Before

Pilar left her mouth ajar, allowing water to continuously fill it before dribbling down her chin. It was easier to breathe that way. Her eyes were closed, though it made little difference. She’d left the lights off.

Her arms wrapped around her legs, pulling them into her chest. Small. She wanted to be small. Needed to be.

The sound of the water drowned out her sobs. The falling droplets covered her tears.

Not that she was hiding her sadness; they already knew. They all knew. But some things are best left unsaid.

The water beating down on her was cleansing. As it turned from scalding to icy, she could easily imagine being somewhere else.

It could be rain. She could be on the boulevard in Spring Night, streetlights reflecting on puddles disturbed by the heavy downpour.

She could be with friends.

She could be with another man.

Or she could be alone. Preferable, really.

If she were alone, no one would be there to tell her everything she did wrong. No one would be there to tell her she’s awful. No one would be there to yell.

Or ignore her. Or harass her. Funny how one could do both.

But she wasn’t in Spring Night. She was in the shower, and had been for far too long.

Rory will comment on it.

She scrubbed the cold water over her face, masking the skin made red and blotchy from her weeping.

She turned the water off, wrapped a towel around her, and pressed the button to open the door.

“Ah,” she said with a smile. “Refreshing!” Maybe that would be enough to stave off his questions.

Steam billowed out around her as she stepped into the suite she and Rory shared, the door sliding shut with an electrical hiss behind her.

Rory sat upon a loveseat—the family suites were practically mansions compared to the individual rooms—his feet propped up on a metal box with his ankles crossed. A holoscreen displayed before him, one hand lazily swiping through whatever document he was skimming, the other perched behind his head.

“You were in there a while,” he casually murmured without pausing his methodical scrolling.

At least he didn’t ask what she was doing or why she was taking a shower this time. If she had to say because I was dirty or justify it by tracking how long it’d been since her last shower again, she might have killed him. But a comment she could ignore. So she did.

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Her eyes focused on the metal box. “What is that?”

“Hmm?” Rory said, finally looking up and seeing what had grabbed her attention. “Oh, Nicola brought it by while you were showering. She said this was the case you requested and thought you’d want it here to make sure no one used it before your next shift.”

Expelling a burst of air, Pilar rushed to him, picking the box up, Rory’s feet crashing to the floor, her towel slipping in the process. “Do you have any idea what this is?” she asked, her exasperation more noticeable than her anger.

Rory’s gaze focused on the bit of skin revealed from her displaced towel. “Well, hello,” he teased.

With another sigh, Pilar gingerly placed the box on the nearby dining table and resecured her covering. “Those are dangerous chemicals, Rory. Please be careful with them.” As she headed toward the bedroom to get dressed, she added over her shoulder, “In fact, please just don’t touch it at all.”

Rory’s retort floated in the open doorway, Pilar having not bothered to close it behind her. “Right. I haven’t gone through that super thorough two-week training regime, so I can’t be trusted to touch the hyper-fortified box with the sealed formula inside that couldn’t spill even if the A.G. failed.” He laughed after, and she rolled her eyes.

“It was thorough,” she insisted in a tone that was not nearly as light as his had been when she returned to the living space fully dressed.

Rory slowly lifted his head to look at her, the holoscreen blinking out as he did so. “Hey,” he said softly, reaching a hand out. “I know it was. I was just joking.”

Pilar ignored his offered touch of affection, instead bypassing him to stand in front of the generator. “Ice water,” she said, keeping her eyes on the receptacle as first a cup, then ice, then water was deposited from the opening. She heard the creak of the loveseat as Rory removed his weight from it, his footfalls approaching. She pressed her eyes closed as his hands wrapped around her arms, squeezing. It was the only response she’d allow herself; ripping away from his grasp like she wanted to would just cause more strife.

“Hey,” he said again, beginning to rub his palms up and down her arms, “I’m very proud of you. I was just joking. I know you worked hard to get that certification.”

“It was a six-month course and you know it.”

Rory laughed softly. “I know. It was a joke, Pi.”

She placed her hands on the wall on either side of the generator, feeling the cool metal. Flexing her fingers and taking a deep breath, she slowly turned around to face him.

“Belittling me and my work is not a joke. It’s not funny.”

Rory threw his hands up. “That’s not what I said,” he said, his voice gaining an edge. “You’re mincing my words.”

She scoffed. “That’s exactly what you said.”

“You do this every time,” he said, his voice growing louder. “Every time. I’m not being mean!”

She turned back to collect her water, then sidestepped her husband, heading back to their bedroom, hoping he wouldn’t follow.

“Don’t you walk away from me.” His voice was no longer loud, but it made her wince all the same. She stopped, but didn’t turn around. He wouldn’t hurt her, but it would certainly prolong the yelling if she continued fleeing. “I love you,” he said, his voice rising once again. “I love you. All I want to do is make you happy. So if you think I said something that was belittling or mean, can you please just stop and realize there’s no way that that’s the case?”

It was just like Rory to pass the blame for his hurtful comments to her misinterpreting them. But it was easier to agree than to fight. A long moment passed before she swallowed audibly and nodded once. She continued her trek toward the solitude of their room, when he offered another outburst, his voice loud and desperate.

“I love you, Pilar! When are you going to get that through your head?”

Crossing the threshold into their room, she turned to face him.

His brows were furrowed, his face pale.

“Why don’t you yell at me some more about how much you love me? Maybe that will make me believe it.”

His expression dropped even more as she pressed the button, the door sliding into place, shielding her from having to look at him for a moment longer.