Chapter 3 Mirabelle #2
But I can’t help but creep up slowly behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my forehead against his back.
It’s the only way I know how to comfort him, considering the fact that my words and apologies only seemed to make things worse.
His hand comes to rest along the back of my hand, squeezing my arm closer to him.
“God, you don’t belong in this hellhole—“ he says, his voice breaking as he spins around and tucks my head into his chest.
I melt into his arms, soaking in his comforting basil scent. A soft purr vibrates out from my chest, and his arms stiffen around me.
He holds me to him for a second longer before taking a measured step back.
“Rules, huh?” He asks. His jaw is tight as shadows dance in his eyes.
I nod eagerly.
“Okay, rules... Let’s see. Rule one, don’t—don’t try to run away, got it?”
I’m practically a bobblehead as I continue to nod. That’s an easy enough rule to follow.
“It’ll be worse if you try to run away and get caught. I won’t be able to protect you from whatever punishments my crazy dad or brother come up with.”
He pauses, waiting for me to give him some sort of verbal sign I’m following along.
“I understand,” I say, flashing him a smile, now that he seems to have calmed down. “What else?”
He stares at me with the same strange, almost frozen look, his gaze roaming over my face like he’s trying to find something. Is it my smile? Do I have something between my teeth?
Probably not, since it’s been a while since I’ve eaten.
“Kind of an extension of rule one, but don’t leave this trailer without me. If you need something, I’ll go get it for you, or we’ll go together. Rule two is—“ His hands clench into fists. “You’ve gotta listen to what I say in front of other people. They’re gonna expect you to—to—“
He looks away from me as he swallows hard. Guilt and shame seem to radiate from him in waves. I can almost taste the bitterness at the back of my throat.
“They want you to make me do the things your brother was telling me to do, right?” I murmur softly.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “But it’ll only be in front of other people, I promise.”
“Okay, that’s fine.”
My agreeableness seems to grate on his nerves, because he moves past me, keeping a wide berth between us so our shoulders don’t brush in the small space.
“Those’re all the rules I can think of. Do you want a shower?” He asks, rummaging through a tiny linen closet.
My grimy knees peek out past the hem of Rowan’s hoodie, and I wince.
“Yes, please. Thank you,” I answer.
He pulls out a towel before handing it to me and nodding to the small bathroom across from what I assume to be his bedroom. It’s small, but clean, just like the rest of his trailer. There’s a second hook right next to his towel that I set my own on.
The showers at the facility were wide and open with concrete floors and shower heads that were punishing in their water pressure or barely a tiny stream, depending on which one you were assigned to.
No doors. No curtains.
Here, in Rowan’s shower, I have both.
“Here’s an old t-shirt of mine and a pair of boxers,” he says, reappearing at the doorway. His thick brows draw down when he sees me standing in the middle of the bathroom, wringing my hands. “Are you good? What’s going on? Do you need help turning on the shower?”
“Y—yes please,” I whisper.
The handlers back at the facility were always in charge of that sort of thing. They dictated the temperature, the time, and whether you were allowed soap. I don’t know what I’m allowed to do here, considering he only gave me two rules, and none of them have anything to do with showering.
Because his bathroom is even smaller than his kitchen, even though I lean against the bathroom sink and try to give him as much room as possible, he still brushes up against me as he passes me.
“There we go, should be good now. The water heater is right there,” he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the wall behind us, “So the water heats fast, but it’s a tiny motherfucker, so it won’t stay hot for long.”
I nod quickly, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the anxiety I have roiling in my gut.
“Thank you, Rowan.”
He freezes again, stopping so close to me his chest could brush mine if I inhaled too sharply.
“Say that again,” he says, his voice low. His expression shifts to something urgent. Something pleading.
“Thank you, Rowan,” I repeat, the words coming out on my exhale with no thought.
His eyes fall shut for the briefest of moments before he nods jerkily and steps out into the hallway.
“You’re welcome, Mirabelle,” he says with a last nod before tugging the door closed behind him.
It shuts with a definitive click, and I freeze in the small space, steam swirling around in the air and beginning to fog up the mirrors.
Privacy.
As my hands come down to the hem of the borrowed hoodie, my eye catches on the bathroom doorknob. There’s a lock.
From my side.
I could lock everyone out.
I spin around so my back is to the door, my hands fisting in the soft, worn fabric of the hoodie.
No. I can’t.
Rowan never said I was allowed to use the lock.
But he never said I wasn’t allowed to use the lock, either.
I’ve never been allowed to use something like that. I’ve never been on this side of a door lock before.
Rowan is nice. He’s given me a warm shower and soft clothes. I should be on my best behavior with him.
I take off Rowan’s hoodie, neatly folding it and leaving it on the bathroom counter, right next to the clean set of clothes he left for me, and slip past the shower curtain.
The water is divine. It’s the perfect temperature. Not too hot, not too cold.
As it flows down my body, I lose track of time. Panic flares up in my throat when I realize.
When am I supposed to get out of the shower?
Rowan never gave me a time limit. Most of the handlers at the facility would wait around during our assigned shower time, telling us when it was time for us to get out. There was never time to just relax under the stream.
The few bottles of Rowan’s shower products along the wall call to me. My hair is in dire need of a wash, but I’m not sure if I’m allowed to use any of those either.
My pulse races, and panic claws up my chest.
I don’t want to do the wrong thing.
I don’t want to get punished.
Not here.
Not when I know the punishments here will be so much worse than the kinds of punishments handlers would give us at the facility.
A whimper leaves my throat as I bury my face in my hands.
I’m overwhelmed.
So overwhelmed.
I have no idea what the right thing to do is! I just want to do the right thing.
A knock sounds at the door.
“Mirabelle?” Rowan calls out, from behind the door. “You alright in there?”
“I—I’m sorry, should I finish now?”
“What? No, it’s barely been five minutes. Take as much time as you need. I just heard a sound. Is everything okay?”
“I—I—“ I swallow hard and clear my throat, trying to collect my thoughts.
He said take as much time as I need. From him, I don’t think it’s a trick. Rowan doesn’t seem like the type to try and get me to slip up so he can punish me.
“Can I use your soap?” I ask timidly.
“Shit, I can’t hear you,” he grumbles from behind the door.
The door cracks open, but I don’t hear him enter the bathroom.
“What was that?” He asks.
I peek past the shower curtain, my hair probably plastered to my skull, making me look like a drowned rat.
His gaze is turned away from the shower and locked to the floor. I blink at him in surprise. He’s trying to be respectful.
“Oh, I was just asking if it would be okay for me to use some of your soap?”
“Go for it,” he nods, glancing up at my face. His lips quirk up into a barely there grin as he sees me, bundled up behind the shower curtain with only my head popping out.
That single quirk of his lips makes me want desperately to see him smile more. I’m sure it would completely transform his face.
“What’s mine is yours here,” he continues. “That goes for outside the bathroom, too, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you, Rowan,” I say, repeating his name, because he really seemed to like it the last time I said it.
“Of course,” he murmurs. “I’ll let you finish your shower. I’ll be right outside if you need me, ‘kay?”
I give him a jerky nod before he shuts the door.
My arms wrap around my middle, but instead of trying to calm the heavy, anxious dread, I’m holding in butterflies. What is going on inside my head?
I should be terrified. Horrified at the new circumstances I’ve found myself in. But no. I’m giddy.
Because of Rowan. His sheepishness. His kindness. His consideration. It’s like I’ve discovered something magical, and I don’t want to let it go.