45. Seraphina
45
Seraphina
There are moments that I want to relive every day for the rest of my life. The night I met Lincoln, the day I met Olivia, or the first time Lincoln and I made love—which, yes, I know it’s cringy, but can I call it fucking if it was so much more than that?
Today is not one of those days. No, today is one of those days where I wish I had a do-over button and could restart. I’d even settle for a bout of minor amnesia to let me forget about the last three hours if I can’t wipe them away entirely.
Sitting next to Lincoln in his car is a bit surreal, not least of all because I’m wrapped in a large terry cloth bathrobe with absolutely nothing on beneath. Looking to my left, I see Lincoln’s white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel and the tense set of his jaw. I want to reach out, to ask him if he’s okay, but I don’t have the words needed.
It’s like they get lodged in my throat at the memory of the smell of smoke, the panic of my neighbors running down the stairwell, and the shoving of bodies in an effort to vacate the building. I huddle into the seat, my skin chilled against the air-conditioning blasting from the vents. Even without the cool air, my skin would be pebbled with goosebumps.
I close my eyes, blocking out Lincoln’s tense frame and the night’s events, focusing on the feel of the window against my cheek as I lean against the door. I feel a hand on my leg, a silent touch of support as I empty my mind of everything except the feeling of Lincoln’s hand on my bare thigh and the warmth he pours into my skin. Without looking, I cover his hand with mine, holding him closer against my body.
Minutes blur together as the car continues moving, and soon, we crest to a stop. I open my eyes, looking around the underground garage outside of the car window. “Is this your building?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Yes,” he tries again, his tone more even and less raspy. He gets out of the car and shuts his door, rounding the hood until he’s pulling my door open and leaning in to unbuckle me.
“I can do it,” I whisper, putting my hand over his to still his movements.
He bats my hands away, unlatching my seatbelt and reaching behind my shoulders and under my legs to pick me up. “I know.” He cradles me against his chest, kicking the door shut as he turns for the entrance door.
I don’t demand he put me down or insist that I can walk. It feels good to be in Lincoln’s arms, safe and comforting. I won’t deny myself this pleasure. Instead, I burrow into his chest and rest my head against his beating heart, the echoes of the pumping of his blood soothing me in a way I didn’t anticipate.
Expecting Lincoln to step into an elevator, I’m surprised when I feel his body lunge up flights of stairs, lifting me higher with each floor until he reaches for a gray door and walks us into a fluorescently lit hallway. His strides are purposeful as he winds the narrow passage to his apartment, stopping briefly to fish a key ring out of his back pocket. He inserts the key, twisting the bottom lock before moving to the deadbolt and jamming another key inside. I’m impressed by his ability to hold me in one hand while he handles the door, and while I know I should drop my legs to stand on my own at this point, I still don’t want to.
Pressing the handle on the door, it swings open, revealing a surprisingly homey space. The walls are a dark charcoal that’s so deep they gleam almost black in the recessed lighting. The open-concept kitchen and living room boast a dark-brown leather couch and coordinating barstools at the island, cream and brown throw pillows, and even a throw blanket hanging off the arm of the sofa. The kitchen is sleek—stainless steel appliances shine, and the black countertops are spotless. I look up at him, an eyebrow raised in surprise.
“What, did you think I lived in a sterile white apartment?”
I blush, slightly embarrassed that, yes, that is what I thought. “Not exactly.”
“Liar,” he teases, levity settling over the heaviness. It disappears as quickly as it appeared. His face turns serious, and he nods toward a short hallway. “Let me help clean you up.”
I bite down on my lip, nodding as I follow his gaze. Lincoln reaches behind him and turns both locks on the door before walking forward, bringing us through his bedroom and into a dimly lit bathroom with countertops that match the kitchen and a large black-tiled shower. Depositing me on the counter, he reaches into the shower stall and turns the handle, water spraying from the showerhead. I’m surprised by how quickly steam builds, the half-glass shower fogging up from the hot water almost instantly. With my eyes locked on the growing condensation, I jump when Lincoln’s fingers untie my robe, revealing me to his penetrating gaze.
His hands trail up the lapels of my robe, pushing the fabric until it falls behind me and pools on the vanity. His hands reach for my skin, fingertips featherlight as he traces the beauty marks on my arm, a constellation he seems keen on studying. My eyes flutter closed at the sensation, enjoying the feeling of his hands on me. “Let’s clean you up, cierń.”
I swallow the thickness in my throat and let him pick me up from the counter and place me into the hot water. His hands leave my hips and start tugging on his clothes, pulling his shirt, pants, and briefs off in quick succession. I let my eyes wander over his tattooed skin, drinking in the sight of him. He joins me under the stream of water, turning me around so that my back is at his front. His arms band around me, pulling me into a tight hug with his chin resting atop my head.
“I was going to take you to the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens tonight. They have a rose display I thought you’d like.” I sink deeper into his embrace, his arms squeezing impossibly tighter. “I just got you back, cierń.”
