Maybe later

I stepped out of the shower, reached for the towel. The big mirror was clouded with condensation, and I was grateful for that. Feeling the scars, the long, scraggy one across my abdomen and the many small ones, mainly on my legs while showering had been bad enough. There was no need for me to see them.

Wrapped in the towel I made my way to the bedroom. Hair still dripping wet I reached for one of David’s tank tops and a pair of his boxers. He would be home late, again. And somehow it comforted me, to smell him, even if it was just his clothes, around me. The shirt was too big, but I did not care. I missed him, his touch, the way he used to fuck me.

He had been there, in the hospital. He had held my hand, as the doctor had told me about my injuries, the things they had done, to safe my life. We would never have kids; the scars would last a lifetime.

Just one day later, David had asked me to marry him. Happy, and more of a bit scared, I had said yes. Soon after I had been discharged from the hospital, back home to our flat. Still recovering, I hadn’t noticed at first. The way he looked at me, treated me, never touch me. He would come to bed late, get up early. Yes, he fixed me food, made me comfortable but he avoided being close to me.

Sighing I flung the towel in the laundry basket. He had seen me naked since. Only once, after I had seen the look on his face – pity, mixed with something I couldn’t place – I had made sure, to cover at least the big one at all times. Could we go on like this? Even get married? Did I want that?

I would return to my unit as soon as possible, a month from now at the earliest. Time enough, to make up my mind. The flat was still more his than ours. My few belongings nearly vanished between his. Smiling, I remembered the look on his face, as I had moved in. Even though he had seen my room in the shared flat, he had been surprised by the three boxes and three holdalls. And most of it was just my kit.

I walked back to the living room sat down at the desk and started his computer. Gaming was as good to block out these thoughts and memories than any other way. But instead of clicking the game icon, I clicked the one for the browser.