“Can you move it up a little? I’d like to feel the water if you don’t mind,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. My desire to run and hide conflicts with the deep desire to let him take care of me. It’s miserable, painful, and exhausting.
“Just tell me when you want me to stop.” His voice breaks into my thoughts and startles me. I nod. The heat warms my skin and I take a deep breath as I stretch out my fingers. The water runs down my aching muscles. He touches my shoulder and I jerk backward.
“I’m sorry,” he says with concern in his voice. “After what you went through—” He pauses and clears his throat. “I’m such an idiot.”
“I just wasn’t expecting it. That’s all.” My breath comes in puffs as I calm myself.
“Well, you scare me,” he says under his breath. His face lingers inches away as he reaches for the soap. I want to touch him, and yet I’m afraid. My mind imagines things that it shouldn’t like being wrapped up in his arms, and letting him take care of me.
“What do you mean?” I heard him say it and refuse to ignore it. “How do I scare you?” I look at him while lathering my hands and arms.
“You just do,” he says without further elaboration. He steps out of the shower and I rinse as much of my body as I can, getting rid of all the ugliness caked in my pores. I rinse it all off until the pink water runs clear.
My shirt, my pants, everything is soaked through. I pull the curtain back. He tries not to invade my privacy, so he stands facing the plain white drywall.
“Can you help me? I really want to wash my hair, but I don’t want to mess up my staples.”
“Umm sure.” He averts his eyes, but his hands begin to pull my hair backward. “Just lean back some, and I’ll rinse it out for you.”
His hands. His hands are strong as they massage the water through my hair. Blood drips off the tips into the tub. He puts shampoo in, carefully scrubbing around my staples. He gently pulls my head side to side as he rinses everything off. I keep my eyes closed and sigh. It feels so good.
He rinses it out, and brushes it back with his fingers. I expect his hands to release me, but they don’t. They just keep caressing my hair. I turn slightly and our eyes meet. His are black with emotion like deep pools. His lips part, his hands caress my head, and water drenches us both.
Oh my goodness. I’m falling for him.
I clear my throat and he tears himself away. I breathe heavily, close my eyes, and unconsciously place my hands over my chest.
“Are you finished?” he asks quietly, but his voice hides some intense emotion and cracks at the end.
“Yeah, you can turn it off now.”
I watch him as he turns the knobs. Beads of water run down his face and back as he reaches for his towel. I can’t tear my eyes away as he dries off. He leans over me, and his jaw is so close to my lips that I fight the urge to draw him in.
As he carries me out of the bathroom, I see my reflection in the mirror. Purple bruises mark my face and the stitches on my lip look nasty. My eyes stand out like turquoise stones amidst the damage. A mass of sopping wet curls hang over his shoulder, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He puts me on the bed and hands me a clean pair of scrubs. I shiver. He grabs his towel and I take it.
“Sorry, I only have one towel. I’ll get more later.”
But I wave it off. He tries not to watch as I dry myself. It’s silent except for our breathing. Even Zeus senses a change and lays still. I feel a strange tingling inside that I’ve never had before.
“Do you mind?” I ask quietly, holding up my new shirt.
“Oh… um… yeah, I’ll turn around, sorry,” he mumbles as he turns.
I peel off my top layer, dry off again, and quickly pull on the new one. Dang. He forgot to give me a bra, and I’m not about to ask him for one. I’ve given up enough privacy already. It takes me longer to get my wet pants off. I kick them to the floor and pull the new ones up. Every muscle aches and I’m exhausted. Who knew a shower would take such a physical and mental toll?
I lie down again, fresh and clean. It’s a relief to wipe away the dirt, the blood, and the invisible, violating handprints all over me. Except his hands left new, soothing ones. I still feel them tangled in my hair; I still see his face.
He pulls a new shirt over his broad back and turns. Rational behavior escapes me when I think too much about him. I don’t recognize this feeling, but its all-consuming power disturbs me.
I have to stop, but my mind fights against me. Do his feelings go beyond this too? I thought I felt a connection beyond what should be there. What’s wrong with me? He’s forbidden fruit. Yet, as I lie in bed, my mind replays the shower with him, over and over.
Night again. Waiting for the inevitable. Praying it doesn’t happen. The moon is full. Light glimmers through my curtains. I lie in my bed, hoping tonight is one of the nights he doesn’t show up, since work sometimes keeps him occupied.
“Your mother has been difficult as of late,” he whispers as he lifts the sheet. “I think we’ll have to do something about that.” I swallow the fear rising in my throat. He wraps his right arm over mine and sighs. “Work was tough today. I can’t always stay focused. I have certain weaknesses that cripple me.” I feel my nails digging into my palms. “Beauty, for example, is a weakness for me. It’s such a shame you’re so young. We could do amazing things together,” he says. I want to scream, but I don’t.
“My mother is beautiful,” I blurt.
He places his hand on my face. “Hmm, she was when she was young, but she’s lost her youth with the unfortunate death of your father.” Cruelty lies behind his words. I push him away. He rolls his body over me, pinning me down. My eyes snap open, and the face staring at me is the face of the guard who attacked me. I scream and he slaps me. My head is dizzy. He grabs my face and kisses me with passion.
“Get off of me!” I scream, trying to push him off, but he’s dead weight. He doesn’t budge. He crushes my chest and my ribs crack one by one. My lungs deflate. I have no air to breathe. Everything turns black. I’m dead.
My eyes flip open like switches and my heart pounds in my ears. It was just another nightmare. But more vivid than before. A dream crafted from my sick reality.
My pillow is soaked. I look around and it takes me a moment to realize I’m still in Cole’s room. I take deep breaths to calm my racing heart and panicked nerves. My chest aches with the reminder of my injuries. Inhale. Exhale. I lie down on my side and grunt as stabbing pains shoot through me.
Zeus takes up a lot of room, so I move toward the wall. I reach for my sheet. Where is the sheet? I feel around for it, knowing I’m starting to make too much noise. My fingers find the edge and I pull. It’s stuck. Great. I roll over and gasp. Cole’s face is next to me… in bed.
“What are you doing?” I freak out.
His eyes jump open. “It’s not how it looks. Please let me explain!”
“I think you better!” I yell in anger.
“You were screaming in your sleep.” He sits up and turns. I hear a click and the room lights up. I groan, wondering what happened in the room that I missed. The sheet looks like confetti thrown all over the floor. Zeus has slivers stuck to his chin.