Post by Everett Price on Sept 8, 2016 10:31:22 GMT -5
He felt her small hand in the bare of his back, near the middle of his spine; her fingertips just gracing the raised gradient of skin that marked the end of his former body and the knotted surface of his new one. He did not flinch, but he did not look back; instead Everett kept his eyes downcast, back hunched from where he sat on the edge of the bed, nimble fingers threading the laces of his boots once again; feet flat on the floor.
The pads of her fingers -- not gentle, but with a peculiar smooth quality that only came with overworked calluses; the fingers of a Vasile woman, a mountain daughter -- traced along delicately the curvature of his spine; toying, Everett could tell without seeing the look on her face, the idea of letting her fingers cross that forbidden demarcation, and bumping along the valleys and ridges there -- the twisted remains of what was once half of his body.
For his part, Everett pulled tightly on the laces of his right boot and then stood, before she had to make that dangerous decision; rising from the mattress and raising his arms over his head, feeling his right shoulder pop; the skin, pinch. Still, he did not turn to look down at her.
"Must you?" Her words were soft in the dawn light; a fractal of illumination through the curtains slicing a streak across her face. She had pushed herself up on one elbow. drawing the sheets along with her; her blue eyes blinking as she looked up at the man towering beside her bed, whom only minutes before had been her equal, their difference in height and status eliminated when laying side by side.
Everett would not give her a reply. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder at her reclining form; and, bending slightly at the waist, reached forward with one rough hand and brushed the blonde hair from the crown of her head. He pressed his lips gently to her forehead, before righting himself once more.
I must.
The pads of her fingers -- not gentle, but with a peculiar smooth quality that only came with overworked calluses; the fingers of a Vasile woman, a mountain daughter -- traced along delicately the curvature of his spine; toying, Everett could tell without seeing the look on her face, the idea of letting her fingers cross that forbidden demarcation, and bumping along the valleys and ridges there -- the twisted remains of what was once half of his body.
For his part, Everett pulled tightly on the laces of his right boot and then stood, before she had to make that dangerous decision; rising from the mattress and raising his arms over his head, feeling his right shoulder pop; the skin, pinch. Still, he did not turn to look down at her.
"Must you?" Her words were soft in the dawn light; a fractal of illumination through the curtains slicing a streak across her face. She had pushed herself up on one elbow. drawing the sheets along with her; her blue eyes blinking as she looked up at the man towering beside her bed, whom only minutes before had been her equal, their difference in height and status eliminated when laying side by side.
Everett would not give her a reply. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder at her reclining form; and, bending slightly at the waist, reached forward with one rough hand and brushed the blonde hair from the crown of her head. He pressed his lips gently to her forehead, before righting himself once more.
I must.