Chapter 70 I Won’t Let You Use Me
I WON’T LET YOU USE ME
Breathe - Fleurie & Tommee Profitt
Hatchet
Kayla doesn’t announce it.
She just stands, rubs her hands together once like she’s cold, and says, “I need the bathroom.”
No one argues.
Kayla doesn’t look at any of us.
She just turns and walks into the en suite bathroom, shoulders tight, spine straight, like she’s holding herself together by force of will alone.
The door closes but doesn’t lock.
Bones shifts like he’s about to move. Honey inhales, then stops himself. Ghost’s gaze flicks to me, quick and assessing.
I reach for my pad.
I’ll go.
I turn it so they can see.
Bones studies the words, then nods once and steps back. Honey exhales through his nose, conceding without comment.
I follow.
I don’t crowd her. Don’t rush. Just stay close enough that she knows I’m there.
She’s flicked the light on, and is kneeling by the tub. She twists the tap hard enough that it squeals. Steam rises almost immediately.
Too hot.
Of course it is.
She stares into the filling bath like she’s daring it to hurt her.
I reach past her and adjust the tap.
She doesn’t stop me.
That matters.
She strips quickly, impatient, no ceremony, no invitation either, and steps into the tub before it’s finished filling. Hisses as the heat bites, then sinks down until the water laps at her collarbones.
I crouch beside the bath.
She’s shaking. Not visibly. Not dramatically. Just a fine, constant tremor under her skin, like she’s been vibrating too long at a frequency no one else can hear.
I pick up the sponge. Dip it into the water. Squeeze it once.
Still too hot.
She closes her eyes when I start washing her arms. Slow. Methodical. Elbow to wrist. Wrist to palm. Fingers last.
I don’t speak.
I don’t write.
She didn’t ask for words.
Her breathing evens out as the heat does its work. Muscles loosening. Jaw unclenching by degrees.
After a while, she exhales and says, quiet and flat, “I hate that he knew.”
I keep washing.
“I hate that he waited. That he stood there and watched.” A pause. “I hate that part of me understands why.”
That one lands heavier.
I rinse the sponge and move to her shoulders. Down her back. Careful around the base of her neck.
“You’d have told me,” she says.
Not a question.
I nod. One silent word. Big enough.
She nods, closes her eyes again, like she needed to see it to believe it.
The room is too small for distance now. Steam fogs the mirror until the edges disappear.
I strip my boots off. Then my shirt and the rest of my clothes. I step into the tub behind her.
The water sloshes.
She stiffens for half a second – then leans back into my chest with a tired sound that hits harder than anything she’s said.
I wrap my arms around her. Not tight. Just enough to give her something solid to push against.
Her hands come up automatically, fingers gripping my forearms like she’s checking they’re real.
We sit like that.
Heat. Breath. Weight.
No explanations.
No plans.
Just staying.
Then she tilts her head back and kisses me.
It’s not soft.
It’s sharp. Urgent. Teeth and frustration and need all tangled together. Like she’s trying to burn something out of herself.
I let it last two seconds.
Then I pull back.
She makes a low, angry sound and twists to face me. Water sloshes over the rim of the tub.
“What?” she snaps.
I meet her eyes and shake my head.
She reaches for the pad, thrusts it at me. “Explain.”
I do.
Not like this.
Her jaw tightens. “You don’t get to decide—”
I write again, slower this time, deliberate.
About me. I do.
That stops her. Not because she agrees. Because she recognises the boundary. And I know she’ll respect it, no matter how much she hates it.
I take her face in my hands, steady, grounding. I write one more line and hold it between us.
You want sensation. Not connection. Not yet.
I understand, but I won’t let you use me for that.
Her breath stutters.
She stares at the words for a long moment.
Then she shoves my chest hard enough to splash water onto the tiles.
“Fine,” she snaps. “Then don’t.”
She stands abruptly, water streaming off her, fury and humiliation twisted together. She grabs a towel, wraps it around herself like armour, and storms past me without another look.
The door slams.
I stay where I am.
Let the water cool.
Let the moment pass.
Holding a line hurts more than crossing it.
When I finally drain the tub and pull my clothes back on, I can already hear voices in the other room – lower now. Careful.
Honey’s voice. Steady.
Good.
It can be Honey’s turn now.
And if he does this right, she won’t even realise she’s stabilising until she already is.