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Carol grabs the grenade from the coffee table, her hand hugging it tightly in her grasp.
“You guys are a bunch of mind fuckers.”
She felt detached from her situation entirely, now. There was a prop grenade these people brought her and she’s speaking to the entire World. Zosia’s face remains neutral, which irks her further. They aren’t giving her something to hang off of, something she can leach off. Carol steps away from her, she fiddles with the grenade, huffing after each tug she gives.
She scoffs, “Wow, you got this thing really jammed in here, don’t you?”
Finally, she frees the pin, looking at it with curiosity. Zosia stands quick, placing her glass down in the process. She doesn’t move closer but pleads, “Please, be careful with that,” she attempts to speak calmly.
“Right, like you’d give me a real hand grenade,” Carol jokes.
Zosia pleads again, this time she doesn’t try to hide her desperation, “Place the pin back, Carol. Gently, if you don’t mind.”
Then it dawns on her,“Are you fucking serious? You actually gave me a hand grenade? Who does that?”
“We really do apologize, Carol.”
Approaching Carol with a calculated move, she reaches into her hand, taking hold of the pin. Carol is frozen, quickly realizing the gravity of the situation. She doesn’t dare move, arm splayed outwards as they were when she first managed to get the pin unlocked. Zosia is too focused on the grenade to notice Carol’s chest begin to breathe rapidly. The slight hum of the AC seems oddly absent. She loops the pin back in place, all while the grenade sits in Carol’s hand. She smiles, corners reaching her eyes. Carol arches her eyebrow in fear.
“Good news! The grenade is safe to handle again,” Zosia sighs in relief.
“Get it the fuck away from me,” Carol pushes it into Zosia’s hand, she grasps at her hair. Oil seeping into her hands as she clunches it tightly. She feels a bit sick and maybe a bit afraid.
“Of course, Carol. We have someone on their way to take it off our hands," she has the grenade gripped tightly in her hands, caution thrown out the window the minute it was safe to do so.
“It’s Zosia, right?” Carol sees the beginning of a nod before she starts again, “Yeah, it’s Zosia. Zosia, answer this– what would have happened had the grenade went off? Like– what are the chances that I would have died a sudden death?”
“Oh- well, given the kind of grenade we delivered to you, there would be a 96.3% chance at death. Zosia would have a higher chance at living, although still a low chance. Based on the fact that you were the one holding the grenade and Zosia was standing a few feet away.”
Carol’s eyes are unfocused now, unsure if her near death experience has shaken her speechless or the conversation before has reminded her of everything she has lost to them. Helen would know what to do with her, how to handle her. Carol wouldn’t need to ask Helen to hold her, she’d just do it. Zosia’s smile loosens, glancing at Carol’s fidgeting hands and unsteady breathing.
“Carol, if it’s alright with you, we would love to stay the night. We feel you may be a bit uncomfortable with what occurred. We apologize for misspeaking and misinterpreting what you meant as a joke. We do hope you let us make things right. Are you feeling tired, Carol?” Zosia clasps her hands together now, the grenade squished between both hands.
Carol feels drunk. That’s what it is, she’s drunk. Her thoughts are scattered right now. She goes to grab her glass, wanting a sip of her drink, needing the warmth of the alcohol to settle her nerves. But before Carol gets the chance to, Zosia is already at work. The grenade placed back onto the stack of books, Zosia grabs their glasses and bottle.
“We’ll place these back in the cupboard. Does a warm bath sound nice?” Almost like they chose for her, Zosia begins to clean up the area. Sealing the bottle closed and walking towards the mini bar to put away. The nearly empty glass Carol was helping herself to sits in Zosia’s hand, being carried away towards the kitchen. Carol stands there, unable to move. She doesn’t know what she wants right now. The buzz of the alcohol starting to seep into her bloodstream and fog her senses. She waits for her to return, uncertain what she’s waiting for specifically.
Zosia reappears again, “Did you make up your mind?”
“What?”
“Would you like for us to stay? And a warm bath?” Zosia’s smile is gentle now, no longer straining to meet her eyes.
Carol stares at her eyes, sparkling. She coughs awkwardly, “If- if that’s what Zosia wants, yeah, she can stay.” She attempts at making her plea sound casual. And although she’s rattled, she feels curious and slightly excited. She pulls her fingers to hear them pop.
Zosia’s smile grows, “Thank you, Carol. We are so happy you have given us the chance to redeem ourselves. How about that bath, huh?” Carol supposes that an offer from a woman like Zosia should turn her on, but the fuzziness around her brain won’t allow her.
