You Are Strawberry Ice Cream |
 A bit shy and sensitive, you are sweet to the core. You often find yourself on the outside looking in. Insightful and pensive, you really understand how the world works.You are most compatible with chocolate chip ice cream. |
I finally made it. Now it just needs to be edited *bangs head against desks in exhaustion*
April 29, 2008
Jordan slapped at the blaring alarm clock with enough force to knock it from the nightstand onto the floor. She opened one eye and scanned the room, hoping the light infiltrating her lids had been a lamp she’d forgotten to shut off and not the sun glaring through the windows. No such luck. Where had the night gone?
In a futile attempt to block out the day, she pulled the covers over her head. Several minutes passed before the guilt finally won out and she hauled herself from the warmth of her sheets. Yawning, she tugged the curtain back, peeked outside and squinted against the sun’s glare bouncing off the fresh dusting of snow that covered the ground and most of the cars. “Great,” she grumbled. Before she could go anywhere, she’d have to clean the annoying white stuff from her truck. Oh what she’d give to move somewhere warm.
She finished climbing from the bed and headed for the bathroom. Maybe a splash of cold water would help rid the fog inside her head. If she’d been on the ball last night, she would have set the coffeepot to brew this morning. No such luck. Without a good jolt of caffeine to wake her up, she’d have to shock her system instead. Pausing at the closed door, she cocked her head to one side. Funny, she didn’t remember closing it before bed last night. Then, with Derek being here things had been a little distracting, so maybe she had and simply didn’t remember. Jordan opened the door to step inside and stopped dead in her tracks. Derek stood naked, one foot on the side of the tub as he dried off. He froze. His eyes went wide as he saw her.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t tear her gaze away from the fine specimen of a man standing in front of her. Lean legs connected to solid, well-defined abs, not quite washboard, but damn close. Her gaze continued up, following his form. Light brown hair peppered his muscular chest. A large, angry red scar marred the perfect skin on his right shoulder. Most impressive of all was the fine set of equipment now hanging at half-mast between his legs. Damn if the man wasn’t built.
“I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were in here.” She tried to look away, but her eyes wouldn’t follow commands.
“It’s okay. I probably should have locked the door.” He stared intently at her even as she watched him. When she licked her lips, he dropped the towel. She hadn’t meant to do it, she’d wanted to turn and walk away, but her legs were lead weights, keeping her rooted in place.
He moved toward her and lifted his hand to her cheek. “Do you always watch your houseguests dry off after a shower?”
She skimmed her hand along his arm, feeling the hard muscle beneath tighten. “Not usually—then none of my house guests ever looked as good as you.”
With his thumb, he angled her chin up, his lips now millimeters away from hers. “Does that mean you like what you see?”
That is the topic up for discussion around our house the last few days. The reason for the debate? Over the weekend, I had what I am 99% sure was a miscarriage. The problem? I didn’t know I was pregnant. We weren’t trying and had no plans to have any more children. I had no missed periods, no strange food cravings or nausea, no symptoms at all. Yet all evidence points to the fact that I have yet lost another pregnancy.
Now I know there was a reason for it and I should be giving thanks for not ending up with an ‘unwanted’ pregnancy (though I would have happily welcomed another and been thankful for it), and I’m not heartbroken like I was the last time it happened (we were trying then). But like last time I am plagued by the what if’s. For me, despite the fact it was unplanned, it was very much real and I’m now left to forever wonder would it have been a boy or a girl? What it would have looked like? Who’s personality would it have taken after? And the big question…if I had known earlier, could I have prevented the miscarriage from happening? I knew last time and couldn’t stop it, but this time could have been different. All my speculation, led to a conversation with my husband which is where the ‘what is real’ discussion come into play.
For my absolutely wonderful and loving husband, something isn’t real unless it’s tangible to him. That is, he has to see it, hear it, smell it, taste it, etc… Because he couldn’t see it, it wasn’t real. I know it’s not that he’s being harsh or unsympathetic, it’s simply how he is. So that led me to the question…what is real? To my friends who have also suffered through similar experiences and to my step-sister who has suffered the same loss just one short week ago, its real. To their spouses, it’s not. Is the answser as simple as emotion vs logic? Or is it more along the lines of genetics, a male/female thing? If something is real for you, is it also real for others, or vice versa?
It’s flash fiction wednesday over at the loose ID author blog. The topics are sexy, naughty and hot. Pop on over and check it out.
You Couldn’t Cheat On Your Guy |
 Not that you’d want to anyway! You’re incredibly loyal and honest… Definitely not the cheating kind. |
My heart goes out to the friends and families of the victims of yesterday’s horrible tragedy.
