Chapter 8LovelyMarx
Lovely
“ W ell hey there sleepy head,” Marx smiles down at me and I’m not sure whether to be alarmed or not.
I mean, I’ve seen him smile before, rarely, but this smile, it’s full of teeth and I just never expected him to have so many.
Or them to be so perfectly straight and white.
I stare up at him while he beams down at me and I have no idea what to say or do.
I can’t even blame the pain meds because I’m sure they’ve worn off.
Judging by the pain in my chest, they have.
I swallow a couple of times. “Um, hello.”
My eyes dart around the room, looking for, I don’t know what.
He must notice because he turns toward the door before spinning back to look at me, “Oh, Vi has Bee in the farmhouse playroom with the other kids.” He grins down at me.
“Bee was full of energy when she woke up so we thought that would tire her out, playing with the big little kids.”
What is happening? My brows pull down low and I grasp the throw blanket to my chest. Marx’s eyes clock the movement and he frowns back at me.
“Um, would you like help getting up and maybe going to the bathroom?” He raises his bushy brow and I relax a little. This is more like the man I know. All gruff and growly.
I wriggle around in bed, trying to move myself up a little, to a more seated position without using my arms. My gunshot wound is in the upper left side of my chest, not far off my collar bone, so any real arm movement on that side sends sharp pains through me.
Digging my heels into the soft mattress, I use my legs to shove my way up the bed until I get stuck on the pillow mountain Vi made for me.
“Whoa, shit, what are you doing! Stop wriggling!” Marx’s large hands wrap around my waist as he gently lifts me to sitting.
My wriggling has caused my shirt to ride up, the heat of Marx’s hands sending a shiver through me.
But it’s all a silly crush. I need to get myself together and stop mooning over the wrong man.
Once I’m balanced on the side of the bed, my legs dangling over the side, Marx slowly removes his hands.
“Let me just get this chair and we’ll wheel you into the bathroom.”
There is no way I’m wheeling in there with Marx pushing me. For one it’s tiny, and, secondly, he’s been so overly helpful that he’d probably want to help situate me on the throne, and I’m not having that.
“I’d like to see if I could stand, maybe?” I ask him. He gives me a dubious look, one brow pinching in to a half frown almost. “Maybe ask Switch? I’m sure he’ll be happy to help me.”
“NO!” Marx growls. He stares wide-eyed at me, before softening his voice. “No, no, it’s OK. I can help.” He mutters something under his breath but I can’t quite hear it.
I side eye him. He’s been acting all screwy since I was in the hospital.
Maybe he feels guilty because I took that bullet for him?
That wasn’t actually my plan, my plan was to get him out of the way.
I would have done it for any of my family.
Well, this family. Not my previous one. I know that makes me a bad person, but I have very little love for the people I left behind at the Keep.
The ones I loved, they all got out and are helping people find new lives, better lives.
“So, ah, how do we want to do this?” Marx shuffles a little on his feet, shocking me by seeming nervous.
Looks like it’s up to me to decide the best way. “Well, how about you hold your hands out,” he holds his hands out palm down, tattoos on full display, “facing up.” I grip them and turn them over, the heat from his hands surprising me.
I take a deep breath, shuffle my bottom closer to the edge of the bed so I can place my feet on the floor, then placing my hands into Marx’s I use my leg strength to stand, Marx’s hands keeping me steady. Once I’m upright a sway a little and Marx grips me tighter until I find my footing.
“There, I’m up,” I whisper to myself, a little tug pulling at my lips.
I’ve lived through a lot of pain, and this is completely bearable compared to some of my past lessons.
“You good?” Marx bends his knees a little and dips his head so he can see my face.
“So good.” I smile up at him and then shuffle forward a little.
It’s not bad, so I take a bigger step. Then another.
Then another, Marx stepping back with each one of my forward steps.
Before I know it I’m outside the bathroom and I feel like doing a little dance.
Joy spreads through my body and I know that today is just the first day of many joyful days.
If life thought I had a hold of it before, it’s gonna freak out at what I have in store for it now.
Marx helps me into the bathroom, and I let go of his hands, placing mine on the cool tile of the vanity.
“Thank you, I should be fine from here,” I smile at Marx.
He dips his chin before backing out of the small room, closing the door gently behind him.
I manage to do my business, redress and wash my hands all by myself, and once again I can feel my inner Lovely doing a dance.
