I'm staring at him, vacantly. Yet inside my head, my brain is calling out so many things to me.
My inner voice is back and I could do without her joining in. She's never on my side! My head is spinning.
I stare at my colourful bandana, wrapped around his burnt forearm. We come as a pair, he says. If I want it back, I have to take him with it!
I touch it, smoothing the fabric gently with one finger. He looks down and brings his other hand up to caress across my knuckles.
Is this another game? Another test? Another challenge?
It was always a strange competition for us, to possess the bandana.
He found it on the rocks after I dropped it, during an argument one evening. I didn't even realise I'd lost it. I was so mad. I stormed off and left him.
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I didn't even know, he was so upset, he slept on the river bank all night.
The next day, he was wearing it, tied around his upper arm, just under his white t shirt sleeve. Yes, I remember literally running into him outside his office and saw it. When I asked for it back, he said that it was his. That it suited him and he left me standing there.
A few days later, he found me in the archive room. This time he was wearing it wrapped tightly around his wrist. I got distracted that day, as he gave me a new laptop and I hugged him. Well, threw myself wantonly at him, is a better description.
