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Connecting The Dots
Rubbing my eyes, I shuffle my feet across my carpeted living room, and laminated dining room to come to a halt in my kitchen doorway. My tired eyes become completely alert along with my fuzzy brain as I rake in the sight of the 6’2” muscular work of art whisking a bowl of eggs at my kitchen island. Shirtless, I might add. He looks right at home, humming to himself while his muscles flex with every minute movement he makes. His black sweatpants hang low on his hips, but from here, the island is blocking my view of the goods I was hoping to ogle. However, I can't help the pang of guilt I feel when I take in the ugly knife wound to his abdomen. The bruising around the wound looks ghastly and the edges don't look as healthy as they should for over a month's worth of healing, but deadly poison
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