Standing in front of the mirror, Josh realised he'd been here before. Not the physical space, but the predicament of thinking of shaving. It didn't count as a beard, and never would. It was more a statement against conformity, of having habits and routines. He was vehemently against them. Habits were for weak people. People who needed crutches to get by in life. They were the maps of life, and Josh felt it better to run headlong towards the horizon. He didn't care if there was a cliff at the end and he'd be jumping off it before he reached thirty. All the better.
No. Fuck shaving. If Skye wasn't interested in him for who he was, then she could leave. Well, technically, he'd be the one leaving, as this was her place.
He put her razor back on the ledge of the bath, and memories of last night flooded back. They'd drunk wine in that bath and just the thought of her naked gave him pause. Was it worth not seeing her again?
He'd had the same thoughts with Tracey. Not about the bath, but of seeing her naked. Back then, he did shave, and he regretted it ever since. It changed the balance between them. In some twisted way, Tracey wanted him to not shave, even though she'd begged him to. She wanted him to defy her. And once he didn't, she lost interest.
Josh walked out of the bathroom, only to find Skye absorbed in a magazine.