“Are you gonna.. help?”
“We would love to.”
—
Carol watches as Zosia kneels on the bathroom floor to turn the facet on. She wiggles her fingers through the water, testing the temperature before plugging the tub and letting it begin to fill. Carol jumps when Zosia turns to meet her eyes.
“While we wait, lets pick out something comfier to wear.” Carol doesn’t respond, only nodding before letting Zosia grab her hand and guide her to her closet. Zosia hums, “You have a great assortment of pajamas. Would Carol like to pick or would she like for Zosia to choose?”
She feels her face begin to burn in embarrassment, referring to Carol in 3rd person made her feel incredibly lesser than the composed woman in front of her.
Her cheeks are a bright, cherry red when she says, “You can choose.”
Zosia rubs a circle on Carol’s hand before turning back to the clothes. She starts to look through the dresser sitting inside the closet. Carol decides to ignore the implications of Zosia knowing where she stores her night wear.
Zosia is still searching when, “We love this set, Carol. We think you’ll look quite cute,” Carol’s eyes bulge, she looks at Zosia and notices an unsure expression. “Isn’t that right?” Carol giggles, weirdly enough. “Mmh,” she agrees. She watches as Zosia’s expression softens, seemingly reassured that they did not overstep.
The pajamas she chose are ones she doesn’t wear often, ones that usually were reserved for softer nights. Ones that Helen liked to place her in. Helen loved dressing her when she had the chance.
Zosia holds her hold out for Carol to take, “Let’s see if the water is ready.”
Carol takes it, “Okay.”
Carol wiggles her toes on the cold tile floor as she watches Zosia inspect the water and depth. Easing into this dynamic that she isn’t quite sure she likes with the entire World. Zosia turns around, “It’s perfect, Carol!” She turns back to switch the water off and pour a bit of Dr. Teal’s bubble bath soap into the tub, while she’s pouring she says, “You can start getting undressed if you’d like, Carol.”
She knows that in order for Zosia to help she’d have to see her naked, but that doesn’t stop her from freezing in horror at her words. Zosia still has her back turn, likely to give her some space while she undresses. The minute her pants are off, Zosia turns back. “Here- we can help,” Carol stands there, still, as Zosia works at getting her undressed, starting with her flannel, then her shirt, pants, and bra. Her nipples pibble in the cold, bathroom air. She meekishly covers them with her arms. Without warning, Zosia pulls her underwear down her legs, tugging at them for Carol to step out of. She fights the urge to cover her mound, too.
“Let’s get you into some warm water,” Zosia says softly, her accent only a bit stronger now. It seems the World is getting tired too.
“Are you coming in too?” Carol is embarrassed to ask but asks anyway.
“We think you’d enjoy that,” Zosia grins, “yes, we can.”
Zosia holds onto Carol’s hand as she helps her step into the tub. When she sits down, goosebumps rise on her shoulders. The water is warm, tipping on hot but just enough not to burn. The temperature change loosens her up more, whining when Zosia speaks and breaks the silence.
“It feels nice, mmh?”
Zosia kneels against the bathtub, cooing at the sight of Carol.
Carol’s cheeks redden at the attention but doesn’t reject, she hums. Zosia pushes a strand of hair out of Carol’s face, tucking it behind her ear and watching intently. “Are you still coming in?” Carol asks quietly, pathetically choosing to look down at the water than face Zosia. Instead, Zosia hooks her finger around Carol’s chin and angles her toward her.
“Of course, sweet girl,” she smiles once before turning around to begin to undress.
Carol should know better, should know that they’re actively using Helen’s memories against her wishes, but she’s tired. She misses her mommy, aware that she lays buried only a few feet away. Insects beginning to drill holes into her corpse, excited for a source of food. Her mommy is cold and dead. She lets out a sob, surprising both Carol and Zosia.
Zosia is in the middle of unbuttoning her blouse when she kneels back to Carol. Her blouse is only partially unbuttoned when she reaches into the water to hold her hand. “What’s wrong, Carol?” She watches them panic, looking her over. Searching for a reason for a sudden outburst, Zosia is tensing and tearing up. It’s Carol’s turn to panic, her tears drying immediately.
“No, no, no. Please don’t start– don’t. I’m sorry.” Carol grabs Zosia’s face, forcing her to focus. “I’m okay, ok?”
Zosia’s face is squished between Carol’s hands, she nods. Tears running down her face. “We thought we hurt you.”
“I’m fine, Zosia.”
“We’re sorry,” they don’t even know what they're apologizing for but apologize nonetheless.
