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She holds it fast.
“What are you doing?” I ask, watching her intently.
“Taking your shirt off,” she grumbles.
I grab her hand when she starts to unbutton. “Nardi.”
“What? You don’t like being on this side of the fence? Well, I don’t like owing debts.”
“I’m not a bank. You don’t owe me anything.”
She just keeps unbuttoning.
I truly didn’t come over here intending to touch her. I just… wanted to speak to her. Give her a hug. Inhale her scent.
The last thing I expected was for her to be standing in her doorway in a robe, water glistening down her neck and her big brown eyes sparkling with happiness to see me.
The beast inside was hungry, demanding I make Nardi mine.
It’s still hungry. Which is why I don’t stop her.
The last button pops free and Nardi shrugs the shirt off my shoulders. Her eyes skate to the incision marks from my surgery. They didn’t heal well and the tissue is mangled and bulging, a bright, irritated pink.
She exhales shakily. I know she must have questions, but she doesn’t ask anything. Instead, she takes the towel and gently dots at my arms and sides where the water from the tub had splashed.
My Adam’s apple bobs as she sponges down my body.
Nardi glances at the wet splotches on my pants and hesitates.
I take the towel from her and dot at them myself. Doctor’s instructions or not, I won’t be able to hold myself back if she starts patting down there.
“Does it still hurt?” Nardi asks quietly.
I stop what I’m doing and look at her. Her eyes are fixed on the incision mark.
“No,” I admit.
“It looks like it does.”
The headache hammering my skull hurts more than these scars. I run a hand over my beanie, hiding my face from her as the pain flashes again. I need to get a handle on my expressions or Nardi will know something’s wrong.
“It hurt more to have a piece of my lung removed.”
“You only have one lung?”
“I have two but a significant portion was shaved off. That’s why I can’t shout. It physically hurts.”
“Will you ever be able to shout?” Nardi asks thoughtfully.
“Everyone’s symptoms are different. They may go away. They may not.”
“May I?” Nardi asks, reaching out a hand to my incision scars.
I nod.
She slides her fingers over the mark. “Can you feel that?”
“It’s still my skin, Nardi.” I smile.