Chapter 7 #3
My only reaction is to shake my head again and pray that the tears pooling in my bottom lids don’t fall yet.
Tenderness takes over his features, and then he finally lets go.
He doesn’t waste a second to slide his hands under the shirt, pushing the fabric up just enough for him to lay his forehead onto my now-bare stomach.
Our baby girl moves even more erratically, like she can feel him there, and I think my heart might explode when he nudges his face further.
I can feel his tears drip onto my skin, and I can’t help but let mine flow at the same time.
“Hi, Princess…” he mutters heartwarmingly before planting a small kiss to my skin.
He gently wraps his arms around me again, pulling me even closer.
I run my fingers through his hair, knowing that it soothes him much in the same way it does for me, but my nails get caught in the tangles.
That little shock of ‘oh, shit’ shoots down my spine, knowing that it could possibly trigger him.
“Shit, I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper and pull my hand back to wipe my tears, but he just shakes his head.
“It’s fine. It didn’t hurt. I’ll probably just have to shave all of this off, anyway.”
I don’t know why that suddenly feels like a war crime, but it does.
He loves his hair. Even when he isn’t feeling confident or trying to make me soaking wet, his hair is something he clings to—quite literally.
Whenever he’s too overwhelmed, he grips it like someone would grab a stress ball, and I don’t want that taken away from him.
He probably has a hard enough time recognizing himself right now, and taking his hair away would only make that worse.
“You don’t have to shave it. I can try to untangle it, and then we’ll trim it up the way you like it,” I try to bargain with him, but he’s not having it. He grits his teeth as he kisses my belly one more time, then he pulls the shirt back down.
“I don’t want you overworking yourself.”
“Please, it probably won’t take long to do it.
It’s no trouble,” I offer, but there’s a hint of reluctance behind his eyes, and my stomach churns just a little.
I don’t want him to feel like he has to do anything, and now I feel like I’m cornering him.
“I mean, unless you really don’t want me to,” I quickly add.
“We won’t do anything unless you’re okay with it. ”
“No, I don’t mind. I just…” He swallows harshly. “I want to take care of you. You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”
“Damien, we take care of each other, always. That’s what marriage is, remember? We’ve never been one-sided. Let me help you feel a little better, okay?”
He bows his head a little, like he’s still thinking it over, and then the softest “okay” slips from his lips.
As he lays his head down on my belly another time, I turn my head to see if I can catch anyone’s attention.
Carter steps out of the office finally, and his eyes meet mine almost immediately.
“Hey, could you do me a favor?” I ask him softly.
“Sure, Ash.”
“Can you run up to our bedroom and grab my barber’s bag out of the closet, please? If Zeke finds out I was climbing the stairs, he’ll lose his shit.”
Carter chuckles and sets his laptop down on the kitchen counter before walking towards the steps.
“Yeah, you got it.”
“So, stairs are no-go?” Damien picks his head up and raises an eyebrow, not really paying attention to Carter as he does what I ask.
“Well, technically I’m off bed rest and starting limited mobility today, but Zeke is insisting I give it a few more days. So I’m complying like the perfect sister that I am.”
“It sounds like you’re being a smart-ass.”
“In the most authentic way, of course.”
He finally sprouts a genuine grin, and the room spins.
I’m swooning, and now I’m really glad that I’m sitting down.
He groans as he starts to stand, and suddenly, the warm feelings start to fade.
I hate how he grimaces and has to force his muscles to move.
Maybe after I fix his hair, a hot shower will help loosen some of the ache.
I’m sure he’s desperate to have one after all he’s been through.
Carter quickly comes back downstairs, and only a few moments later, we’re setting up in the bathroom, ready to get started.
Tremors move through my hands as I take my equipment out of the bag, and I have to force deep breaths to calm myself down.
What if I mess it up? I don’t want to hurt him.
I’m sure there are wounds on his scalp as well, and the last thing I want is to pull and irritate them.
After only grabbing a comb and my spray bottle, I turn to get started.
I expected Damien to be sitting in the chair we put in here, but instead, he’s standing and waiting for me.
The moment my eyes meet his, he grips my elbows and directs me to the chair, setting me down in it before lowering himself to the floor.
Guilt washes over me in an instant. He shouldn’t be worried about me like this.
A part of me wants to stand up and demand that he sit in the chair, but that thought goes out the door almost immediately.
He was bound to a chair for practically a month…
I let the tremors snake their way up my spine, so I can shake myself out of this feeling.
He was finally starting to relax a few minutes ago—I can’t ruin that.
I can be upset later after he’s clean, warm, and so full from dinner that he wants to take a nap.
I push up my sleeves and mentally gear myself up for this.
I take my spray bottle and wet the ends just a little before I start to rake my comb through it.
The top layer doesn’t seem so bad, but it’s the underneath that I’m concerned with.
It’s deeply matted, and there might even be some mold within the nest of hair and dead skin.
Anger courses through my veins, and I can’t help but shake a little more as I try to comb it.
I’m trying to be extra careful, because just like I thought, there are deep scratch marks on his scalp—but I’m not sure this knot will be salvageable regardless.
“Just let me know if I’m hurting you, okay?” I plead.
“I’m fine, really. We should just shave it.”
Cold floods me, making me stop instantly. I don't want him to give up something that's such a big part of him. It's hair. It'll grow back, but this still seems like an act of torture in itself. It’s taking away pieces of him that he fought desperately to hold onto.
“But you love your hair…”
“It'll be fine.” His voice is so plain—so blank. I can't tell how he feels about it one way or another, but I know how deeply this will affect him. Even if he doesn’t realize it yet, it’ll hit him when he least expects it.
He doesn't need me to argue with him, though.
I need to approach this delicately, and that means giving him every bit of control that he can get.
“Well, I won’t have to cut all of it. I’ll leave you as much as I can.
” I reach for my clippers, already feeling the heaviness in my hand.
As Damien stirs between my legs, his weight presses more firmly against me, and it breaks my heart to watch him seek out comfort like this.
I can feel the tightness in his back. His muscles are so taut that the strain glides against my skin.
As much as I hate it, I need to pick up the pace.
His pain is just going to get worse the longer he's on the floor.
So, I take a deep breath and start cutting, careful enough not to aggravate the wounds on his scalp.
The pieces of hair flutter to the ground, gliding through the air much like a feather would, but this is anything but serene.
I can feel my own rage beginning to boil, but I just grip the metal and grind my teeth to hold it all together.
We just need to take baby steps. It’s easier to recover when you don’t have to strive far, and this can be the first little move.
Just make him feel better. Easing his physical pain is the start of healing his mind, and that’s exactly what I’ll do.