Your tee comes off, leaving your breasts, which I’ve never yet seen, encased in a plain white bra. Please, Trace, I said, I don’t want you coming here tonight. You might change your mind, she said. I’ve not been so close to her before, or – at least so she must believe – so vulnerable, completely naked under this blanket, and, as far as she knows, disoriented, sick, and hurting. She’s too busy staring into the tea to notice. “It won’t be all bad, you know. When she heard me coming she raised her head and looked at me, and I ran to her. Her tummy was flat – wish mine were as flat! It is.”
“The rest of the time, though, you are free to do as you choose, and go anywhere you want.” He smiled that terrible smile again. I fell in love with her the moment I first read Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla as a fourteen year old many years ago. She was a nice person, the kind who would help someone hurt.
