Like sand through a seive, her hands brush through my hair. The movement is swift, easy, with no knots tugging at my scalp. For my first morning after, I never expected such warmth, nor did I expect her hands to be so cold. But it was easy to pay no mind.

“I’m not hurting you, am I, Lilly?” Ophelia asks gently. Sleep still weighs against her, but the reparative task of brushing out the many knots seems to ease that heaviness in her shoulders.

“No, you’re not. Even if you were I would want you to keep going anyways.”

At my response, she smiles.

My relaxed mind drifts off to the thoughts of the night before, of what I thought would be a scary, painful experience. Instead it was quite the opposite. It was patience and pleasure mixed into an act of love I thought I’d never get to have. There were some parts where I was unsure of myself, unsure of what I was doing was making Ophelia happy in return. But I was led through what she wanted with care and understanding. I never felt that I wasn’t enough. In my chest, my heard thundered with anticipation and fear, leapt with ecstacy, then calmed as she cuddled me to her chest.

When snot drips down my nose, I realize that for the first time since my high school graduation, I’m crying.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so grateful for you.” I sniffle. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. Brush my hair like I’m a child.”

“I’m doing this because I want to, dear. Loving you is no obligation to me.” She takes a rubber band and pulls my hair into a ponytail. Her hands wrap around my middle and her lips kiss my shoulder.

Her words don’t help. Instead, they make me cry louder sobs of joy.