The other night dear, as I lay sleeping,
I dreamed I held you in my arms.
When I awoke dear, I was mistaken.
I just hung my head and I cried...
She got out of the shower, the steamy water on her muscles relaxed her. Her wet hair hung over her shoulders as she stood air drying on the cool tile floor. She liked the refreshing contrast as her skin cooled and the water evaporated. The mirror in the bathroom was fogged up. She stepped into the bedroom, the carpet so soft under her feet. By the glow of the bathroom light she found matches and lit some candles. Eric liked these candles she thought; he would never admit it though. She used them on special occasions like his birthday. She would light them for him tonight; perhaps leave one in the window so he could find his way back to her.
She stood in front of the mirror shedding towels. The candles left a nice rose scent in the air and the flickering light they made danced with shadows. This light was kind to her in ways people were no longer. She draws stares with her scars the way her tattoos once turned heads. Strangers knowing something happened but not wanting to ask what.
She felt the bumps on her chin where her jaw hit; nineteen stitches. Her milky blue eye always waters but this time it was a tear. She has an easy out that way; she could say 'since the accident it always does that' and not be lying. She felt the jagged seam on her arm where the pins are, it pains her if the weather is cold. Her abdomen pocked with scars from the glass; they pulled so many pieces out of her torso it must have been half the windshield.
She stood in front of the mirror taking an inventory. Counting what she had still and what she lost. She ran her fingers over her chest and arms tracing her tattoos, warped and misshapen from where they had to stretch and tuck the skin grafts. She spent so much time in the chair having them done. Now they look like a patch quilt, the sewing circle ran out of one pattern, so they swapped in another. The candles and shadows continued their dance, hiding these patches but Lauren knew her body too well now. She had explored it as she healed, taking stock of herself. She stood in front of the mirror crying.
She dropped the pile of damp towels in the hamper and spread out on the bed. Her sandy blonde hair fanned out across the pillow. It was tangled and wet and beautifully messy. She ran her hand through it and felt the cool moisture between her fingers.
My hair, she thought, my hair is still fucking glorious! Other women would kill for this thick, perfect hair.
She mused as she smiled. "Damn right they would", she whispered. She smelled it, of course it smelled great too. It smelled like her shampoo, green tea and citrus. That unidentifiable citrus that everything "citrus" smells like. Lemons, but not exactly.
She contemplated this while smelling her hair. She wanted to be held. She wanted Eric to play with her hair and smell it; to tenderly tuck loose strands behind her ear so he could kiss her forehead. She wanted him to tell her how desperately he wanted to fuck her. She wanted him to pull her hair while he did. Eric would normally be getting home soon. She wanted him to come home and find his birthday surprise.
There would be no thud of the car door nor yelping of an excited dog. No "Honey, I'm home!" with a briefcase in hand like in the old television shows. This too was on the balance sheet, in red: lost.
She imagined he came in and found her waiting, wearing nothing but a smile. Maybe she would be playing with herself and have her toy out from her nightstand. Maybe she had been naughty and needed to be spanked. He had to put her over his knee and smack her bare bottom. Her ass shook as the delicate sting traveled through the soft tissue, deeper to where the nerves are so sensitive. She got wet as her butt turned pink and warm from his gentle smacks. Hitting just the right spot every time, just hard enough, he was so good. He always whispered in her ear afterward; how soft and nice her ass was, how much he liked to grab a handful of it and feel her back arch. He traced a finger up her back to where her hair fell, admiring her tattoos. He kissed them, trying to lick them off with his tongue. She teased him "I know of a better place you can stick that tongue of yours."
This was the part where he rolled her over and worked his way up her thighs until the skin got smoother and much warmer. He would lick his fingers before doing anything, he liked the sensation of it she guessed. She could almost feel him gently press her with his tongue, probing. She knew the sensation of his warm breath on her, his tongue pushing inside, gliding along, swirling. He flicked and sucked her clit and that drove her wild. Oh how she moaned and raked her fingers in his hair. He pressed his face closer and massaged her as she squirmed. His fingers rubbed her and pushed inside and when she could take no more she pulled his face up to hers to kiss him. It was so sloppy, her juice would get all over his face and while they kissed, she could taste it. She liked the taste of herself on his lips and now it was time to return the favor.
