I study her back as she sleeps, it’s smooth and dotted with freckles. It reminds me of sex scenes in movies – the ones you’re not supposed to watch when you’re younger, but you can’t tear your eyes away.

I wait for the guilt to come. I brace for the weight in the pit of my stomach – but all I can do is look at her and hold a smile in my mouth; scared to let it escape and solidify in to hope.

She stretches and her bones creak, I turn away as she maneuvers herself to sit up against the headboard, holding the sheet to her chest.

We don’t speak; the silence makes my insides churn.

She slides her legs over the edge of the bed and sits for a moment. My eyes follow the trail of her spine and I swallow loudly. I reach for her, but my hand falls short as she stands up and pulls the sheet around her, “Can I use your shower?”

I nod and grab my boxers from the floor, slipping them on under the bed cover. “I’ll get you a towel.”

Handing it to her our fingers brush by accident and I meet her eyes with mine; I want to apologise and tell her I’m not sorry all at once. But she takes the fabric from me and enters the bathroom, shutting the door behind her as I stand there with my hands open, offering her nothing.

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