“It’s a wrap,” she said, and rose, and massaged the small of her back, which after all those hours of sitting felt as if sharp clamps had been tightened through it. Her back was never quite the same since the car accident. Or was it since the Shingles? Or the bad fall? Or the earlier things that were best left unremembered?
It wasn’t only her spine that bowed under the spasm. Her muscles were responding to a lot more than just the time spent in the chair.
He looked up, annoyed and uncomprehending. “Wrap, how?”
“In all the ways that matter,” she responded. It felt like ions since a soft hand on her back would melt the stress away and deepen her breath and make sleep nestle in so close she could smell it.
Decades? Years? Months? Too long.
“Living up to your rap of being cryptic, I see,” he muttered.
It was meant as a jab, but instead made a small peal of laughter form like a pearl inside her belly.
“I guess I am,” she noted, one hand still kneading the tightness in her lumbar area, the other held close against the urge to pat his head and make it better.
She’s moving on. He’ll have to find someone else to do all that for him now.
For Linda Hill’s SoCS prompt: Wrap/Rap