Pre-prednisone: I’m going to see the doctors. There’s got to be a reason for my shoes not fitting me. I can’t wear my favorite boots. I can’t open and shut my hands. My body is so swollen. I can’t go down the stairs without one by one-ing it down. This is ridiculous.
Jax is being so sweet and patient with me but all I want to do is sleep. My life feels like it’s unraveling. I feel like I’ll be dead two days from now. I have to give up on al our plans.
He’s running a bath for me. He’s placed candles everywhere. It set a romantic and sensual scene. I hope he’ll slip his hand in under the bubbles. I hope he’ll take me out in the middle and in my wet, freshly bathed skin can be touched. Maybe he’ll run his fingers over my scars acknowledging that I’ve been through hell and back. I’d love for him to toss my wet hair back and hold my sides while he slides into me.
Later that night: Jax came to check on me and I touched his hand onto my breasts. I felt so clinical doing it and wanted him to run his hands down my stomach to my noni (I believe that’s what some old erotic books from the 18th century call it). Jax doesn’t touch me and I want to reach out and beg. I don’t know where to start and he leaves to smoke a cigarette.