This is my Nude Day 2011 Contest contribution. Please Read, Vote, and Comment. I appreciate feedback, as it helps me grow as a writer.
"Lavender and Love" is dedicated to the bright and shining soul who 'shared' her story with me. I know that she has found peace. I may never have known her while she was living, but she's an inspiration to so very many. It is my hope that through this story she has found the acceptance and love she deserved.
This story is also in honor of the women out there who are Survivors, going through treatment, gave up a piece of their bodies and lives to Breast Cancer. It is in Memory of those who fought the good fight, but were called Home.
Let us all have the courage to embrace these human shells we call our Bodies. There is beauty in vulnerability and acceptance. What we see as flaws, imperfections, and struggles, are part of what make us who we are.
Anyone who has gone through major illness, pain, or body devastation knows how precious the body and fleeting life is.
Thank You and ENJOY!
~~~~
Caressa winced as she lowered herself to the bed, casting aside her crutches. It had been a few months since the accident that had nearly killed her. Thank God that no one else had been in the car with her. The doctors claimed she was recovering "remarkably well." She snorted to herself. Whatever that means!
"Do you find me revolting?" She recalled the last conversation she'd had with her ex-fiance before she kicked him to the curb. They had been lying in each other's arms. He had untangled his body from hers and stood up, grimacing.
"Caress, be reasonable sweetheart. How could you ask me such a question?" A hurt look had come into Rob's eyes, but not as hurtful as she felt. She had scrambled out of the bed after him, reaching for her crutches, thinking she would plead with him. She was afraid to be alone.
"It's about my hideous, un-whole body though, isn't it? That's the reason you refuse to even touch me. Admit it. I'm a big girl. I can handle the truth. I survived a car wreck and a mastectomy. I can survive the truth," she sniffled, but held her head high while she stood with her legs resting against the bed frame. She had watched him for a tell-tale sign. But he had remained reasonable, affable, and stoic.
"We are just not as compatible as we used to be. We don't...how can I say this? We don't fit each other anymore," he sighed, not wanting to hurt her further with his words.
"You used to say that we fit each other like a glove. Did yours shrink?" She spit venom at him, staring at his deflated erection. "Maybe you need some Viagra and a hot young thing to get you going again," she suggested angrily as she stalked/hobbled forward.
"No." He waited as she glared daggers at him.
"I don't want to know. Get out!" She yanked the ring off of her finger and threw it at him. "Get out now! Get out of my house. Get out of my life! Go find yourself a cougar divorcee or screw some little sorority slut. Just leave me the hell alone!" Resting her weight on the arm she had braced against the wall, she somehow managed to push him with all the built-up rage and pain, right out the door; slamming it with satisfaction in his face. Throwing the crutches across the room, she slid to the floor and collapsed in a puddle of tears.
***
"Damn you Rob and damn you, body!" she growled as she came back to the present. She gingerly slid off her gray sweatpants and hooked the elastic of her cotton panties with her thumbs to draw them down too. She glanced down and frowned at the ugly yellowing bruises on her thighs and the fresh scar extending from her right thigh down to just below the knee. Last week, the cast had finally come off her foot. She knew it could be worse.
She could be dead or in a coma. She was neither. Her three broken ribs were healing, although still very much tender to the touch. She could swear there was still glass inside the sealed up gash on her forehead that zigzagged down to her chin. It felt like it, at least. Although the facial plastic surgeon had assured her ten times over that she had completely cleaned it of debris and had stitched it up beautifully.
She slid to the edge of the bed, placed her hands behind herself and hoisted her body up, then hobbled over to the full length mirror. She held onto the top of the dresser for support. She stared at herself, blinking hard, trying to look through the mess to see the woman she was a year ago. The bruises on her face and jagged line, which was beginning to fade, made it difficult. The bruises matched her slate grey eyes. Her short cropped black hair was finally starting to grow back after treatment. It had a playful spike to it. At least she hadn't sustained any head injuries.
"Now, for the real damage," she whispered to herself as she slowly, painstakingly unzipped the black hoodie. She stared, scrutinizing herself as she parted the material away and looked at her lop-sided chest. She cupped her right breast with her hand as she recalled the words of well-meaning people.
