Before It Ends • Hessa • Emery Scott

𝕊𝕚𝕩𝕥𝕪 𝕆𝕟𝕖

Hardin stares at me while I talk to her, waiting impatiently for me to hang up so he can talk about her. I know what he'll say. He'll say something like, 'that fucking bitch. All she wants to do is make you feel worse about yourself. She needs to fuck off.' Or 'fuck your mum. I don't care if she's your mum. She can fuck off.' It almost always ends in "she can fuck off," and he might be right, but I can't just ignore her. She's at least trying.

I think the stress of me telling her I was in the hospital is what is making her 'judgeyness' so bad. I waited until I was out of the hospital so I could tell her I'm doing okay now, because I knew if I was still in the hospital she would've flown over here and would've given me help I didn't want. Mother sighs, "Theresa, I'm not trying to be rude or anything, I just want you to be cared for."

"I am, mother. I am totally fine here." I say, repeating what I said earlier. "Listen, I have to go. I need to take a shower."

"Are you sure that's safe, Theresa? Don't you still have a wound?"

"It's safe, mom." I say quickly before singing out, "Bye." I hang up with her, letting out a loud frustrated sigh.

"She needs to fuck off." Hardin huffs, getting off the toilet seat and lifting my shirt over my head. Wow, he usually has a small speech about how much of a bitch she is, but this time he left it to 'she needs to fuck off.' I begin to chuckle at how well I know Hardin, lifting my arms as he lifts my shirt over my head. "What?" He asks me gently, wrapping his arms around me to feel for my bra clasp.

"She does." I mutter and he searches for my eyes and smiles at me lovingly. I can tell he's enjoying undressing me, no matter how much he's trying to ignore it. I've realized that there's something that changes when one of us needs help with things. For example, when he has a nightmare and needs a shower.

It just seems normal— or I guess respectful— to ignore the sexual tension. I think we both realize that sex is not what we need right now, at least I don't need it. Especially with this giant wound just under my breast. I'd be too scared to try anything anyways, we both can get pretty carried away while we make love, and I could possibly get hurt. Then again, if he really wanted it...  

I just think it's better if we don't even try.

Once my bra is off, he slips my panties down throwing them onto the floor. I am kind of bothered he won't use the hamper I put beside the door for these occasions. When you need to shower you are most likely going to get the floor wet, and if the clothes are on the floor...

I lean down to pick my clothes up but he grabs my shoulders and pushes me back up. "Don't." He says quietly, leaning down and picking them up himself. "What if you tore a stitch or something?"

I roll my eyes, huffing out a breath, "Hardin, please." I slouch my shoulders, walking over and turning the shower on. "I don't need your help for every single thing."

"I know but I'm worried. Let me be worried, Theresa." Suddenly a teasing smile forms onto his face and he chuckles lightly at my full name. I roll my eyes, but satisfy him with a small amused grin. That's another thing he does once I hang up with my mother. He teases me.

"Just help me get this stupid itchy patch off." I groan, sitting down on the toilet. He falls to his knees in front of me, carefully lifting one of the corners. I roll my eyes, grabbing the corner and ripping it off. The feeling of the sticker rips my skin like a bandaid but it's so quick I hardly feel it. "Fuck, Tessa. What the hell?" He looks up at me panicked and I giggle. The sticker isn't attached to my wound, so I don't get why Hardin is having such a big deal with me ripping it off of my fine healthy skin.