Zach came out of the bath. Draping the silk robe around his drenched body, he walked to the closet. The robe was hung loosely from his shoulder, parting on the chest, revealing it in the mirror in front of him. He raised his hand and felt his scar on his chest with his finger. Water droplets slid down the altitudes of his abs, travelling all their way to the black trouser that were fastened inches below his navel. “Scars don’t heal, wounds do. But right now I don’t even know if my scars are because of the wounds that healed or are still the wounds that never started healing. There are so many questions that I want to ask, but I don’t know whom to ask?” He sighed, brushing back his wet hair with his fingers he slid the robe hanging on his back to his nape.
Walking into the room, he didn’t
