“All right. I need you to hold your breath now.” He places his hand on the top of her head. His long fingers drip around her skull, clutching onto her so perfectly.

She takes a deep breath in and puffs out her cheeks, caging the exhale.

He smiles at her and the last thing she sees are his teeth before he forces her head down under. She hears the calming hush of water pass over and suddenly, she is in a new world. A world where she does not have to worry about control. Her body feels suspended, though her limbs are restricted within the walls of the metal bucket and her spine is pressed against the bottom. Everything within her is muted yet heightened, and overall, it is peaceful. She lets the breath slowly seep from her and feels the bubbles tickle her nose as they float away. Even from down under, she can hear them pop at the surface.

She wheezes out the last bubble and her lungs request a refill. Fear prickles her skin. The water instantly distorts into unwelcoming ice, yet at her center she feels warm. Her chest cramps and pleads to expand, but she does not try to force her way to the surface. She simply floats in acceptance.

She closes her eyes and waits.

The pressure on top of her head is released. Her daddy’s hands reach into the bucket and pull her above water. When the air touches her nostrils again, she gasps and shoots out wet, mucus-filled coughs. Her daddy’s eyebrows furrow with worry. He sits up on his knees, hands hovering over her shoulders, ready to pull her out entirely.

Her sputtered coughs turn into laughter.

“Ha! Ha! I tricked you, Daddy!” she teases.

He lets out a sigh of relief and chuckles. “Yes. Indeed, my sweet. You tricked me.”

After her laughter settles, he dips his hands back into the water and presses down on her stomach, feeling it recede beneath his touch without objection. Satisfied, he fishes the bar of soap out from under her—she feels his fingers trickle across her vertebrae down to her tailbone as he does—and rapidly rubs the bar between his palms. The waves excite her and she attacks the rising bubbles, popping them to reveal the surface. As he brushes the bar of soap across her skin, blood and dirt lift from her paleness and turn the water brown. But her eyes are on him, watching as he bathes her with such intense focus. He takes extra care to make sure that no spot on her body goes untouched. A smile accompanies the flutter in her chest, but she quickly looks away when that flutter turns sour.

Her attention shifts to her hair. It snakes down her neck, over her shoulder, and dives under the water like a golden waterfall. She looks at her arms, tracing her skin with her gaze, following through to where his skin meets hers. To his wrist. To that throbbing vein that bumps to a dot.