Chapter 5: Reluctant Return — Second Time

The bathroom tiles were still cool against my back when the last tremor faded, my fingers slick and trembling as I pulled them free. I sat there on the floor for a long minute, chest heaving, the copper taste of my bitten lip sharp on my tongue. Ethan’s shower water had long since stopped, but the house felt too quiet, too ordinary, while my body still hummed with the aftershocks of something I refused to name. Shame burned hotter than the orgasm itself. I wiped my hand on a towel, straightened my clothes, and forced myself back into the hallway like nothing had shattered inside me.

By the following Saturday the weight had only grown heavier. The client had sent three more increasingly curt emails demanding progress on the rebrand, each one tightening the knot between my shoulder blades until breathing felt like work. I’d lied in the last reply—claimed I was “finalizing concepts” when in truth I’d barely opened the file. Money was slipping away; another week like this and I’d be staring at an empty checking account again. Yet every time I tried to focus, the memory of concrete against my knees and thick heat leaking down my thighs pulled me under.

That afternoon I stood in front of the mirror longer than I should have. The thin sundress I chose clung to every curve, the fabric so light it left my nipples hypersensitive and peaked against it. No bra. I told myself it was because the straps had dug in last week, but my fingers drifted to the silvery lines across my lower stomach before I could stop them. He had seen these. He had still wanted me. The thought sent a confusing bloom of warmth low in my belly. “No,” I whispered to my reflection. “That was wrong.” I turned away fast and headed to the gym with Ethan, the familiar squeak of sneakers and roar of the small crowd doing nothing to quiet the pulse between my legs.

The game blurred past. My eyes tracked Derek the entire time—every flex of his back, every bead of sweat rolling down the column of his throat. When the final buzzer sounded and the house filled again with the usual storm of Xbox blasts and pizza grease, I tried to stay upstairs. I told myself I wasn’t going down there. Not tonight. Not ever again. But the laundry basket overflowed with towels I’d forgotten, and the washer needed switching before the cycle soured. My hands shook so badly I dropped a beer bottle in the kitchen; glass shattered, foam spreading across the tile. The guys laughed it off, but Ethan pulled me into a quick side-hug, his voice soft with worry. “Mom, you’ve been super distracted lately ... if work’s killing you maybe you should take a night off.” The innocent kindness in his eyes twisted like a knife. I mumbled something about deadlines and escaped downstairs, heart thudding against my ribs.