We’d have to have a talk about it sometime soon. But for now, I trusted myself to give her what she needed without allowing it to go too far. We weren’t ready for that yet. I wasn’t ready. And fuck what my body wanted because I knew the rest of me wasn’t there yet.

I padded down the hallway and slipped into her dim room, glancing at her empty bed. The light was on in the bathroom and I could hear the sound of splashes from the bathtub. I took a step toward the bathroom before I remembered how shy she was about me seeing her altered body now. I froze next to the doorway, pausing with indecision until I heard the sigh. I took a step back but didn’t move again when she let out a very quiet moan. I closed my eyes, well familiar with those sounds.

Emilia was getting herself off, likely out of desperation because I wouldn’t touch her. And though it felt like an invasion of privacy to listen at the doorway, I didn’t move, transfixed, my own body reacting to her sighs and moans, remembering how it felt to be the one to evoke that pleasure in her. I loved being in control of her body, being the one responsible for those sounds, that gratification. Was she fantasizing about me while she touched herself?

I got hard, remembering that it had been just as long for me as it had been for her. And every bit of me wanted to march into that bathroom, pull her wet, naked body against me and do deliciously dirty things to her. But I didn’t move. Instead I leaned against the wall and listened like a perv voyeur. It didn’t take her long before she was gasping quietly with her release. There was nothing explosive or overwhelming about it. Just a natural expression, probably little more exciting than a sneeze or a cough. I went to leave, to give her back her privacy but couldn’t move a muscle when I heard the first sob.

Her crying was louder than her orgasm had been. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling an inexplicable tightening in my chest. She sniffed and sniveled and sobbed and I felt sick inside. Because I was powerless to change what she was feeling

Was it rejection? Was it loneliness? Was I confirming for her that I found her ugly? She was likely running every scenario inside her head but the real one—the deep, bone-wracking guilt that permeated every breath, every heartbeat. The real reason I couldn’t look her in the eyes. Because the last time we’d been together had not been an act of love on my part, but an act of possession. Like a caveman, I’d staked my claim, declared her mine over and over again and taken her. Even the memory of it made my body flush with arousal but my gut writhe in disgust. The things that night had led to had threatened to take her life.

I stepped quietly out of her room and receded back to my own like a whipped dog. If I’d had a tail, it would likely have been wedged firmly between my legs.

Needless to say I didn’t sleep very well, but I was determined that we would make it through this. We could talk about it. So the next day I asked chef to pack us a picnic lunch that Emilia could manage to keep down. Simple, organic foods and the requisite ginger chips which, together with the anti-nausea medicine, worked well in keeping her from being too miserable in between her rounds of chemotherapy.

We’d go out on the Duffy boat, putter around the Back Bay, eat a bit of lunch, maybe get a famed frozen banana at the Balboa Fun Zone before heading back home. With a cheerful smile, Emilia donned a knit cap, wearing her hooded sweatshirt over some jeans, though it was not that cool. She had to be warm but there was no way she was exposing her bald head to the world. Even out here where no one would really notice.

We passed numerous boats docked in their slips, sea lions lazing in the sun on top of the buoy at the entrance to the ocean. Emilia watched the stretch of mansions go by, remarking on the different, lavish homes belonging to the rich or famous of Southern California.

And we talked about everything. It was like old times. And she smiled and laughed like nothing wrong or awkward had passed between us the night before.

“So Heath was telling me about this new thing… about the Star Wars movies.”

I cocked an eyebrow at her. “What, about the new one coming out next year?”

“Not really. But, the good news is that after the prequels, it probably can’t suck any worse, so there’s that. And even though all the original actors are pretty old, at least they’ll be in it. So we get to see what Han Solo will be like as a grandpa.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sounds exciting.”

“Heath was telling me that there’s a new canon among the first six films. That people should be watching them in what he called ‘machete order.’”

“Machete order? What the hell is that?”