I’d felt terribly afraid of her then, afraid of being open, of being selfish, of telling her what I wanted, of admitting it to her, admitting it to ...yself. No-one had ever asked me that before. They’d asked me if I liked things, the usual polite checking in that men had learned to do, but this was different. This would be an insight into my most private world, the one I shared with my pillow and laptop on the nights where I locked the cats out of the room, into the deep desires that I’d never. She had tried to look at it now that her head had cleared and she felt a little better. The bruising was evident and her foot was currently a lovely shade of purple. God only knew what the rest of her leg looked like. It was unlikely to be a pretty sight for a while. The door opening attracted her attention and she looked up expecting to see either one of the nurses or Rob. Instead, in walked a huge bunch of flowers attached to a pair of denim-clad legs. Nicole’s curiosity was piqued before. More

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