"Georgina..."

There was a sweet voice in my dream. Too sad of a voice. Disturbing.

"Georgina...?"

It was a cough of a gasp, tiny. Distraught in the quiet.

A hot hand took mine. Climbed up my wrist, pressed.

"Pretty eyes...oh god...I don't- know..."

More gasping, little voice.

I felt...wet.

Very wet. Everywhere.

Then movement.

Hurt, like...razor burn. Hurt like...scraping. Then cold. Just cold. Disorienting, dizzy. Hot hands, on my wrists. Hurting me.

"Wake up...don't make me do this...wake up. Wake up!"

I don't want to wake up.

"I told them not to do that! I told them not to stock the bar! Georgina...but I trusted you... Georgina...why...?"

Pitiful crying. But this voice. The anger wouldn't come. This voice.

Then pinching pain. Pinch. Pinch Pinch Pinch--

"Ow, ow, ow-"

"Georgina! Georgina...!"

Warmth everywhere. As my eyes opened I took in a long breath and coughed, feeling bitterness in my throat. Coughing, and the bitterness came out, dribbling down my chin. I couldn't control it. But he kissed me anyway. Kissed me all over. His searching blue-green eyes looked desperate, heart-wrenching. He was hugging me. I was so wet everywhere. Why...

Then the smell.

"Fuck," I sighed, choking again on the bitter stuff. I felt so weak. My hands would not lift. They were splayed open, like my legs. My legs. My legs were wet, too. The combination of acids flew up my nose and I realized what had happened, surely.

"I pissed myself, didn't I. Fuck."

"Yeah...yeah, but it's okay," Frankie whispered, still kissing me all over my face like a happy dog. "It's okay, because you're alive."

"Of course I'm alive. I couldn't kill myself if I tried."

His face changed at this, that pitiful sad face. Like I'd taken all of his happiness away. All of the joy he'd ever have.

"Don't say that," he said, his face collapsing into his tears. Fresh ones replaced streams of wet salt on his face. Stains. "Please."

The bitterness made me cough again, and my body convulsed in them for the weakness was too great, the coughs too great. When my eyes opened again, it was to him wiping his face with the backs of his hands, little orange stuff.

I had spat vomit all over his face.

I was so horrified at myself that I couldn't figure out what to do next.

But he knew what to do.

Without saying a word, he began undoing the little gold buttons all in a row on the front of my navy blue dress, the same one I had been wearing when I went to the Chinese place with Paulie. It was all coming back to me now bit by bit, more shameful by the moment.

My eyes followed his hands, and I saw more orange vomit, some dried some not, all over the front of my dress. That three hundred dollar dress. He'd bought me that dress. It was one of his favorites. Now it was ruined.

I was sniffling before I knew it, and without saying a word again his index finger was wiping under my eye. Why did he love me so much? Why was he doing this? I was covered in my own fluids, ruined his favorite dress...drank again.

"Frankie...Frankie..."

"Shh...it's okay."

"No, Frankie...I'll go...it's okay-"

"Shh..."

Very gently, he leaned me forward on him and draped the dress downwards. It hit the floor like a watery sound, the satiny fabric and the buttons clattering like loose pearls. His soft hands put pressure on my neck and I felt a small weight lessen there. He leaned me back and I saw him put my little gold locket on the blue and white tiled floor. Slowly, he began to roll down my white, stained stockings and then I saw him working on untying the straps of my heels.

Before long, I was completely naked on the bathroom floor, wet and vulnerable, like a child who had peed the bed. Ashamed, scared. Mostly ashamed.

Behind me, the shower came on and I recognized the cold surface I had been leaning against was the clawfoot bathtub. Like a man twice his size, Frankie lifted me into the air like I was nothing and all of a sudden I was in the warm water. And what's more, just a few moments later, he was in the tub with me fully clothed, his dark gray Italian suit pants getting soaked and his expensive white dress shirt see-through with the water.

A pressure built in my chest, my belly. My shoulders rocked, heaved, and his hands were around them. Soft lips pressed against my forehead, kissed my hair. Strong hands, sheltering me and trying to ease my pain. I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve any of this. But he was here. Why?

