Posted August 15, 2017 by Samantha Young in Uncategorized / 0 Comments



Somehow, I walked past him and down the hall. But the farther my cold, bare feet took me, the more wrong it felt to be parted from him.
My body felt tight, wanton, and dissatisfied with the distance.
More than dissatisfied.
Uncooperative with the distance.
Looking back on it, I don’t know what came over me.
I think I was exhausted with fighting something that I longed for.
Entering his bedroom, that tight, coiling sensation of need in the pit of my stomach worsened. The room smelled of him, and he hadn’t made his bed that morning. The vision of him sprawled there, naked, caused a flip low and hungry in my belly.
I walked over to the bathroom and pushed open the door. The shower cubicle was much bigger than the one in the family bathroom out in the hall, and I shivered, looking forward to feeling the hot water sluice over me. But I wanted more than that. I didn’t have the words or the power to use the words, still afraid of saying them out loud.
I stripped out of my clothes in the threshold of the bathroom and left them on the floor.
I kept the door open.
Wide open.

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