Marrying a Boxer | H.S.

Chapter 49

The first sunrays slip through the curtains and delicately graze my cheeks. I take a deep breath and slowly open my eyes, stretching out my limbs as gently as I can, so I do not wake Harry. His arms are wrapped around me, loosely, his short curls laying messily on the pillow and on his forehead. I smile to myself and thank god for allowing me to return to the man I love so much.

Carefully, I lift Harry's arm off my body and remove myself from the bed. He turns on his left side but does not wake up. I grab some clothes and walk into the bathroom.

I try to not look at myself in the mirror, but end up doing so anyway. The person who stares back is someone I don't even recognize. Her appearance is a mess. Her cheek is swollen and purple, tired eyes, and pale skin.

"You're a mess, dear."

My mother's words ring in my head and I sigh. I mean... she wasn't wrong. With a shake of my head, I remove my dirty clothes and jump in the shower.

As the hot water falls on my skin, I feel like the events from the past days are being washed down the drain, along with my worries of it all repeating itself. However, I know that I cannot wash away the memories. Although I was unconscious for the most part, what I was able to witness was enough to traumatize anyone. The loud gunshot still echoes through my mind and I can still see Nathan's cold, lifeless body.

I shake my head, trying to get rid of those memories, but failing to do so.

After washing my hair and body, I turn the water off and step out of the shower, wrapping a warm towel around my body. The large mirror on the wall is completely fogged up, only reflecting my blurry silhouette. I go to wipe it off but stop myself when I see the deep purple bruises that cover my wrists.

"Fuck you, Nathan," I whisper. Why does everything have to happen to me?

I apply moisturizer and slip on the jeans and sweater I picked. With the towel, I quickly dry my hair as much as possible and brush it with my fingers, feeling too lazy to use a hairbrush in order to make my blonde locks look sort of presentable.

My feet walk me out of the en-suite and I see Harry sitting up on the bed, stretching out his arms and letting out a groan. His eyes focus on me and he immediately leaves the warmth of our bed, stumbling slightly as he makes his way toward me.

"Sweetheart," he says, wrapping his arms tightly around me, nuzzling his face on the crook of my neck and inhaling deeply. "Good morning." His husky voice is laced with sleep, erupting butterflies in my stomach. My dainty arms hug him closer to me, my head on his chest. I can hear his heartbeat, strong and steady.

"Good morning, Curly." He places a lingering kiss on my forehead, and once more, I thank God mentally. These little moments are the best part of life and I'm barely starting to realize it.

Harry kisses the top of my head and says, "I'm going to take a quick shower, baby." I let go of him and he walks in the direction of the bathroom, rubbing his eyes.

With a sigh, I start making the bed, something I have not done in years. Maura is the one who usually makes the bed, and when I lived with my mother, well, we had maids who were in charge of that. But I remember when I was little, one of the maids taught me how to make my bed after I asked her to teach me. As a little girl, I never did it correctly, of course. And since I never really practiced it, I never perfected it. I feel silly because I'm a grown woman, I should already know how to do this simple task.

I step back and look at my work. The quilt is longer on the left side, and the decorative pillows don't look as pretty as they usually do, some are crooked, some look like I just jammed them in between. Which I did.