"Frankie- I don't- know-"

I couldn't talk right.

"Shh. Don't talk. I know."

"Fr-"

"Shhh. Sweetie-pie."

Vaguely I was aware of my sobbing voice, but it didn't register. My voice, above the pounding sounds of the water all around us. And he hugged me. He wouldn't let me go.

"I'm going to wash you now. Make you all clean. You'll feel better."

I couldn't answer. But he knew.

So like one would to a baby, he washed me. I felt the blue rectangular soap going in circular motions on my back, up my spine. Felt them on my neck, on my face. He took special care on my face, getting everything. There was a lot to get. I knew I must have been covered.

He started on my front, down it, emotionless or with all of his emotion I don't know. His face was so serious, so intent. Loving. It had to be loving, because he wouldn't be doing this if he wasn't loving.

He went down my legs, scrubbing away the pee. My eyes looked away, fresh tears mixing with the bath water. I was so ashamed. How could I do this to him? How could I-

I gasped and closed my legs, banging against the back of the bath. My eyes opened, and he was staring at me like he was witnessing a horror movie.

"You cut yourself."

"I'm sorry- I'm sorry-"

"Why...wh-"

"I'm sorry!"

That sad look like a child again. The betrayal look.

"I'm sorry...I'm so-...sorry..."

The sounds of rain. No. It was the bath. Wavy lines. No. No it was-

"Ow, ow, ow-!"

"You passed out again."

"Oh..."

Warm all around me. But it was different this time. Enveloping me. It was...

My hands moved and the water of the bath floated with them, creating ripples. Dripping water sounds in the defeaning quiet. My eyes met him, and saw he was now naked in the bath with me. His skin was dewy, moist and steamy. His hand lifted from the clear water and I saw his fingers were wrinkly. So we'd been in here for a long time.

Loving, pruny fingers grazed against my face, as if pushing back my hair but my hair wasn't long. He'd taken off my wig. But his hands were still moving like... A tear fell down my face and he caught it like it was a precious star.

"I looked at the wounds. You cut yourself with your shaving razor, didn't you. ...But they weren't from shaving."

He said this slowly, carefully. His face betrayed nothing, but his eyes told me the truth. They held no anger, no bad emotion. Just concern, sadness, love. Hopelessness.

I felt my legs press together, hiding my shame. My cuts. But he had already seen them. All of them.

"I don't remember doing it."

He nodded, looking down at the water at nothing in particular. But he just wasn't looking at me. It said more than words, yet told me nothing. It left me in the dark, and I felt alone.

Gentle drifting water sounds, and I felt the cool moisture on his skin. He breathed into my hair, embracing me. Streams of those same shameful tears fell from my eyes.

"Why do you still love...me..."

These words were like phantoms in a foreign space. They didn't seem to come from my mouth, but they did. He didn't move from the embrace, and that was enough. His heat entered my body, overcoming the cold water covering us. It was soothing, but I didn't feel like I deserved to be soothed.

"Tell me."

A long breath against me, but not exasperated. Not mean, gentle. Small words.

"Because you're my woman."

"...Oh..." My voice squeaked.

"I'm not going to leave you alone again."

"...Oh...okay..." Erratic sniffles shook us, and I couldn't tell from which one of us they were coming from. Maybe both of us.

"Don't scare me like that. Don't drink anymore. Don't cut yourself. You could get really hurt. Don't..." His voice was so high, so desperate, so panicked.

"Okay...okay..."

"Please...Please..."

"Okay."

He shook now, not in sniffles, but silent sobs. Masculine little sobs. It sent such a velvety feeling to my heart, a strange comfort that I had never felt before.

"I promise," I whispered, kissing the side of his neck, the most accessible place to me. "I promise, I won't do any of that anymore. I promise."

The strength of his arms increased around me, pressing me to him like I was such a precious thing. And so my arms pulled him closer to me, clinging to him as he cried about me.

But as he cried about me, I became numb. Just numb.