I don’t really know how to dance, but I’m going to add it to my list of New Life things I want to do.
Right under dating. I snort to myself and then choke on my spit when a loud knock almost beats my door down.
“Shit, sorry!” Marx calls through the door, “I just spoke to Switch, he said it would be OK for you to shower, if you wanted.”
I gasp and then feel giddy at the prospect. My long, dark hair feels greasy and gross, as does my whole body. I’m sure I stink of disinfectant and hospital.
“I’d love that!”
“Ah, just one thing. I may have to help you.” The words hang in the air and I’m not sure whether to cry or not. I really want that damn shower, but can I stand to be naked in front of the guy I had a crush on?
I grip the vanity as I look down my body and think ‘damn it all the heck’. I know it was a crush that was going nowhere, and when I look at him now he’s just my Pres, and maybe a friend I can rely on this one time.
“Yes, I’d love that. The shower, not you helping me.” I cringe at my reflection, and mime banging my head on the wall.
“OK, I’m coming in.”
Marx enters the small space and instantly the room is swallowed up by his bulk. He looks as awkward as I feel, which leaves me feeling a little bit better about the whole thing.
“So, ah, I think I’ll just need you to help me with my shirt and bra, and then, ah, I’ll be OK with the rest,” I stammer out.
“I have no idea why I’m being so weird, I’ve been naked in front of people before.
” Marx’s eyes shoot to mine, and now I have verbal diarrhea and can’t stop.
“I mean, not strangers, couples. Couples, I knew” His face turns thunderous.
“My husband used to run sex education for married couples in the Keep and he would, um, he would do live, um, what’s the word? Lessons?”
Marx’s jaw ticks. “He would use you to demonstrate sex? In front of people?”
“Couples,” I whisper. I have no idea why the hell I shared that. Could the drugs have addled my brain?
He says nothing, just turns the water on.
We wait in silence for it to heat up before he turns to me and grips the hem of my shirt.
He gently tugs it, letting me tuck my good arm in through the arm hole before he moves it over my head, then lets it fall from my bad arm.
His warm hands land on my shoulders as he gently turns me to face the shower, unfastening my bra with lightning speed, then pushing it forward, letting it fall from me onto the floor.
“I can do the rest, thank you,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. Mortified that I shared one of my secrets, and raw, so raw at the memory.
A grunt sounds out before I hear the door click shut.
I drop my pants and panties then step into the small shower stall.
I manage to wash my body with one hand, trying to avoid my dressings.
It’s difficult, but I’m sure Switch will be able to patch them up if I get them too wet.
I decide to go for broke and try washing my hair too, but it’s a big job and halfway through I can feel myself starting to flag.
I’m puffing a little, and my good arm aches.
“Lovely, are you alright?”
“Yeah, um, just trying to rinse my hair,”
I’m certain I hear a grumble from the other side of the door, and then I hear it on the other side of the stall. A squeak escapes me and I feel myself going down, down, down, down until large hands grip me.
“Shit, fuck, I just can’t stop fucking up,” Marx curses. “Sorry,” he says to me. “Sorry, I gave you a fright. Um, why don’t you turn around and I’ll rinse out your hair? Um, no need to feel shy, I’ve seen all this before. Nothing special, same stuff, different woman, you know?”
I freeze and Marx sucks a breath in, “Fuck! I’m sorry I didn’t mean-”
“It’s fine!” I rush to say. My cheeks heat and my lower lip starts to tremble.
It’s nothing, he’s seen it all before, I’m not special.
I repeat the words over and over until I’ve blinked away the tears threatening to fall.
If there was ever a reason to move on and find myself a good man, it’s being told by the one you used to have feelings for that they’ve been with so many women that what I’ve got is nothing special.
The same shit, so to speak. Gah, I don’t even know why it affected me.
I’ve had worse insults thrown at me. Weak.
Barren. Frigid. Disgusting. Good for nothing.
“Is this OK?” Marx’s murmur breaks me out of my spiralling thoughts.
“Yes, that’s fine.”
“Good. It’s, um, I think it’s done. Let’s get you dried and dressed. We have dinner and then Church.”
I nod and follow his lead. He wraps me in a huge, fluffy towel and, with mechanical motions, he has me dry without sparing me a passing glance. I guess that’s better than being ogled by someone who doesn’t like you like that.