There are parts of us we never show anyone, but I wanted Abi Sinclair to see them all.

She had arrived earlier in the day wearing a white baseball top with black sleeves that had complicated written across the front. Wasn’t that the truth? A vision in black Converse and some kind of slouchy jean that looked a size too big but still managed to frame her hips perfectly. She was decidedly more dressed down than me, and when I called her out on it, she said training days offered social workers the opportunity to dress as themselves. I so got that. Putting on a suit made my calves cramp as soon as I buttoned up the trousers. By the end of the day, I would quite happily step into my flat and undress in the hallway a second after closing the door.

I could readily admit that I preferred seeing her in her swimsuit and the towelling robe that wouldn’t keep shut. Sitting on the grass gave me a great look at her long, toned legs. Only Abi could rock her almost nakedness in the pelting rain sitting crossed legged on a soggy lawn. I’d fought the urge to hold her. I’d wrestled the urge to kiss her. I’d lost the battle to keep away from her. I had fucking bathed her, and now she was lying in my bed.

I watched her sleep; she was exhausted and had fallen asleep in my arms almost immediately, allowing everything I had memorised to come back to life in front of me. I took her in, every inch, knowing this would be my only chance. My hand gravitated towards her hip. I didn’t realise how much I had missed that hip, the sharp bone against my fingers, the curve of her skin just asking to be held.

When we were together, I always looked for an excuse to wake her up in the middle of the night just to talk to her. I’d hated that sleep took her away from me. I would wrap my arm around the ticklish spot just beneath her ribcage. I would whisper how much the world had improved since she’d walked into my life. When she’d stir, I’d feel a sense of victory. Not only would she be mine again, but I’d also know she felt the same when she didn’t nudge me off the bed in anger after I’d wake her up. She’d smile. Hold me tighter. Kiss my neck or reward me with a full stroke down my cock.

Blindsided. Always.

I didn’t do that tonight, though. I didn’t want to wake her. I wanted to take her all in. She’d added a piercing to the top of her ear and had three earrings now instead of just two. They suited her. The shine of the diamonds glistened in the light from above the bed that I couldn't bring myself to turn off. If I had, it would have left us in darkness and I wouldn’t have been able to study her.

Or remember her.

She had a smudge of mascara underneath her left eye. It made me wonder about the number of times she had smudged her eye make up because of me.

She had removed her nose piercing but I could still see where it had been, a pinprick of a white scar in its place. I liked it. It represented memories that left scars and told stories about a life before.

Like a tattoo. A tattoo we shared. I should have known. We probably had it done on the same date at exactly the same time.

She allowed me to trace it with my fingers for a while. It wasn’t sexual, even though I still felt that network of nerves fizzing between us. We were reconnecting, pretending and losing ourselves in each other after such a long time apart.

After an hour, she woke up with a smile but slowly began withdrawing herself. I went into her room and brought her bag through. It was still full where she hadn’t had the chance to unpack.

She asked me to turn so I couldn’t see her get dressed.

I refused.

She smiled.

I laughed nervously.

She got dressed painfully slowly.

Painfully for me.

I told her that I knew every inch of her and would never forget. She cried so quietly she was almost still, apart from the small rise and fall of her shoulders. We stayed wrapped in each other, her standing, me sitting on the bed pushing my head into her chest while she wrapped her fingers through my hair, loving me.

I shouldn’t have let her stay.

She had spotted the scar on my hand as I gripped the notch of her hip. She said she hadn’t seen it before, which shocked me. I had grown so used to it now that it was as much a part of me as anything else. She didn’t know anything about it. How much time had passed us by? When I admitted that I’d punched a wall after imagining her being touched by another man, she laughed heartily as she disappeared into the bathroom saying my self-inflicted injury had made her feel slightly better about my status as a married man.

‘I’m ready.’ She walked out of the bathroom, making me jump out of my thoughts and turn to her. She was stunning. She had dried her hair so that it had a natural curl and it was flowing across her shoulders. She had on her slouchy jeans with a black crop top and heels. My eyes fell to them. I was always partial to heels.

‘You look beautiful,’ I said as I cleared my throat.

‘Thanks. You look scruffy in a put together way. I like the look,’ she said, taking me in with her eyes. I was wearing a blue suit jacket over a lighter blue shirt with black jeans and white trainers. ‘I’m yet to see the socks. They always did it for me,’ she laughed. I immediately pulled up my trousers at the knee to show her the brown, purple and black stripes. I felt fucking amazing because I had again caused that hearty laugh I didn’t know I craved until now.