65. Ambrose—present day #3
I need you to be healthy. I lean over and stop the running water before it overflows. Dipping my fingers in, I test the temperature before standing and lifting her into the water.
I’m gonna remove this now, I mouth, tugging the hem up and pulling the garment over her head.
Her hands fly to the lacy bra that covers her full breasts. The pretty pink matches her hair perfectly.
Step out of your shorts. I’ll turn around if I must. It might just kill me, but I’ll do it. I don’t sign the last part.
Her head shakes slowly, and my heart rate kicks up its pace as the pretty bra comes into view.
Her hands lower down her body. My eyes follow, away from the lace and intricate details to the beige stoma bag, which takes up half of her stomach. She freezes there.
You don’t need to hide from me, I mouth. A finger traces her jaw, the feeling of touch still so foreign to me. So exciting, I tingle.
You’re a rare kind of perfect that only exists in all you are, to me. Nothing, no one, will ever compare to you , I mouth slowly, making sure she catches every word.
“Stress has made me bloat, and I look?—”
“Beautiful. You look beautiful,” I manage to whisper.
Without voicing any of the words dancing on her tongue, she shifts her hands. Her thumbs sink into the sides of her shorts, and she pulls them over her hips, letting them slip down her thighs.
My fingers catch them before they hit the water.
Beat, beat, beat, beat.
My heart assaults my ribs, and then beats faster. Harder.
Using my shoulders for support, she steps out one leg at a time, and I peel my fingers away.
“Will you sit in with me?” Tears drop from her jaw as she unclasps her bra.
I nod as she sinks into the water, handing me the pretty lingerie. I roll my sweats before returning to the ledge, but this time, facing the other way, feet below the surface.
“No, in here with me.”
I’m not wearing shorts, remember?
“You rarely do.”
How do you— she’s noticed.
BEAT, BEAT, BEAT, BEAT.
“Sit in with me, please.” Her fingers toy with my ankles. “I really need you right now.”
“You have me. But turn around.” I stand, circling my finger. “I’m shyer than you.”
That may not be true, but if she faces me, she’ll see the tattoo, now that morning light is creeping through the windows.
She’ll see the semi, I shouldn’t have just from looking at her body.
At her pretty pink nipples that not only complement her hair but the glow on her cheeks, too.
At the tiny gap she has between her legs?—
I stop myself from taking those thoughts further, feeling myself throb for her.
I strip, my pants catching on my hard cock and yanking it back. I hiss as I toss my clothes out, and the second they hit the floor, creating a small mountain on top of hers, I feel naked. I am naked, but I feel stripped to the bone, all my insecurities on show.
I settle in the water behind her, the clear liquid not hiding much of me at all.
“Are you okay?” she asks with a broken voice.
I tremble, having not been this exposed to someone since Colin. That thought rids me of any arousal.
I nod, and she smiles gently. Her body scoots back, settling between my tense thighs, and she gets comfortable, leaning back on me.
My cock floats between us, its softness kissing her spine every time she moves and creates a ripple effect in the water.
We sit in silence for the longest time, neither of us acknowledging my dick, the mess around us, or the fact that we grew up together, as family, and now, we’re naked, sharing a bath. Or that I’m shaking like a leaf blowing in the wind.
Needing to get out of my head, I squeeze a little conditioner from one of the bottles that line the edge into my hand.
With gentle strokes, I brush it through Dollie’s hair with my fingers.
“Seeing Chuckles again, that must have been hard on your mental health.”
“Yeah.” I keep massaging her head, my fingers quivering—like my voice—around the strands that cling to me.
“Is that why you wear the makeup?”
“Makeup? I haven’t worn makeup since you put mascara on me that one Christmas.”
“Okay then, the paint. Is that why you paint yourself up like a pretty clown?”
I stiffen.
“Like, is it some kind of therapy? At first, I thought you were trying to scare me, but I guess that was my own brainwashing. It was easier not to have you if I thought of you as anything other than my hero. If I believed Shane’s lies about you hating me.”
“Dollie, I?—”
She swallows, gazing back at me, waiting for my answer.
“I don’t.”
“You don’t what?”
“I don’t wear makeup. Paint.” My voice is as deathly quiet as my thoughts.
“But I see it.” Her eyes squint as her fingers rise from the water and move across my face, over what she’s envisioning as a red mouth that stretches across my cheeks. Her palms begin scrubbing there. “I don’t understand.”
Maybe she doesn’t, but things are making more sense to me.
Her words from a couple of days ago repeat in my head.
Does your freaky face not do it for her?
She was never talking about my scars, just the makeup that would be scary for her.
“You associate me with your trauma.” And yet she still chooses to spend time with me.
My heart flutters.
Still scrubbing, she whispers, “I don’t want to. Why now?”
Because the brain doesn’t always key us in to its logic.
It’s okay, I sign to her.
She nods and twists on me until her body is flush with mine. Her hand stays between us, over the bag stuck to her stomach.
“You don’t need to do that with me,” I whisper as I take her hand, removing it from her stomach and placing it on my chest, where my heart races beneath her touch.
A weak smile lifts her cheek, but another tear falls.
“I just want to be normal. I don’t wanna see ghosts anymore. I just want to see your adult face.”
“One day. One day, things will be better for us.”
Tracing scars, she settles on my chest, her head meeting my skin.
“You promise?”
“I’ll do everything I can to keep you from feeling like this again. I promise. Whole together, remember?”
We can still be whole together.