Morning After

Previous chapter.

The whole story from the beginning can be found here.

*****

Sunday morning began in the usual way, claws batting at her arm, soft meows escalating into impatient chirps. Selene groaned, dragging the pillow over her face, but cats were relentless. Their breakfast schedule was sacred, and she knew resistance was useless.

She shifted to sit up, only to feel her whole body protest. Muscles in her thigh and back tightened, her stump stiff and sore, the kind of dull ache she hadn’t felt in years, not since rehab. She winced, stretching slowly, rotating her shoulders until the tension loosened just a little. “Well,” she muttered to herself, reaching for her glasses on the nightstand, “guess golf is better exercise than I thought.”

Her crutches waited propped against the wall. She slid into them, ignoring the throbbing discomfort with practiced grit, and made her way to the kitchen. Feeding the cats came first. Ziggy twined around her crutch with the same reckless enthusiasm as always while Mango leapt onto the counter, tail flicking expectantly. She poured kibble into their bowls, the sound instantly softening their complaints into eager crunching.

With them occupied, Selene returned to her bedroom and peeled off her sleepwear, tossing them into the hamper. The bathroom tiles were cool against her foot as she eased herself onto the shower bench. Steam rose as the water poured over her, heat loosening tight muscles. She let it beat against her stump, kneading gently with her hands, massaging life back into sore skin and stiff tissue. It hurt in that satisfying way, pain that promised release.

Afterward she toweled off, the cotton dragging across tender spots. She applied ointment carefully, smoothing it into both her leg and her stump, the menthol burn mixing with the lingering warmth of the shower. The sting eased into relief.

With no concrete plans for the day, she dressed down, an oversized sweatshirt that slipped easily off one shoulder, and soft cotton shorts. Her hair she left damp, falling over her cheeks in loose strands.

Back in the kitchen, the cats were already weaving underfoot again, curious about every movement. She cooked a simple breakfast, scrambled eggs, toast, tea, and ate at the table, leaning on one elbow, watching Ziggy try to paw at the butter dish. She shooed him away with a practiced flick before finishing her meal.

Dishes clinked softly into the dishwasher. She filled a plastic bag with ice cubes, wrapped it in a towel, and carried it into the living room. The recliner welcomed her with a sigh of cushions. She propped her leg up, pressing the icepack against her knee, and grabbed the remote.

Channel after channel flipped past without holding her. News. Infomercials. Some movie she had no patience for. Finally, she left it idling on a nature documentary, muted tones narrating over footage of distant jungles.

Her attention shifted when Ziggy leapt lightly onto her lap, followed by Mango, heavier and lazier, curling against her hip. They settled in, warm little furnaces purring contentedly, and Selene let her head fall back against the recliner, fingers absently stroking their fur.

The ache in her muscles persisted, but between the cats’ warmth, the hum of the TV, and the slow melt of the icepack, it was the kind of Sunday morning she didn’t mind sinking into.

The low hum of the TV and the warmth of two purring cats had lulled her into sleep, deeper than she’d expected. When her eyes blinked open again, the sunlight spilling through the curtains had shifted, sharper, higher. Nearly noon.

She groaned softly, stretching in the recliner. The stiffness had dulled into something manageable, her leg felt looser, her stump less tender, the ache easing with rest and heat. She slid the icepack from her lap, its contents melted to slush, and carried it into the kitchen to dump in the sink.

Leaning on the counter, she wondered what the day should hold. Groceries? A lazy afternoon with the cats? Maybe a book. She was still weighing it when her phone buzzed against the counter.

A text. Alex.

Checking in to see how she felt.

Her lips curved faintly. Pride rose first, there was no way she’d admit to him that she’d woken sore as hell, that she’d hobbled into the shower like it was rehab all over again. Fingers tapping quickly, she replied, Feeling fine. Better than expected, actually.

A small lie wrapped in casual confidence.

Another buzz. Glad to hear it, was worried you might have overdone it.

She smirked at the screen, thumbs moving. You underestimate me. I don’t break that easily.

The dots popped up almost instantly. Didn’t say you did. Just checking in.

Her chest tightened a little at that, simple, careful, but it carried weight.

Their conversation carried on in quick bursts, light but steady. He asked if her cats were behaving. She replied that Ziggy had tried to climb into the butter dish again. He said he was heading out to the driving range later, asked if she wanted a rematch next weekend. She told him he’d need to work harder to impress her next time.

And though her pride still refused to give away even a flicker of vulnerability, she found herself smiling at the screen more than she meant to, her fingers lingering after each reply.

*****

Next chapter.