Chapter 7 #2
I shut the door because a response isn’t needed and the one I want to say shouldn’t be uttered.
Stripping off my socks, I hop from one foot to the other, then start pulling my scrubs off.
I enter the bathroom, drop my clothes in the hamper, and reach into the shower to turn on the water.
Then I start my nighttime routine despite the morning sun trying its best to blast through the closed blinds.
The long shift left my skin pallid, needing some attention and care.
The hospital's artificial lighting never did me any favors, and this is how Brandon saw me. Brandon? Why would I care what he thinks? Every question to check on me has a follow-up to include him. What is going on? Sure, it’s natural to be concerned about a friend of the family, but can I have a moment to myself?
I brush my teeth, searching my eyes for the irritation that flared through my veins earlier and is usually reserved for Ludlow. Brandon really shouldn’t bother me anymore. He didn’t during my shift, so what’s changed now that I’m home?
Easy. Everyone knew, but I didn’t. It’s that simple. I was purposely kept out of the loop like I’m heartless toward the man. Pfft.
I spit and rinse my mouth, hoping I can locate the more reasonable side of myself from earlier in my shift.
He wasn’t awful to be around, and talking to him has been manageable.
I don’t feel the usual aggravation when I see him, nor do I feel the need to avoid him.
Granted, I couldn’t avoid him as it was my job to do the opposite.
Getting a closer look at my eyes, they’re tired but clear.
Maybe it’s possible to see the situation with him clearer as well.
I strip the rest of my clothes and step under the warm running water.
The burden of annoyance buoyed around me all these years wasn’t really keeping me afloat anymore, but the weight is less after seeing him again.
A fresh start comes to mind. Maybe it’s possible to leave the past in the past and move forward like we’re friends. Is that a possibility?
I wash my hair, letting the water pour down over my face. Tension eases from my shoulders, though my mind isn’t as relaxed.
What am I thinking? He doesn’t even remember me. I have no choice but to have a fresh start. A laugh bubbles up before I have a chance to stop it. This is silly. I’m overthinking something that doesn’t need to be thought about at all.
As I run conditioner through my hair, I realize I had everything figured out.
Brandon was neatly situated in the pretend-he-never-existed compartment buried in the back of my head before I left for Boston.
I return two days later, and the whole town has been flipped upside down because of him.
My confusion and conflict are just a byproduct and should be the least of my concerns.
Rinsing my hair, the image of his shoulder and that bruising around his eye cause my heart to ache for him.
When I read his chart, I realize he could have lost his life.
The grudge I have is minor in comparison.
I’m not ready to let this fully go, to act like he didn’t break my sixteen-year-old heart, but I’m also glad he’s okay.
“Enough about him,” I say, scrubbing the day from my face and body before I step out onto the softness of the chenille rug and dry off. I’m too tired to dry my hair and will deal with the consequences tomorrow when I have the energy to take on styling tools.
The fleece of my pajamas feels like the hug I don’t get elsewhere.
I rely on the softness against my skin and comfort of the warm material to keep me company at night, or in this case, day, as I climb into bed.
It’s been so long since I had someone holding me, kissing me good night, or whispering sweet nothings in my ear that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be cared for in that way.
Pajamas will do, but they’ll never make up for the absence of rough hands from a day’s work scraping against my skin that leave a wake of goose bumps in their place.
Heated kisses exchanged, causing my heart to beat so hard that I wonder if my rib cage can keep it contained.
But it’s the looks I miss, the sneaky ones shared when no one else is looking, the gaze that says I’m his even if it’s not been verbalized yet.
That possession of belonging to someone who wants me so desperately that they can’t wait to get me alone again.
Gah. I rub my thighs, missing that shared desire where everything feels possible and love doesn’t just fill the air, but every cell of my being. I punch my pillow to fluff it, knowing I’ve never felt that kind of love before. I just know I want it.
“Can I borrow this?” . . . “Fall?” . . . “Don’t you have to be at work soon?”
I sit up with a gasp, my eyelids flying open to land on blond hair and my sister twirling around to face me. She holds a silky golden dress, my dress, against the front of her body. “I was sleeping, Spring,” I grumble as I fall to my side and pull the covers over my head.
“It’s seven thirty. You’ve slept like a billion hours. Don’t you have work?”
Flipping the covers down, I evil-eye her. “Don’t you live somewhere else?”
She lowers the dress, planting her hand on her hip. “Yes, but I decided the blue dress wouldn’t work for my date. It’s too fun. I want something sexy and sultry. Can I borrow this one instead?”
“Wait . . . did you say seven thirty?”
“Seven thirty-eight, if you’re wanting the exact time”
“Oh my God!” I jump up, scrambling to the dresser to pull out a pair of clean scrubs. Pushing my pants down, I pull on the other and eye my sister again. “You can borrow the dress.”
“Thank you,” she singsongs out the door.
“Don’t ruin it. It’s one of my favorites.” I pull my shirt off and tug my work top over my head. Running into the bathroom, I’m confronted with harsh lighting and kinked hair, strongly regretting my earlier self for going to bed with wet hair.