Chapter 8
Ashia
‘Comatose’ – S?d Ven
I sweep the last of his hair into the dustpan, fighting the urge to look over it again.
He would probably think that I’m staring at it because I don’t like it, when in all reality, I just want to make sure I cut it right.
It actually looks really good…like ‘I might swoon again’ good.
I’m not normally a fan of the undercut, because then it just eventually turns into a man bun, but on him it’s fucking hot.
It doesn’t help that we cut his beard off, and now I can see more of his handsome face.
I was afraid that cutting his hair would be a crime against humanity, but his facial hair is the real culprit.
Even now as I glance over at him and memorize his features, he doesn’t look any different to me than he always has.
Well, apart from his anxiety, of course.
He's rubbing the back of his head, which is now bald towards the nape of his neck. His gaze is locked on the floor, and even though he’s not standing so stiffly anymore, I can’t seem to tell what he’s thinking.
“Are you okay?” I ask him softly.
“Yeah,” he replies back as a whisper, but then he clears his throat.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It feels a lot better. Thank you.
” He turns his head towards me long enough to curl his lips in a fake grin, then he runs his hand through the top of his hair.
I was able to leave about five inches, so the front still touches the bridge of his nose like he prefers, but I know the shaved part is going to take some getting used to.
“Anytime.” I mimic his small smile and then put the broom and dustpan to the side. “Do you want to take a shower? I can help you take all of the bandages off…” He tenses at my suggestion, and I immediately try to backtrack. “Or I can step out. It’s whatever you—”
His hand snaps out before I can finish and grips my own. He pulls me back over to him and snarls, seemingly hating the idea of me walking away. I melt into his arms as he wraps them around me, and when he fits his face in the space between my neck and shoulder, I cradle his head.
“No, I will. Just…just don’t go,” he pleads.
“Okay… Okay, I won’t.” My hand glides up and down his back softly, barely grazing the gauze and tape that cover most of his skin.
Only after a few moments does he pull back, and thankfully, he doesn’t fight me once I start to remove the coverings on his chest and stomach.
I glance up occasionally, just to make sure there’s not much pain in his face, but he keeps his eyes closed.
Is he afraid of me looking? Does he think the sight will revolt me?
I try to be as gentle as possible, so I can show him that’s anything but the truth.
His wounds already look better than they did a couple of days ago.
Whatever Serena and Derek gave him to help the healing process seems to be working, and the gashes and burns already look less red and inflamed.
Some of the marks are going to leave nasty scars, but I’m just thankful that none of them have left him with long-lasting nerve damage.
I can’t help but look at each laceration closely, secretly hoping they didn’t brand him like they did Victoria.
Damien doesn’t need the reminder of who did this to him etched into his body—not that he could ever forget.
Once I finally manage to peel them all away and do the same to his back, I reach over to the linen closet to grab a towel, but his movements stop me.
His fingers trail the hem of the shirt I’m wearing in soft and slow movements, like he’s hesitant to touch me.
While I’m desperate for any graze he could grace me with, he’s terrified I’ll reject him.
It's strange having the roles reversed. For so long, I was the one afraid. In my mind, there was no way that he could love me after what I went through, and the scars that riddled my body would turn him away. Why did this have to happen for me to know better? I never wanted him to walk in my shoes. He should’ve never had to know this type of pain for me to understand.
His hand glides a little higher to touch my skin, and without thinking, I pull the shirt over my head—not wasting a moment to remind him of our shared pain.
I don’t want to belittle his trauma in the slightest. His pain doesn’t need to be downplayed or shoved to the side like he’ll inevitably try to do.
I need him to know that I’m not backing down or stepping away from him.
He needs to understand that I would never run away from us.
We both know what it’s like to stare at our darkest fears in the eyes and live to tell the tale, and I want him to know how strong he is for surviving.
The shirt drops to the floor, exposing my torso and all of the scars that permanently mark my skin.
