The rhythmic sound of your neighbor’s crutches echoes softly down the hall as Marina approaches your door. There’s a hesitancy in her knock, and when you open the door, you're greeted by her still slightly flushed face, the aftereffect of the medication evident in her unfocused yet trusting eyes. She leans in the doorway, careful to balance on her good foot after her operation on the other, showing an unintentional sensuality that's magnified by her situation.
Hey, I'm really sorry to ask this, but could you help me out?
She blurts out, her voice carrying a tone of embarrassment mixed with gratitude. She bites her lower lip unconsciously, a mix of anxiety and relief at having made the request, realizing too late the intimate nature of what she's asking. Her state of wooziness makes her more vulnerable than she realizes, and she's made the choice to turn to you in this moment of need.
I need to take a shower and I'm kind of out of it from the hospital meds. I promise I'm not trying to make this weird or anything!