There's a unique terror to losing control for the chronically ill. Life can feel like one long, hard decline. Muscles that you're too weak to use become atrophied, their maintenance becomes another exhausting chore. Will the next exertion be the last my body can spend at that level, before I permanently descend the stairs? It's not a fair way to see it, of course -- life can be lived all kinds of ways, in all kind of states. There's no physical condition that can prevent a person from living a full life, so long as they have adequate support. But if you don't have help, or you have other things going on, your powerlessness starts to eat at you. You cling to your conscious mind, the one thing you can try to keep sharp and honed through the brainfog, the long nights. I'm still me in here, I'm not this body. I know who and what I am, and I remain in contr--

"Jess, is that you?"

What I had done. What the fuck had I done. In an eye's blink, I became a vehicle powered by shame and regret. With quickness I thought my body'd long since lost i flipped off the machine, threw the blanket around me and then, as if trying to pass it off like I was *totally not naked and milking yourself in your barn without telling you noooo this is just my outfit* I wrapped the farmer's coat around. Ok, clothed -- now what? All my momentum grinded to a halt as I stood among the bales. I could hear her rustling around the other side, closest to her house. The barn was big enough, maybe she didn't hear me? Oh God What Did I Do. Footsteps. What Did I Do And What Do I Do Now. I needed to separate myself from the milking machine, even though it's unthinkable she musn't suspect--

"Hey honey, are you okay?"

She came around the corner and I started with the floor. Her same worn brown boots, but: rich, dark blue jeans, unscuffed and unstained. No belt, her underwear -- briefs? -- peeking up past the beltloops, dark gray. A black tank top, askew on her shoulders. No bra, her cleavage... her cleavage?? I'd only ever seen her buttoned before, her hair up, a hat, but her hair was down, messy, wet from some evening bath, she-- Oh She Was Looking Right At Me.

And me? The blanket soaked up the sweat, hid the hay straws sticking to me, and sopped up the milk dribbling down me; but there was my face plain as day, still filled with fresh tears.

I looked down to the floor again. "I- I- I- um, I'm so sorry, there was a, I had to leave home, but i shouldn't have, I'm, oh I'm sorrysorry sorr--"

Then her arms were around me and I was now, through no fault of my own, staring down at her cleavage. She held me close. She was so warm. I resisted, but the warmth was too wide, too long, too deep for me to resist. I fell into her chest and I sobbed like a child.

"Let's get you inside, honey."

"Y-yes Ma'am. Sorry, I--"

"Ssh. No sorry. Let someone look after you for once, okay?"

I couldn't argue.

---

She put a mug in front of me. Salmon colored, a chip on the handle. Light brown liquid. "Decaf, honey. Nothin' like a dark roast in the evening." She sipped her mug, a light green. "I take mine black, but yours has cream and sugar, do you mind?"

"No Ma'am, not at all."

"That's good, then." We sat on either side of her kitchen counter in high seats. She'd handed me a bathrobe shortly after I got in, then merely turned around to start making the coffee. Why did she have a bathrobe this big? It fit me loosely, even. Soft and brown, with tan accents. Silky smooth. I knew there the bathroom was from a few times before -- in through the kitchen, down the hall, second on the right. The house was cramped, a little dirty, but tidy. Not fancy-"farmhouse" farmhouse, just... farmhouse. I'd heard her close a cabinet when I came back to the kitchen, and there she was.

"Now I know you got a lot on your mind, so I don't expect you to tell me everything," she began pointing in mock anger, "but your butt isn't leaving this chair until I hear about at least *something* that's happened."

I giggled, but... the way her eyes were on me... did she know? I couldn't bring it up, what I'd been doing recently has been so... strange. I decided to start there, sighing.

"I'm starting to, like, lose time." She nodded. "Or, not quite. I keep having these episodes where I'm not in control anymore. And they're terrifying me." I gripped the mug more tightly.

She stared worriedly. "Like you're not yourself?"

"Like something's getting lose I didn't know was there. These urges, these... desires. I'm scared."

She nodded. "So like you've been repressing something?"

"Sort of," I trailed off. "I'm gonna head to the doctor soon about it."

She took a beat, then: "Well I don't know if a doctor would help much, but I hope it does."

I locked eyes with her for a second, her cup to her lips, making her expression inscrutable. I tensed. "How do you figure?"

