"I've already showered."
He smiled again. I couldn't quite describe that smile—it was a bit mischievous, a bit roguish, but different from the way he was in college. Maybe it was the alcohol clouding my judgment.
He didn't take long in the shower. When he came out, his hair was still dripping wet. I watched as a drop of water rolled down from his collarbone to his abs, eventually disappearing into his waistband. The small spark inside me suddenly flared up, burning away any remaining sense of decency.
The alcohol blurred the process. After cooling down on the balcony, the embarrassing memories returned with clarity.
He was changHe was changing the sheets, his back turned to me. I saw the scratch marks on his back, and my ears burned. I left his home without saying a word.
Before Noah came back, I didn't feel a single ounce of satisfaction from my little revenge. You couldn't truly empathize until you had gone through the same thing.
This week, I used my period as an excuse not to sleep in the same bed with him. He had suspicions in his heart, but didn't say anything.