Sunday, March 11, 2012

Kimmydonn Week 94: The Day After


Picture 1

Picture 2

Kimmydonn's Choice: Both

The Day After

So whatever happened to me hadn’t left Donnie unscathed. Not if he was in ICU. I was still gaping at Jeanne, my brain sluggish.

“I don’t know,” I told my roommate honestly. “I have no idea what happened last night, just that I woke up with my pants around my ankles this morning.”

It was Jeanne’s turn to gasp and stare. “What were you doing?”

I shook my head. As relieved as I was to know that Donnie hadn’t simply abandoned me in a drug-induced stupor, I wasn’t forgiving enough to go running to him at the hospital. He had still gotten me high, horny, and drunk.

“I’m going to take a bath,” I muttered, passing Jeanne and pushing open the door to our bathroom. I saw myself for the first time. Holy crap. Whoever had taken advantage of me was not gentle. I had a big blue bruise on my cheekbone beneath a nasty scrape. There was a cut near my hairline, very small, but a long streak of blood ran down my temple into my ear. My eyes were sunken and ringed in purple. I hoped it was just exhaustion and not a pair of shiners. I started the water for the bath.

As I undressed, I found more damage—mostly scrapes and bruises. A lot of dirt. It had been ground into my knees and breasts, my chin was one brown smudge. Disgusted with myself, I stepped into the ankle deep water, letting it rise as I lowered myself gently.

A hundred tiny wounds screamed in unison as the water hit them and I winced loudly. I groaned again when my butt hit the porcelain. It was one big bruise as well, apparently. I slid further, putting more weight on my shoulder and dunking my hair. Using my toes, I turned off the water and tried not to cry.

What kind of person was I? Why would I give any man such complete control over me, even one who claimed to care about me? I rubbed water over my face, rinsing away dirt, blood and tears. Then I slowly washed my hair. The act was always calming, soothing. Massaging my scalp pulled out some of the weariness and aching that had accompanied the rude awakening in the park.

“Mel?” Jeanne asked through the door. “Do you need anything?”

“Yeah, a recording of last night. You happen to follow me and get one?”

She snorted. “Nope. I’m heading out, that’s all. Anything I can pick up?”

“Um...” I pulled myself out of the water and opened the medicine cabinet. “Yeah, some more Tylenol.”

“You got it. I’ll be back in a while.”

“See ya.” I wrapped myself in a towel and collapsed on my bed, planning to recover some of the sleep lost the night before.

I’d never been one for remembering my dreams, but I woke with the afternoon sun in my window and a strange sensation. I had a memory of holding Donnie’s hand while he made love to me. That in itself was odd. He often fucked me but was rarely as gentle as this memory. Our fingers brushed softly against one another, as did our hips, his chest on my breasts, his cheek against mine. Instead of being held and positioned for maximum penetration or to aim for my g-spot, or whatever other ambition he had for that session, he lay against me, still, barely moving. I felt my entire skin ignite at the touch and now, awake from the dream or memory, I tingled all over.

I put a hand into my hair trying to hold onto the sensation. Was that last night? Couldn’t have been. Why would he get me high to be gentle with me? And if he had been, who had been so careless and rough?

I rose and strode to a mirror. The circles had been just that, and they were minimal now. The cut in my hair was practically invisible, and the scabbed scrape on my cheek looked like it was already nearly healed. I rubbed it gently and half the dried tissue came away, leaving bright pink skin in its place. I didn’t look too bad, actually.

How bad was Donnie? Jeanne had said they weren’t sure he was going to make it and he was in ICU. He had to be hurt pretty bad. I dressed slowly, not sure I wanted to see him. He had let this happen, whatever had been done to me last night. At the same time, I wanted to know what had hurt him so badly. Perhaps his injuries were the only reason I hadn’t woken up in his bed, in his arms.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.