While stripping off, I catch sight of the bruises on my body. Remnants of the abuse it endured while being jerked around in my seatbelt. A very clear cluster has formed where it would have cut into me, and there are various random ones on my arms and leg.
Leaning over the vanity, I scan my face and notice a few cuts on it, along with a nice black eye. I shake my head as I stare at myself in the mirror.“Fucking idiot.”
Turning on the shower, I wait for it to warm up this time, not wanting to be blasted with cold water. I don't know know whether I should be getting my head wet or not so I make sure to keep it out of the stream, settling for just washing my body this time. I try to hurry, but my limbs won't move as fast as I want them to.
Hurrying wasn't necessary anyway because Jasmine hasn't even moved an inch by the time I step out of the bathroom.
I walk over to my dresser with a towel wrapped around my waist, keeping one eye on her while I look through my drawers for some underwear. I don't end up finding any, which means I'll have to get some from the pile of clothes she's sleeping on.
I quietly shuffle over to the couch and look down at her sleeping form. She's naturally beautiful and especially cute while she's sleeping. I take the opportunity to take her all in. Long dark lashes fan out over the tips of her cheeks, and her top lip curls up into a natural pout. All of her features look soft and feminine, and her hair is spread out under her head as if acting as a pillow. She looks peaceful.
Tearing my eyes off her and turning to the pile of clothes she's lying on, I notice that she's gripping a pair of my boxer briefs in her hand. It brings a small smirk to my lips. I'm sure she's completely unaware that she's doing it in her sleep, but it still doesn't stop the images that it conjures up of her and my underwear.
Carefully, I pull a different pair out, hoping not to disturb her. Then, after creeping back to the other side of my dresser, where I'm out of view, I whip off my towel and get dressed. As I pull up my sweatpants, I scan my apartment and take in its appearance. It's the first time I've actually felt self-conscious about it.
I've had women in here plenty of times and some guys when the after-party has ended up here. But looking around at its messy state, the empty cans in the kitchen, the dishes that I know are in the sink, clothes left out, and how old everything is, I feel almost embarrassed about it. Maybe it's the concussion, but for some reason, I actually care what she thinks.
This place is a shit-hole. But that's one of the reasons that I picked it in the first place.
I slowly put away and tidy what I can in my bedroom area and then move into the bathroom to put away the shit on the counter. Thankfully the pain pills have me feeling somewhat okay for now. Next, I move into the kitchen and very quietly put the cans into the recycling and fill the sink with water to soak the dishes. By the time I turn on the coffee machine, I see movement out of the corner of my eye. Jasmine stirs awake and sits up, looking slightly confused.
“Hey,” I say, drawing her attention.
Her wide eyes swing to me, and she gets to her feet. “I'm so sorry, I fell asleep.”
Even as she says it, looking guilty for being here, I see her eyes assessing me, looking at my head first and then taking in the fact that I'm standing on my own two feet. I was so wrong about her only caring because she was getting paid to. If that was even remotely true, she wouldn't have brought me home last night.
“How are you feeling?” she questions.
“I'm alright. Took those pills you left for me.”
“Good. That's good,” she replies, still looking uncomfortable.
“Do you want a coffee?” I ask, pouring her one anyway before she has a chance to answer.
“Uh, sure.” She nods after considering it for a moment. “Thanks.”
“Take a seat,” I order as I start bringing her mug over.
She sits back down on the couch, and then I watch as she glances down at her hand like it touched something and then lifts up a pink, lacy thong that was probably stuck between the cushions.
Shit.
“Oh. Sorry, they were just poking out.”
Her cheeks tint pink as I half snatch them out of her fingers, passing her the coffee with my other hand, then I move back toward the kitchen to toss them into the trash. I don't know who the hell the panties belong to or how long they've been there. Add that to the list of things that make me look like a piece of shit.
“I should probably get going,” she adds a second later.
“You don't have to leave,” I tell her, avoiding looking in her direction and instead focusing on getting my own coffee. But the awkward silence that ensues has me speaking up again. “I don't have a girlfriend.”Shit, why the hell did I say that?
It's definitely the concussion messing with my head. Even saying she doesn't have to leave is kind of weird for me, considering I'm usually trying to shuffle them out the door. But this is far from the same circumstances as usual. We didn't fuck, and she's not expecting a single thing from me. My announcing that I don't have a girlfriend was probably because I don't want her to feel uncomfortable while she's here.
She comes over to where I'm standing in the kitchen, holding the mug between her hands and blowing on the hot liquid. “I kind of figured,” she says. Of course, she assumed that I didn't. Otherwise, where was this girlfriend while I was in the hospital? “I start work in a few hours, so I should go anyway.” She takes another sip and closes her eyes as she swallows. Her tongue peeks out to trail along her bottom lip, and I follow it as it goes. Then popping her eyes open again, she places her mug on the counter. “Do you mind if I check under your bandage before I leave?”
I shake my head. “Go ahead.”
“Do you have any clean bandages here?”
