Emma
Before gathering a few things from the suite attached to Rett's, I did as I should have done downstairs and entered the bathroom. My reflection reminded me that Rett had simply zipped his pants and buckled his belt to return himself to a less haggard state. I would need more work to accomplish such a goal.
I ran my hand over my mussed hair, no longer all contained in my braid.
Running a washcloth under warm water and applying bodywash, I found my thoughts somewhere between self-loathing and imagining possible forms of mariticide. That was if we were married. If not, it was simple homicide. As I washed away the remnants of our gratuitous afternoon dealings, my thoughts vied from one end of the spectrum to the other regarding our marital status.
Choosing to save the hot shower, p
