Page 81 of Aftersome
I could tell he was amused now as he tried to hold back a smile. Clearly I was everything but as my breaths came in quicker and my cheeks went hot.
“Mal…” I looked away from the man in my bed, suddenly feeling entirely out of place and unsure. It had been so long since I’d been in bed with another man.
Not since Hayes.
Even if we weren’t doing anything wrong, it still had my heart racing.
“I told you to trust me, Doe. I would never do anything to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable, you know that, right?”
“I know,” I grumbled, still refusing to look at him.
“Then please, let me do this for you. Let me help you,” he begged, and suddenly I felt like I had to give him a chance.
Even though I knew we shouldn’t further complicate whatever this was, I still had found myself climbing onto the bed where I aligned my back with his chest and my legs between his. It was challenging at first to get up over his legs without making things too uncomfortable. That’s why I kept my eyes low as I practically straddled him before getting into position.
“Scoot up a bit.” He nudged my hip softly, causing me to jump forward. “Perfect,” he praised, causing my neck to break out in warmth. “I’m gonna brush your hair now, okay? Let me know if I’m hurting you.”
Instead of responding, I nodded. Then reaching for the two items that I could never live without, I pulled them in close to my chest.
My blue octopus, and my favorite book,The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.On the days I hurt, on the days I’m happy, or on the days that I wish he was here, I hold the reminders of him close to me as if I can feel him.
As if he’s somehow with me.
And for a moment, I can sense Mal watching me from behind as I hug the items close. He knows what they are and what they mean to me.
It would be obvious to anyone, so that’s why he doesn’t ask.
So then closing my eyes, I anxiously wait for the bristles of the brush to glide across my scalp and just when I thought he was going to do it, he didn’t. Maybe he wasn’t sure where to start? Or this was his first time brushing someone else’s hair? Whatever it was had me sitting there waiting, until finally I felt the pads of his fingers graze my neck as he gathered my hair from the front of my chest and moved it to the back. He did the same on the other side and once all my hair was resting along my back, he began to brush.
Instantly, my eyes closed on a sigh. Starting from the top of my head, down to the bottom, he used the softest of pressure as he worked the hairbrush through my locks. My hair had been a mess of knots and snarls after crying into my pillow all morning, but luckily he was taking extra precaution as the brush started to get caught up.
He didn’t force it through. He didn’t even try to go around it. Instead, he gently brushed it out and stopped to make sure I was okay.
It melted my heart.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, curious to know his answer as to why he chose to do this.
“Because I want to.”
Simple. Straightforward.
“I haven’t had anyone brush my hair in so long. It feels nice,” I admitted as he made his way onto the right side of my head.
“Anytime you need me to do it, I will.”
He said that now, but I felt as though that might change when tomorrow came. When he comes to his senses and realizes that he should have never come to see me. I’d remember it forever, though, just in case I needed a reminder of how Mal could be.
Or how we could be.
“Where did you learn how to do this anyway? To be so gentle?”
He paused his brushing but soon started back up.
“I…” he began, but on a deep sigh he struggled to continue. Whatever he was about to say was going to be something deep and very slowly, I placed my palm onto his thigh in reassurance.
Telling him that it was okay to continue and that I was here for him.
“It was something stupid I did as a kid. I found an old doll in the street one day and decided to take it home. I cleaned it up thebest I could, but the hair on it was fucked. Just a giant knot, so I stole one of my mom’s old hairbrushes and started to brush the doll's hair.” He sounded conflicted with his own story. Like he was angry about it or maybe with himself. “Every night I would do it. Even when all the knots were gone, it became a distraction for me.”