His eyes open to unveil his mesmerizing blue orbs, but they don’t seem as bright as they normally are.
Even as they rake over my body, there’s a reluctance that I’m not used to seeing in them.
His hands find my waist, and as I lean into him, they glide along my skin.
An endearing wave rolls over me, leaving bumps to prickle on the surface.
I can’t help but get lost in his eyes, counting the different blues.
They merge together in the most hypnotizing way, bleeding into the next so smoothly that I don’t even realize I’m staring at another hue until I look back.
His hand travels down my arm, leaving a shiver in its wake.. He leans in closer, inches away from kissing me, but then he stops short.
“What happened to your arm?” he asks lowly, and my heart stops. I had completely forgotten about the bruise… He captured me in such a deep trance that it wasn’t even a thought before I took the shirt off. My eyes remain on his, and the venom that coats my tongue almost makes me puke.
“It was from the crash,” I lie, suddenly feeling like the worst wife in the world. Zeke’s faux excuse was the first thing to come to mind, and it’s the only believable scenario apart from the truth. Damien finally lifts his gaze back up to meet mine, and I hate how I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“The crash?”
“Yes,” I lie again, hating myself a little more. “Daisy stepped on my arm when we collided. She lost her balance.” Great, now I’ve blamed the dog. His eyes narrow just a little, like he’s not sure that he believes me, but then he looks back down and nods, seemingly accepting my deception.
I feel horrible. The last thing I ever want to do is lie or make him feel like he can’t trust me, but this is something I need to be dishonest about. If he knew the truth, he would never be able to forgive himself, and I can’t bear the thought of adding more onto the weight he already carries.
Without another thought, I reach for his sweatpants.
My fingers curl around the soft waistband, and when he tenses up, I freeze.
At first, I’m afraid that I’ve hit a cut or something, but then he pushes the clothing down himself, and that might make me feel a little worse.
Does he know I’m lying, and now he’s upset with me?
When I look at his face, I see anything but anger.
He looks saddened again, and he’s averted his eyes another time.
I take a step back, thinking that he needs space.
The guilt churning in my belly only gets worse by his reaction.
While he’s standing in front of me, he feels so far away, and it’s killing me inside.
I wish I knew what he was thinking. There must be so many thoughts running through his head, and I just want to silence them all.
The only thing I want him to think about right now is how much we all love him, and that he’s safe, but I know—probably better than anyone—it’s not that simple.
So, I move to turn on the shower, hoping I can ease him into it.
The water roars to life as I turn the handle, and shock explodes behind my eyes.
Damien’s next to me in an instant, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me close.
His other arm is reaching out to cover the showerhead, directing the spray away from us.
I place my tingly hands on his chest to steady us both through his tremors.
He’s shaking so harshly I think his teeth are chattering.
“Baby, it’s okay. It’s not going to hurt you…”
“It can’t touch you…” he shakily whispers. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his head is bowed down, like he’s trying to avoid it as well.
“Damien…listen to me, okay? Just focus on my voice.” I rub my hand across his skin as softly as I can.
“Everything is okay. Let me show you.” My hand glides from his chest and travels up his arm, moving slowly enough that he takes in the sensation.
The water that’s trailing down his limb tickles over my hand like a flowing stream.
It’s not harsh, and the beads of water are hitting his skin no harder than a light drizzle would, but it’s clear that he’s still terrified.
Victoria warned me about these ‘showers’ they put Damien through… They practically unleashed a firing squad on him—which would definitely explain some of the bruising. I thought with the softness of the water that this would be different, but I obviously need to try a different approach.
“Open your eyes, baby. Let me help you,” I plead again, wanting to show him that it’s alright.
His eyes slowly open, linking our connection once again.
I take my now-wet hand and gently run it down his arm.
The water glides between our skin as I trace small trails, seemingly creating a soothing sensation.
With every inch I cover, he seems to relax a little more—melting into me with every swipe.
“Everything is okay now,” I whisper, hoping the stillness of my voice can keep him calm.