There was a fragile kind of beauty about her, Matt decided as he watched her tip-toeing around his prone form draped across the battered leather couch they owned. Her hair, wet with rain that pattered continually outside their three room apartment and clanging noisily around in the gutters was a deep, warm amber hue that changed as she moved, the tendrils of it sticking to the sharp planes of her cheekbones that people sometimes said were signs of anorexia.
He was supposed to be asleep or so she thought. He continued to watch her from beneath half closed eyelids that hid those hazel brown eyes she said were the colour of her first pet cat’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if she was complimenting him considering that the cat itself was the most precious thing in her life till it conked off five years back. That was when she met him. That was also when he realized that she was beautiful. Despite the scars that ran along the insides of her thighs and the brutal marks that scored her lower back. He could feel every one of them each time he helped her undress in the dark. The smoothness of her shoulder blades as he slipped off her favourite coat and thin work shirt. The sigh of his hands, his rougher skin rasping against the softness of hers. Till he reached that hollow. The ridges of the scars bit into his palms and he would wince. Thankfully in the dark. It did not disgust him the way it did her exes. With the touch of the scars, there came a quiet sorrow, almost mourning. For innocence lost. And he would draw the folds of her shirt away from her back as if they remnants of her past still bled crimson into the gossamer fabric.
They would go to bed, together, as they did for five years now. And he would make a pillow of her hair. Breathing in the scent of her. The smell of the diner’s across the street tinged with the shampoo she used earlier that morning. Always that sweet musky scent that relaxed his muscles till he fell asleep, dreaming of looking into her eyes across the diner’s red check tablecloth and seeing her drowning in her dreams. He would clutch her tighter to him and she would mumble quietly in her sleep. By morning, everything would be forgotten. Except the scars.