—
Both in the bath now, Zosia lathers the cloth with soap, scrubbing Carol gently up and down her back. Zosia is speaking to her quietly, not really directing the conversation to her, but more so filling the space with words. Carol is silent for the most part, only chiming in when asked a question. Her head is lighter than before, making it difficult to form coherent responses. She is tired beyond repair, her eyes are heavy.
“Sleepy girl, we’re almost done,” Zosia giggles. Watching as Carol’s head sways when water is poured down. Carol doesn’t realize that she’s being guided to lay on Zosia’s chest until it’s done. Feeling Zosia’s wet, warm skin against her cheek. Her eyes close, finally giving in. Zosia begins to wash her hair.
Zosia’s fingers scrub at her scalp, Carol whines for no apparent reason. The soap suds make a crunchy noise in her ears, luring her further down. She always hated getting her hair washed, but laying like this, she can tolerate it. Much to Carol’s dismay, Zosia lifts Carol’s head from her chest to rinse the soap from her scalp. She sniffles, upset that she is being moved from her warm, comfy position. Zosia only coos at her, “Shh, it’s okay, Carol.”
Carol grunts. Eyes closed, sitting up while Zosia pours lukewarm water down her head. She feels Zosia tilting her head back, the water going down her back, splashing back into the bathtub. The crunch of the suds disappearing into the water. She smells like vanilla.
She wonders if Zosia is gonna bathe herself too, or if she wants Carol to assist her as well. She doesn’t want to. Zosia continues to pour water down, squeezing the soap out, occasionally sliding her palm down with her hair in her grasp. The gentle tug feels nice.
A voice pulls her back, “all done.” Like a mother speaking to her child, she whispers it to her. Getting her child ready for bed, one part completed from a routine. With that, Carol suddenly feels much colder. Her skin prickling and rising. She cries, softer and different from before. Infantile and lacking. She attempts to lay her head against Zosia’s chest, but a hand stops her.
“We’re sorry, Carol, but it’s time for bed,” she grabs Carol’s hand, holding it to Carol’s face, “See,” she motions, “Your fingers are beginning to prune.”
Carol pouts, understanding somehow that she can’t stay where is, knowing the water will eventually turn cold and still. Her washed hair is already cold against her skin. She nods.
“Let us grab a towel.”
Zosia stands slowly, repositioning Carol to sit against the cold, porcelain tub, she winces. The water from Zosia’s body falls against the bath water like rainfall, Carol cringes at the noise, watching her step out the rub cautiously, careful not to trip or slip. She disappears into the closet nearby, where Helen and Carol store their bath towels. A collection to pick from, some thinner than others, some softer than others. Carol secretly hopes she picks a rougher one.
Zosia appears again with two, both of the same set, the thick, soft ones Helen loved. They bought them during their trip to Greece. Carol watches with half-lidded eyes as Zosia dries herself off, scrubbing her body dry, crunching her hair in sets, then wrapping it around her body. She tucks it closed, secure that it won’t unravel as she goes to grab Carol.
“Your turn,” she smiles at her, walking to the tub with the other towel in hand. Her smile so, so inviting. She can’t stop herself when she pulls her arms out of the water and reaches for Zosia, expecting to be picked up entirely.
“C’mon, Carol, you can be a big girl,” she teases.
She huffs as she stands, wobbly at first but then steady when Zosia places her hands around her forearms. Her feet meet the cold, tiled ground, Zosia is quick to wrap the towel around her body. Instead of drying Carol as she did herself, Zosia wraps the towel over her head, tugging the towel every which way to dry her. Instead of protesting, Carol allows herself to be handled. Feeling comforted in the way Zosia soaks up every bit of water droplet left on her body. Her nipples turn hard and pebbles again as Zosia goes over them, her face warms. She doesn’t mean it, she doesn’t feel that way.
—
Back inside her bedroom, she lays on her bed, towel still wrapped over her body and head. Zosia’s hair is drying, its dry brown strands grouped together with wet ones.
Without thinking, she places the tip of her thumb against her lips, sucking gently, her tongue making a quiet suckling sound. Zosia comes back with a bottle of lotion, smiling at the sight of Carol’s content.
“So small, our Carol.” Carol hums, eyes getting heavier.
Zosia works at smothering each corner of Carol's body, around her neck, feet, arm and face. It’s almond scented, a special kind for Carol’s sensitive skin. The cracks around her palms and fingers smoothing over with the cream. She refuses to hand over her other hand, thumb still against her teeth and lips.
Zosia allows this, wincing at the thought of leaving one hand dry and cracked. Carol lets herself be turned over, the lotion rubbed gently against her back and embarrassingly, against her bottom.