“I’m okay, Lincoln,” I whisper, reassuring him even though I feel frazzled inside.
“But what if you weren’t? What then?”
I sigh at his words and turn around in his hold. “It could be something as innocent as faulty wiring or a curling iron left on. This doesn’t have to be a crime.” The words are sour on my tongue, but they still need to be said. “Not everything is a conspiracy.”
“Cierń, don’t tell me that you believe this shit isn’t all intertwined. You’re an intelligent woman; don’t fool yourself.”
“I’m not saying it’s not possible. What I’m saying is that other possibilities can exist simultaneously, and until we know the cause, it’s no use speculating. It’ll drive us both crazy, and what I need right now is to compartmentalize tonight, shove it in a box, and forget about it until I have to pull it back out and revisit it.” The water pounds over our skin, beating my words into us.
Lincoln grunts in response and releases his hold. Reaching to the shelf behind me, he holds up a bottle of shampoo that looks suspiciously like the one I own. “Where did you get this?”
“I ordered groceries and toiletries for you before I left your apartment this morning. That’s why my phone was on your nightstand.”
I grab the bottle from his hand and pop the top open, closing my eyes as I inhale the familiar scent of citrus and let it calm my mind. “Were you looking through my things?”
“Yes.” His answer is immediate, with zero hesitancy in his response.
My eyes pop open, and I release a startled laugh, not expecting his honesty. “Oh.”
“Turn back around. I’ll wash your hair.”
“It’s okay—” I start, only to be spun around by Lincoln’s large tattooed hands.
“I need this, Seraphina. The same way you need to compartmentalize tonight, I need the reminder that you’re here with me and not going anywhere, okay? Just humor me.”
Nodding my head, I let him care for me, first with my shampoo, then my conditioner. When the water runs clear from my scalp, he grabs a bottle of my favorite bodywash and squeezes it onto a loofa that hangs from the shower handle. He keeps the pressure light, careful not to scrape my skin as he cleanses my body.
His motions are repetitious and unhurried. He cleans a spot and moves to another, just to go back to his original destination. I want to comment, to scold him for wasting the hot water on me when we should be getting out and conserving.
But I don’t.
I allow him this ritual, this baptism, and stand still as his hands reassure him that I’m whole.
That I’m present.
That I’m unharmed.
It feels like hours have been spent in this shower when he finally turns his attention to himself. Unlike his attention to my cleanliness, he spares two minutes on himself and shuts the water as soon as the soap runs off his body.
Just outside the shower hang two towels. He dries himself quickly, rubbing the fabric harshly over his skin before draping the towel over his neck. He’s gentler with me, patting me dry before bundling me up and grabbing my hand to lead me toward the vanity.
He opens a drawer and pulls out an unopened toothbrush, placing it down before meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Are you hungry?”
My stomach clenches at the thought of food, repelling the idea instantly. “Definitely not.”
Reaching back into the drawer, he pulls out another toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. He busies himself, opening my toothbrush and squeezing toothpaste on each brush, handing me mine after running it under the faucet. We stand there, shoulder to arm, staring at each other in the mirror as we brush our teeth, taking turns spitting into the sink.
Bending over the faucet, I rinse out my mouth and spit into the basin, placing my toothbrush on the counter before meeting Lincoln’s eyes in the mirror. I can’t read the expression on his face, but if I had to guess, it’s a mixture of exhaustion and relief, disbelief and resignation. It’s as complex as the man wearing the emotions.
Lincoln turns off the water and grabs my hand again, delving into silent communication as he leads me into his room. When he first brought me into the bedroom, I didn’t have a moment to absorb my surroundings, but now, standing on my feet, I’m able to see the full scope of the space.
In the center of the room is a large black upholstered bed. White bedding rests on top of it, while natural wood-colored nightstands are on either side, holding lamps and a watch winder.
“Here, cierń. It’ll be big, but you can keep it.” I turn my attention back to Lincoln, or more specifically, to the T-shirt in his outstretched hand. Grateful for the clothing, I take it from him and slip it on, enveloped in his scent immediately. I breathe deep, inhaling the woodsy notes, and sink down on the bed, pleased by how comfortable the mattress feels under my body.
Belatedly, I remember that I had a momentary discomfort regarding Gemma once sleeping in this bed, but after tonight, I can’t bring myself to care.
“Let’s get you comfortable, cierń,” Lincoln whispers, reaching behind me and pulling down the comforter for me to slide in. I follow his cue and crawl up the mattress, lying under the covers as he pulls them up to my chin.
He leans over, kissing me on the forehead before standing up and flicking the lamp on the nightstand. “I’ll be right back.”
I pull my brows in, curiosity heating my gaze. “You’re not joining me?”
“I need to make a call.”
“But you don’t have a phone.”
“I have an old one I can turn back on. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I close my eyes as he shuts the door behind him, sealing me and my dreams inside his bedroom.