Scars

Scars

Jon

That change of clothes at the Park left me very anxious. If Hazel were any other woman I had met in life before, I would definitely think that she had done it on purpose, but my sharp male instinct tells me that she doesn't have that kind of malice. She doesn't seem to be the kind of person who sets up intentional situations; she's quite genuine and spontaneous, and that's something I envy and admire. I remember what I said to provoke her fetishistic imagination, and I smile as her head rests on my shoulder, asleep. A woman who allows herself to sleep on the shoulder of a man who is almost a stranger is certainly trustworthy. Or maybe she has a childlike soul. Maybe Hazel has a bit of both. And she's a little crazy too.

I make a decision that might not please her when she wakes up, but I head towards my house. As I park the car in the garage, I slowly turn my body to look at her a little more and admire her English beauty. The lipstick on her lips is gone after the ice cre