Slammed

the other. A stream of ice cold water splashes across my face. I gasp.
     
    "Jerk! Jackass! Asshole!"
     
    He continues to hold me back as he turns the other faucet on and the water turns warmer.
     
    "Take a shower, Layken! Take a damn shower!" He lets go of me and slams the bathroom door.
     
    I jump out of the shower; my clothes are drenched. I try to open the bathroom door but I can't because he's holding the doorknob from the other side.
     
    "Let me out, Will! Now!" I'm beating on the door and trying to turn the doorknob but it doesn't budge.
     
    "Layken," he calmly responds from the other side of the door. "I'm not letting you out of the bathroom until you take off your clothes, get in the shower, wash your hair, and calm down."
     
    I flip him off. He can't see me of course, but it still feels good. I take off my wet clothes and throw them in the floor, hoping I get something dirty. I climb in the shower. The warm water feels good against my skin. I close my eyes and let the water trickle through my hair and down my face.
     
    Dammit. Will is right again.
     
    ***
     
    "I need a towel!" I yell. I've been in the shower well over half an hour. Will has a shower head with a jet setting. I turned it on and focused it on the back of my neck for the majority of the time. It really does relieve tension.
     
    "It's on the sink. So are your clothes," he yells from outside the bathroom.
     
    I pull the curtain back and there is definitely a towel there. And clothes. My clothes. Clothes he obviously just got out of my house, and somehow put in the bathroom. While I was in the shower.
     
    I turn the water off and step out of the shower and dry off. I twist the towel around my head and put on my clothes.
     
    He brought me pajamas. Maybe that means I'm sleeping in his comfortable bed again. I hesitate as I turn the doorknob, assuming I still won't be able to open it, but it swings open.
     
    When he hears me open the bathroom door, he jumps over the back of the couch and runs toward me. I back up to the wall, afraid he's about to shove me back in the bathroom when his arms go around my waist and he hugs me.
     
    "I'm sorry, Lake. I'm sorry I did that. You were just losing it."
     
    I hug him back. Of course I hug him back. "It's okay. I kinda sorta had a bad day,” I say.
     
    He pulls away from me and places his hands on my shoulders. "So we're friends? You aren't going to try to punch me again?"
     
    "Friends," I say reluctantly. That's the last thing I want to be to him right now. His friend .
     
    "How was the matinee?" I ask as we walk down the hallway.
     
    "Did you talk to your mom?" He ignores my question.
     
    "Jeez. Deflect much?"
     
    "Did you talk to her? Please don't tell me you spent the entire day cleaning." He enters the kitchen and pulls two glasses out of the cabinet.
     
    "No. Not the entire day. We talked."
     
    "And?"
     
    "And…she has cancer," I reply frankly.
     
    He looks at me and scowls. I roll my eyes at him and put my elbows on the table, gripping my forehead with my hands. My fingers brush against the towel that's on my head. I bend away from the bar and pull the towel off and flip my head forward, brushing the tangled strands with my fingers to smooth them out.
     
    After I remove all the tangles, I raise my head back up just as Will darts his eyes away from me and to the cup that's now overflowing in his hand with milk. I pretend not to notice the spill and continue to mess with my hair as he wipes up the milk with a rag.
     
    He pulls something out of the cabinet and gets a spoon out of the drawer. He's making me chocolate milk.
     
    "Will she be okay?" he asks.
     
    I sigh. He's relentless.
     
    "No. Probably not."
     
    "But she's getting treatment?"
     
    I've been able to go the entire day without thinking about it. I've been comfortably numb since I woke up from my nap. I know this is his house, but I'm beginning to wish he would leave again.
     
    "She's dying, Will. Dying. She'll probably be dead within the year, maybe less than that. They're just doing chemo to keep her comfortable. While she dies . 'Cause she'll be dead . Because she's dying . There. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
     
    His expression softens as he sets the milk in front of me. He grabs a handful of ice out of the refrigerator and drops it into my cup.
     
    "On the rocks," he says.
     
    He's good at deflecting, and even better at ignoring my snide remarks. "Thanks," I say. I drink my chocolate milk and shut up.