SEVENTY
Nathan's hands lingered dreamily on me as he helped me dress, as if the scars didn't deter him in the slightest in the light of day. I wondered what had turned him off so completely last night, if it hadn't been my body.
The sound of crockery scraping in a metal sink reminded me of his angry sister. Perhaps I was asking the wrong person – she knew him better than I did.
Nathan offered to help me to the kitchen and make me breakfast, but I shook my head. I'd never get her to be honest about him within his hearing. "You should go hang the towels up and get into some dry clothes," I suggested, glancing down at the prominent torch he carried for me in his soaked shorts.
He flushed and grabbed the damp towels, mumbling as he strode away.
I waited until I heard the toilet door close
