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Harry leaned in, his lips so close to mine, and I jerked away.
“Wait! There’s something--” I stood up and undid the top button on my coat. “I need to do this first. I owe you that.”
He watched as I undid each button, and then pulled my coat away, letting it fall to the floor, and stood before him, naked, except for my heels.
“Fuck, Stacey.” Harry scrubbed his face, his eyes swirling like a storm.
“I said I was sorry for not giving you the chance to see me. But I’m ready. Right now.”
Would he accept me as I am?I turned around slowly and then looked back at him over my shoulder.
Harry gazed back, then flicked his eyes down, studying my scars.
I averted my eyes and shivered as a draught blew across my exposed back.
“There,” I uttered. “Now you’ve seen me. Now you know.”
A cold lump sat in the pit of my stomach. I crossed and uncrossed my arms.
“Please, say something.”
“Stacey,” he murmured.
NotAnastasia.
“Can I touch you?” he asked.
I nodded. The couch rustled as he stood. He paused for so long that I jumped when his hands came down on my shoulders. His touch was no more than the weight of a feather.
“Sorry.” His voice was ragged. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I tried to turn but Harry gently held me in place.
“Please, it’s okay. I’d like to look closer.” His words were barely a whisper, his breath on my neck.
I swallowed hard and nodded. The cold lump in my stomach shifted slightly.
Harry trailed his fingers slowly down my arms and stepped back. His silent scrutiny felt like hours.
At least he hadn’t run away in horror. Perhaps he is paralysed with shock by my scars and can’t look away. Some of the medical students who had examined me in the past had been entranced by the extent of my injuries. I’d been nothing more than a shopping list of symptoms to them.
Maybe Harry was working out a way to reject me. Practicing kind words in his head that he could mumble before he sent me on my way.
Harry cleared his throat, his fingers ghosting over the ragged line where my rib had been removed. I stiffened, bracing myself for what might come next.
“How many surgical procedures have you had?”
I sniffed. Not a rejection; he spoke like every other doctor who’d been a part of my medical care.
“Twenty-three.”
Harry inhaled sharply and swore.
I took a deep breath. Silence again. I hated the silence.
“I’ve had five skin grafts but three failed,” I blurted. “The rest was surgery after the fire and some cosmetic stuff, I mean the reconstructive procedures, over the years.
“Hardest was the physical therapy a year after the fire. Turns out your ribs and shoulders have lots of muscles. They pretty much keep you upright and well, sitting really. And they move with everything you do, even just sitting. I just couldn’t move properly after the fire, and I had to learn how to sit, drive, hold myself and how to basically move again.