"Oh I'm sorry honey," she broke the moment. "I just don't tend to trust doctors. That said..." she trailed off for a second, staring at some spot on the floor. "Would you like my opinion?"

"Couldn't hurt, could it, Ma'am?" I tried to diffuse this weird pressure with a laugh, but when she laughed back, the laugh was too... knowing.

"Here's what I think." She put her hands down on the table. "I like getting my hands dirty. I like using 'em, takin' care of things.And if something started to prevent me from doin' that, I'd probably panic for a bit, then find something else." She stood up, leaving one hand on the table. "And then if something prevented me from doing that, I'd panic for a bit, then find something else, and continue." She started to round the counter, trailing her hand; her nails, usually dirty, seemed to shine in the half-light. "But every time something got taken from me, the resentment would build up, right?" I found myself nodding on every word. She really got it. "And the feeling keeps building, and building and building." She punctuated each words with a turn of her free hand in front of her chest as she drew closer. "And it'd feel cruel that even as more things fled away from me, there was no way for me to just..." she stood over me now, staring down her sharp chin past her cleavage, "...relax."

"Relax?" I tilted my head, looking up at her.

"Relax." She nodded. "Just because you're not doing this-that-or-the-other doesn't mean you don't worry." She giggled at the double negative, and I giggled too, my head still upturned. She lowered herself on the seat next to me. "What I mean is, the time where you might worry *most*, because of all the things goin' wrong, is exactly the time where you need to worry *least*. So that you can really start to recover."

I nodded. The logic made sense, but I was focused more on her bare arms, her armpits, her lips. She was so close.

"Jess," she intoned, and I snapped to attention. She was smiling with her brows, her cheeks, her teeth -- but not her lids. "I want you to relax."

"Y-yes Ma'am. I understand" I held her gaze in the silence.

"...well honey, I don't see you relaxin'."

"Oh, uh," I stammered, "you mean right now?"

"Yess! Of course!" She laughed, genuine this time, and headed back around the counter. "You're so tense, darlin'. You haven't done anything wrong."

"I did, uh, show up unannounced, in the middle of the night, and uh," I paused, flicking my eyes around for some lie, "disturbed the cows."

"I told you, Jess!" Her voice, suddenly loud, filling the room. Did the lights dim? " I told you, honey." She smiled again; the pressure dissipated. "You should listen to me when I tell you things," she chuckled.

"Y-yes Ma'am."

"I told you earlier," she leaned across the counter, her hair falling around her eyes. "You're family to them." She kept leaning, my eyes flicked down to her cleavage and back up. Her crows feet fluttered with her blinking. "And you're family to me." She stopped short inches from my face. "Just rely on me for once, huh?"

"Thank you, Ma'am. I know, I just don't want to imp-"

She touched my cheek and fire flowed through me.

"Don't want to what, honey?" She smiled without smiling again.

"N-never mind, I... I'm just happy to be here."

Her smile returned to her smile. "That's my girl. Just relax."

"Yes Ma'am." I leaned on her cheek and cast my gaze up at her.

"You can come here anytime you like. And when you do, I'll be expecting you."

"Yes Ma'am." I let my eyelids flutter.

"And when you come here, I'll know you're comin', and it won't be by surprise."

"Yes Ma'am." I rubbed my cheek slightly against her palm. Her words were cool and thick.

"And every time you rely on me, you're not bein' a burden; you're givin' me a chance to look after you, which I love to do."

"Yes, M-Ma'am." Tears welling up; nobody'd ever spoken to me this kindly. Nobody's words had ever filled my ears like this

"And when you're around me," she continued, "you're going to relax. Right?"

"Of course, Ma'am."

"That's a good girl." I floated in her words like a fish, alone and beloved in a deep ocean. Her words were the water and the water was everywhere and everything was everywhere but i didn't have to worry anymmore becausse she wwas therre in every breath i took in every movement of my mouth--

I felt the cup touch my lips. I heard her say "you're going to have some more to drink, right?" and i felt myself nod and tilt my head. She poured the sweet liquid into my mouth flawlessly, holding my mouth open. I guzzled every drop for her. I let it all in.

"That's it. Just let it all in. That's my girl."

I let the darkness surround me.

"That's my girl."

That's my girl.

"That's my girl."

That's my girl.

"That's my girl."

That's my girl.