knows her attention is focused. “…violently real.”

"How so?"

Rather than answering immediately, Krystal stands up from the bed to get under the covers. Victoria stands as well and crosses the room to dim the blinds, then sits on the edge of her mattress.

It’s a few moments before Krystal can find the words to use. Hesitantly, she puts her fingertips to her temple, and tells the other woman, “It’s branded in my mind the way a movie is burned onto a disc. I can scratch at it as much as I can, but if it plays, there are still parts that are crystal clear. As if they happened a few hours ago.”

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

She brings the covers over her shoulder, nestling her head into her pillow, and stares at the sheets. “Well, I’m not sure. I suppose it depends.”

"On what?" 

Suddenly irritated, Krystal's eyes meet Victoria’s with a bit of prickliness. “On the circumstance of course!” Victoria only stares back, without any indication of offense, and suddenly she feels embarrassed at her outburst. She lowers her gaze, cheeks glowing and explains herself. “You know there’s a difference between bad and good days, Victoria.”

At the shift in tone, Victoria seems apologetic as well, which only further embarrasses her. "I’m sorry. I do know. But I think having a clear memory of your past can be a good thing. There are sharp images of the bad days, but I’m sure there are good days in the mix as well?"

Slowly, she nods in agreement, then changes her mind and shakes her head. Victoria waits for the explanation, which comes cut in jumbled pieces. “There’s a shade of purple. It’s lavender. That’s a colour I can’t forget. It’s the colour of almost everything. The linens, the shoes by the doorway, the curtains, the flowers on the kitchen table.” She searches Victoria's expression, and finds warmth in her eyes. “It was her favourite colour. But it’s the colour of her dress.”

Krystal doesn’t need to explain any more than that, because it’s clear without saying it out loud. Lavender is the colour of the clover blossoms her mother placed in a jar on the table, just before she kissed her daughter goodbye and sent her to her father’s house. Lavender was the colour of the bathtub her mother laid in and filled with warm water, as her eyelids grew heavy under the weight of 14 zaleplon capsules. And lavender was the colour of the dress she wore that night she died, because it was her favourite.

“After I found her body, it’s like I can’t remember what her face looked like before. When my mother was alive.” Krystal glances up with blurry eyes to see more emotion on Victoria's face than usual. The older woman rises from her seat quickly and pulls the blankets back, crawling into bed with her.

Victoria gently pulls her closer, softly dabbing her tears away with her sleeve and whispers to her, "You will remember one day."

For a long time, she’s met with only silence as Krystal's breathing evens out, and her tears dry. With her ear pressed to Victoria's chest, she listens while both their heartbeats find a rhythm that works. And after that long silence, Victoria begins to hum a tune, cool fingers combing the younger’s hair lazily. 

She feels the weight of the past few hours wearing her down, much like it does almost every evening. “Will you stay the night?” Krystal asks softly, as she drifts off to sleep.

But she doesn’t need an answer; because Victoria would never tell her no.