Chapter 3: Shower thoughts
I hate hospitals. They smell of antiseptic, decay, and fear -- the kind of fear that burrows deep, the kind you can't shake off no matter how hard you try. It clings to your skin, settles in the pit of your stomach, and lingers in the back of your mind, a constant reminder of your own mortality.
There's a natural biological instinct within all of us, an urge to avoid sickness, to escape from pain. But what happens when sickness becomes unavoidable? When the sterile, bleached walls of a hospital become more familiar than your own bedroom, the corridors more frequently trodden than your own hallways? For some people, the hospital becomes a second home, a place of frequent visitation. The nurses know them by name, the doctors become familiar faces, their routines intertwining with the daily comings and goings of medical staff.
I don't want that life. Neither for myself nor for Vicky.
I glance at the clock hanging on the wall, its ticking echoing in the silent corridor. Every minute that passes feels like an eternity, each second heavy with apprehension. Vicky is in there, undergoing tests, and I'm left to wait, the cold plastic of the waiting room chairs offering little comfort.
As I sit here, I remind myself that Vicky is 45. With age, comes the inevitable, visits to the doctor become more frequent, bodies aren't as resilient as they once were. It's the cycle of life, but it doesn't make it any easier to accept.
I've always embraced getting older, thanks to Vicky. Each year marked another chapter in our story, another year of shared experiences and moments of pure joy. She had a knack for making birthdays feel special, turning the process of aging into a celebration rather than a countdown. I recall my 23rd birthday, six years ago: a day of laughter, surprises, and unexpected revelations, a day that, even in its simplicity, was extraordinary.
But now, as the sterile lights of the hospital cast long shadows, and the echoes of distant conversations bounce off the cold walls, I can't shake off the fear, the sinking feeling that our lives are changing, that the future we envisioned is slipping through our fingers, becoming an elusive dream. The woman I love, the woman who's been my anchor, my safe haven, is in there, and there's nothing I can do but wait. I hate hospitals, and I hate feeling powerless.
But most of all, I hate the silence, the uncertainty that comes with waiting, not knowing what the next moment will bring. And as I sit here, surrounded by the sterile smell of antiseptic, all I can do is hope, and remember better times when the world was simpler, and the woman I love was by my side, healthy and full of life.
***
"You rented a what for my birthday?" I ask, hardly believing what Vicky just told me, the phone almost slipping from my hand.
"A loft, darling," her voice, soothing and smooth, comes through the other end, "Well, it's more of a neo-loft really. Practically an attic."
I burst into laughter. "Vicky, trying to downplay it doesn't work. It's still a loft, and you know it's anything but 'just an attic'."
"Perhaps, but you're worth every penny," she retorts with a lovingly defiant tone that I adore, "How long till you arrive? Everything's ready, and I'm eagerly awaiting my favorite little birthday girl."
"Besides," she adds with a slight chuckle, "I still can't convince you that moving in with me is such a great Idea and Bilbo's been meowing his heart out today. I don't want him distracting us from our special night. Which is why, a loft."
"I'm... almost ready, going to call a cab," I reply, the anticipation making me fidgety, "What should I wear, Mistress?"
"Hmm," she hums over the line, her voice dipping into that firm commanding tone that I love. "Wear something simple. And bring a spare change of clothes and lingerie. Your attire might end up... ruined, and slightly wet by the end of the evening."
My heart skips a beat. "Does that mean... are you finally..."
Her soft laughter cuts me off, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. "I guess you'll have to wait and see. Hurry up, darling."
"And oh," she adds, a note of concern slipping into her voice, "Even though it's near the seaside, dress warmly. You never know when it might snow."
"But Vicky, love, it's May," I laugh at her unusual comment, though a small knot forms in my stomach. Maybe she's just joking. "I think we're safe from snow."
There's a beat of silence before she says, "Just... just come, okay? I can't wait to see you, my beautiful girl."
As the call ends, my heart flutters with anticipation. I feel a warm blush spreading across my cheeks, my pulse racing. I can hardly contain my excitement, my impatience. An eager, delightful squirm takes over me. The promise of the night, her love, her voice -- everything swirls together into a heady mix that makes me giddy. This isn't the end, far from it. It's just the beginning of something special, something unforgettable. Tonight is going to be a night to remember, I can already tell.
My heart still racing with anticipation, I step out of the cab and stare at the luxurious loft in front of me. The modern, sleek exterior shines under the evening city lights, promising a world of opulence inside. Vicky's always had an impeccable taste, but this... this takes it to another level.
"Thank you," I say, handing the cab fare to the driver. The door shuts behind me with a reassuring thud, and the cab takes off, leaving me alone on the plush sidewalk. Taking a deep breath, I step towards the entrance.
As soon as I walk into the loft, the sight before me takes my breath away. The room is beautifully lit with the glow of a dozen candles, and soft jazz music wafts through the air. But the most striking sight is Vicky herself, standing in the middle of the room, a vision in black. Her dress, a gorgeous number with a daring cutout showcasing her toned leg, hugs her figure like a second skin. She radiates elegance and authority, like a queen in her court.