She lets herself be moved and handled. Zosia goes over her hair again with a towel, soaking up the remnants of wet hair. During a chilly, New Mexico night, Carol feels warm throughout her body.
She wiggles her toes, feeling the lotion in between her toes. Zosia brings over the set of Pyjamas they chose for her earlier, she peeks over at Zosia, rummaging through her dresser for what she assumes is underwear. She realizes Zosia is still nude under the towel.
“Hey,” Carol calls out meekly, she spits out her thumb when her words come out with a lisp.
Zosia turns around, “You need clothes too,” she smiles back at her, looking down at herself, as if she had only just noticed she was still nude herself. Completely disregarding her state in favor of Carol’s.
“We’ll put our clothes back on after we clothe you.”
“You can borrow a t-shirt and underwear.”
Carol covers her face in an embarrassed attempt at hiding herself as Zosia strings a pair of navy blue underwear up her legs and on her crouch. She tries to place a hand over her mound but they gently push her hand away, successfully placing her in a clean pair of underwear.
The rest of her clothes go over her quickly, Carol happily complies as goosebumps rise on her chest. The cotton material feels soft on her lotioned body. Carol pushes herself up to sit on the bed, feeling the alcohol buzz as her head spins, Zosia moves to give her room.
She doesn’t ask Zosia whether she needs help finding something to wear or not, she stands and walks over to the dresser. Takes out one of her pairs for Zosia, kneeling down to a lower drawer, grabbing an old t-shirt she hasn’t worn since her first book was published. When she turns back around, she trips over her feet, wobbly before regaining balance. Zosia giggles softly, finding it amusing at Carol’s need to help her as well.
“Thank you, Carol, such a helper,” she says to her as Carol hands over the clothes.
Without waiting, Zosia untucks her towel, letting it fall to the ground. She puts on everything in a swift motion, nowhere near as slow as she was at dressing Carol. The t-shirt that swallows Carol up fits fine on Zosia, hanging loosely around her arms but stops just below her mound.
“Thank you,” Zosia says, smiling, her eyes sparkling with her eyelashes still a little wet, “Let’s get you in bed.”
Carol is the one who puts out her hand out for Zosia to take, realizing again how tired she is. Zosia leads her to bed, her hands behind her back as she climbs in bed to ensure she gets on safely.
Carol whines when she looks up and sees Zosia walking away, “I’ll be back, silly,” with that, Zosia turns the corner, out of the room. Carol huffs, she tucks herself deeper inside the comforters, pulling it loose from the bed frame.
Her thumb makes its way back into her mouth, only a little further than before. She sighs in relief when she sees Zosia walk back in, in one hand is a glass of water, in the other is a hairbrush. She doesn’t remove her thumb when Zosia notices.
Zosia climbs into bed beside Carol, patting the space in front of her for Carol to sit. Zosia spreads her legs, giving her room to sit in between. Carol’s cheeks redden but complies, the glass of water sitting on the nightstand is handed to her.
Zosia doesn’t ask if she wants it, just places it in her hands with the expectation that she will drink it. She pulls her thumb out and takes a sip, it’s room temperature. Zosia picks up the hairbrush, starting at the end and working her way up.
She brushes through the knots slowly and gently, asking Carol if she’s alright every time she winces. She nods each time, remembering the way Helen would coo at her when she’d protest at every knot.
By the time she empties the glass, Zosia is still combing through her hair. Carol hums, head swaying as she tethers between awake and asleep. She doesn’t want Zosia to stop though, so she straightens up, forcing her eyes open. She keeps brushing, the hairbrush making a nice crispy noise that vibrates through Carol’s ears.
—
Carol doesn’t remember how, but she’s laying against Zosia’s chest now. The hairbrush and glass abandoned on the nightstand, one of the lamps is still on, protecting Carol from complete darkness.
With her head turned, her ear is pressed against Zosia’s chest, she can faintly feel the thump of Zosia’s heart. This body, this heart– it doesn’t belong to anyone else but the woman holding her. She wraps an arm around Zosia’s side, Zosia, in turn, wraps an arm around Carol.
Zosia pulls the comforter higher, reaching Carol’s shoulders. Finally, Carol closes her eyes. Zosia begins patting her back, a mother trying to get her baby to sleep. Carol pulls her hand from the covers and pops her thumb inside her mouth entirely. The room is quiet except for the thumping of Zosia’s hand against her back and the wet, suckling noise each time Carol sucks.
Far away, an individual comes to grab the hand grenade from the porch.