Me-Before-You-by-Jojo-Moyes

dehumanized briskness that characterized Nathan’s and the doctor’s interactions
with him as possible.
It was a curiously intimate thing, this shaving of Will. I realized as I continued
that I had assumed his wheelchair would be a barrier; that his disability would
prevent any kind of sensual aspect from creeping in. Weirdly, it wasn’t working
like that. It was impossible to be this close to someone, to feel their skin tauten
under your fingertips, to breathe in the air that they breathed out, to have their
face only inches from yours, without feeling a little unbalanced. By the time I
reached his other ear I had begun to feel awkward, as if I had overstepped an
invisible mark.
Perhaps Will was able to read the subtle changes in my pressure on his skin;
perhaps he was just more attuned to the moods of the people around him. But he
opened his eyes, and I found them looking into mine.
There was a short pause, and then he said, straight-faced, ‘Please don’t tell me
you’ve shaved off my eyebrows.’
‘Only the one,’ I said. I rinsed the blade, hoping that the colour would have
drained from my cheeks by the time I turned round. ‘Right,’ I said, finally. ‘Have
you had enough? Won’t Nathan be here in a bit?’
‘What about my hair?’ he said.
‘You really want me to cut it?’
‘You might as well.’
‘I thought you didn’t trust me.’
He shrugged, as far as he could. It was the smallest movement of his
shoulders. ‘If it will stop you moaning at me for a couple of weeks I figure it’s a
small price to pay.’
‘Oh my God, your mum is going to be so delighted,’ I said, wiping a stray dob
of shaving cream.
‘Yes, well, we won’t let that put us off.’
We cut his hair in the living room. I lit the fire, we put on a film – an American
thriller – and I placed a towel around his shoulders. I had warned Will that I was
a bit rusty, but added that it couldn’t look worse than it did already.
‘Thanks for that,’ he said.