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The ghost of his touch is most prevalent when I'm naked

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The ghost of his touch is most prevalent when I'm naked. Which is strange because I wasn't naked when he touched me.

Showers are where thoughts of his hands haunt me. Washing my own skin feels foreign now. My hands slide across my bare stomach and I'm back there, back to that night when he kissed me and then his kisses turned into orders and his hands became firmer and his fingers pressed over my mouth.

The water is scolding hot, the only way I can stand it. When I step out of the shower, my body is red, warm to the touch. I towel off the beads of water and dress in a pair of mom jeans and a long sleeve.

What the hell am I supposed to do with my day? There's no one to hang out with. There's nowhere to go because I wouldn't know where to go without someone to show me around. I head upstairs to find some breakfast and discover dad at the breakfast bar with his head in his hands and a water in front of him.

"Wicked hangover?"

He slowly lifts his head and gives me a weak smile. "Yeah. I don't drink a lot these days. I took it way too far."

I don't comment on the fact that he doesn't drink but he chose the first night I was here to get ripped.

"I've got breakfast coming," he says as I open the fridge. There's almost nothing to eat.

"What did you order?"

"Crepes. From this Vegan store in town."

Dad dated a vegan woman a while back, she was sweet, the only girlfriend of his Coen and I have ever met. Dad settled into her lifestyle but in the end, it didn't work out. Dad's inherently selfish. He puts work above breathing. Mom is by far his longest lasting relationship and he ruined that for selfish reasons too. He's not a vegan anymore, but he doesn't eat meat.

"Will there be enough for me?"

He looks surprised. "Of course."

We fall into a weird quiet lull, I stand on the opposite side of the kitchen counter and look out the window at the passing cars, the trees and the other buildings. It's the first morning here and I miss the upstairs view of the mountains on the horizon.

"Uh," dad says. "I thought I should mention what's what around here. Hamilton Park is right down the road, just head straight up Jersey Ave. There's trees and seats and I dunno, all that pretty shit. There're live events there too. Uh, Newport Centre mall is a ten-minute walk, it's got shopping and that sort of thing. There's a ton of stuff within walking distance around here. Or a cheap Uber fair. Whatever works."

"Thanks," I say. So far, from the drive in, the area seems nice. "How come you left Manhattan?"

"Too crowded and loud," he quietly laughs as if he's embarrassed. "I must be getting old."

I circle the breakfast bar and sit beside him on a stool. "That's what I love about home," I tell him. "The peace."

"You? A troublemaker, enjoying the peace? Couldn't be."

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