"You could have reconstructive surgery," one had suggested.
"You could even have them enlarged; a whole new set of boobs, if you want," another had piped in.
"I bet insurance would even pay for it," a former friend said.
"She won't need insurance," Rob had responded before she could. "I will pay for new ones." He had stroked her hair and kissed her unwounded cheek, sweetly.
"I don't want a new breast. I want my old one back," she had replied, tired.
***
"I know he would have bought me a new pair. That's all he cared about. He had always thought my breasts were too small to begin with, just like he wanted to have a wig made for me." She told her reflection.
"How long will it take for your hair to grow back?" he had asked her one night after dinner.
"I don't know. Why? Treatment reacts differently in each person." She stared at him, trying to get an idea where he was going with the change in conversation. They had been talking about wedding plans.
"What if I buy you a wig made of real hair? Would you wear it? You'd look sexy as a redhead, I think." He'd chuckled lightly at her frown.
"You don't like my black hair? You always told me I was your raven-haired beauty."
"Long hair suits you much better," he'd announced, patting her head like a dog. "Let me buy the wig?"
"I don't want to wear a wig. I like my spikes," she pouted.
"Will you at least wear a wig to the wedding?" His question had surprised her.
"Um, that's a long way off still. I'm sure it will grow back by then."
"But if it doesn't? For me, will you wear one?"
***
The ringing phone snapped her out of the unpleasant memories.
"Hey Caress," the tenor voice spoke on the other end.
"Hi, Cam. What's up?" She tried to add some cheer to her voice, but failed as she looked at herself in the mirror once more.
"You been crying, hon?" Always the perceptive one.
"A little. I was just thinking about Rob stuff," she admitted.
"Fuck! Why are you wasting your energy on that dickwad, still?" Cam's voice rose in pitch. "Stop doing this to yourself."
"Doing what to myself?" She feigned innocence, lifting her one remaining breast up to her face to inspect it.
"Blaming yourself." He gritted his teeth.
"I'm not," she insisted.
"Yes, yes you are. Have you eaten at all today?"
"Um," she stalled and moved her hand down to rub her empty stomach.
"I take that as a no," Cam prompted.
"A piece of toast this morning count?"
"Considering it is 5 pm, no that doesn't count. I'm going to pick you up and take you to dinner. Get dressed," he ordered her.
"How'd you know I was naked?" she quipped playfully.
"Because," he paused, "I can see you through the window." Her gasp surprisingly pleased him.
"Perv!" she screeched and hobbled to the window to close her curtain, but not before glimpsing her neighbor and best guy friend's face in his window, grinning from ear to ear. "I could report you as a Peeping-Tom."
"Ress, relax. It's not like I haven't seen you naked before. Come on," he offered.
"Jerk, that was like in eighth grade." She bit her lower lip. "You haven't seen me in this, um, state ever."
"You haven't changed all that much, you know." His words meant to soothe, only frustrated her.
"Gee thanks. Why are you such an ass?" she growled.
"I don't think someone had her coffee today, either. Growl all you want, babe. I'll be over in two minutes."
"Wait, I have to--" Too late. He'd hung up the phone.
***
When Cameron let himself into Caressa's house, as he always did, she was buck-naked, stumbling around the room frantically looking for something. He admired her cute butt as it wiggled when she hopped on one foot over to her side table to retrieve her pants. He spotted her blue panties next to his right foot, bent down, picked them up and stuffed them into his jeans' pocket.
"Ahem," he announced himself softly. She stiffened and straightened up, grabbing the comforter off of her bed and dragging it around herself.
"Jesez, Cam! What the hell. Don't you ever knock?" Caressa cursed, stumbling. He rushed forward and steadied her, wrapping his arm around her waist.
"Have I ever?" He quirked his eyebrow, feeling the heat of her body against his. She stepped away, fuming. He held her panties up.
"Give me my underwear," she demanded, seeing them dangling from his finger.
"Come and get them," he taunted, pressing his foot against the edge of the comforter and stepping over to the bed. She stepped forward, reaching out to grab her panties. The comforter started sliding down her body. Panties or being totally naked, those were her choices.
"Argh! Just give them to me." She held the comforter tightly against her chest.