3. I’m still me
Chapter 3
I’m still me
LETTIE
H e tries to hide his reaction but fails. My often-stoic man is bristling with... is that disgust?
Please don’t be disgust. Anything but that.
I’ll gladly take rage, fury, or pity over disgust. I’d even settle for apathy.
Wordlessly, he guides me to the shower, giving my upper shoulder a wisp of a nudge. Following his direction, I drift toward the open glass door, more zombie than woman.
He must be unable to look at me, and I’m too nervous to look down. I saw enough on my arms and face in the mirror a few moments ago.
Incidentally, that was the first time I’d seen myself since Friday night.
My first visual confirmation of what they did to me.
Well, some of what they did.
There were no mirrors there. Probably so we didn’t smash them to make weapons.
Although I was almost always naked in that disgusting house, I didn’t even glance down my frame. I saw enough marks on the other girls to know what I’d see on me.
While approaching the shower, I make a point to avoid my reflection in the mirror. I don’t want to see any more than I already have. Especially now that I’m fully nude.
Again.
If the pain is anything to go by, my ribs will show the worst of it.
“Come on, sugar,” James urges, holding the door open for me.
Part of me wants to shower by myself to conceal my battered body. But I’m terrified of being alone.
After testing the temperature, I move under the spray with desperate swiftness. Now that I’m here, getting clean becomes my sole focus. An aching compulsion to viciously scrub my entire body prickles my skin from the inside as the water cascades over it on the outside.
“There you go,” he soothes as he lets me have the full spray, only reaching around to wet my loofah. “Normally, you do your hair first, but I think tonight we’ll make an exception.”
I nod in agreement before tipping my head backward to wet my hair. As it soaks down to my scalp, a tiny moan escapes me.
It feels so damn good.
James adds some shower gel to my loofah and works up a thick lather.
“You just stand there and feel the water. I’ll get you clean. Tell me if it hurts anywhere.”
Thanks to the shower spray, he can’t see my renewing tears, but I keep my eyes shuttered just in case.
At one point in time, I’d have been pissy at him for coddling me this way.
But fuck if I don’t need his soft side right now.
He starts with my neck, massaging my skin in soothing circles. I roll my head from side to side, giving him access as he goes. Next, he works his way down one arm, then the other. I try not to react when he gets to the burn marks on my triceps. I must not succeed, because he pulls back instantly.
“Is that a cigarette burn?” he asks through gritted teeth.
“Yes,” I answer meekly.
“They are fucking dead men walking,” he mutters as he rinses off the loofah and adds more cleanser. When he returns to the area, his ministrations are even more delicate.
The old Lettie would tell him I don’t want him to seek justice for me.
However, the new Lettie wants to be at his side as he does to them all the horrible things they did to me. If he wants to get revenge, I won’t be stopping him.
Those monsters deserve everything he wants to give them and more. He can bring his soldier-type friends who rescued us with him for protection. They all seemed like badasses. I bet they’d have his back.
Reaching for the shampoo, I start on my hair while he continues cleaning me, one section of my sore body at a time.
As the fragrant aroma of my shampoo mingles in the steamy air, I tug in a deep inhale to let the cleanliness permeate my lungs fully. It brings with it a burst of alertness.
While scrubbing my scalp raw, a memory hits me from when I first started dating James. The night he first gave me a glimpse into his past by revealing how he could make someone’s life hell from behind the keyboard. A wry smile threatens to break free.
“What’s that look for?” he asks, shaking me from the delightful revenge-filled vision.
“You’re dangerous, aren’t you?”
His movements pause, and he slopes his head to the side inquisitively. “Explain.”
“I’m talking about your skills. You’re capable of hurting people in more ways than just what you could do online, aren’t you?”
For several heavy seconds, he studies me. I can practically see his wheels turning as he tries to work out where I’m going with this.
Hell, I’m not entirely sure myself. My brain is feeling an ounce or two short of a pound.
“Why are you asking this?”
I lift one shoulder casually in a partial shrug. “The way you came in there tonight, weapons at the ready. How you were dressed. The people with you. Where you work. The weapons room. The way the others deferred to you.” I purse my lips and lean my head deeper into the warm jets of water while keeping my eyes on his. “I saw a different side of you tonight.”
His turquoise eyes shimmer brilliantly with the water flecks surrounding us. “And?”
“Honestly, I don’t have a point. I suppose I’m just musing.”
“Musing, huh?” He arches a brow. “Don’t worry. If I were dangerous, I wouldn’t be a danger to you.”
“I know that.”
“Good. Now, turn around, sugar.”
With feet like concrete blocks, I comply at a snail’s pace. Exhaustion returns now that I finally feel safe.
I’m on the second rinse of my shampoo when he turns me back around and kneels in front of me to scrub my lower legs. He even cleans between my toes and the bottoms of my feet.
Damn. I love him so much.
Tears threaten to come again, but I hold them back this time.
My lower rib cage proves to be the most tender, and he must know it, because his touch becomes featherlight as he cleans my midsection.
Curiosity finally gets to me. “Is it bruised badly?”
“Yes, baby.” His words are crisp, both compassion and vehemence woven into his tone.
Tenderness for me. Rancor at the ones who hurt me.
I love it.
“After we get some food in your stomach, you can have something for the pain. We can apply ice and wrap your ribs if you want. It might help. I’ve got an Ace bandage or two around here somewhere.”
“Thank you.”
I touch his cheek and briefly bring his focus to my face, hoping he sees how ardently I mean those two often overused words.
For once, he doesn’t tease me about it.
Now that he’s done cleaning my body, he squirts a few pumps of my facial cleanser into his hands and rubs them together. “Look up. Close your eyes.”
Dutifully, I comply. Affection and gratitude for him swell in me, clogging my throat. When I force myself to take a deep breath, my ribs sting. But I’m more successful in holding back my wince this time so he doesn’t think it’s from something he’s doing.
His touch is so tender as he runs his palms and fingertips over my cheeks and under my eyes, massaging away the grime.
Once he’s fully scrubbed my face and behind my ears, he cups my cheeks and tilts my head backward to rinse it clean.
As if that’s a possibility.
He releases his delicate hold on my face, swipes the washcloth from the hook, and gets it nice and sudsy. Again, he drops to his knees.
Confusion addles my fatigued mind. He already cleaned my lower half.
When he glances up at me, his eyes are red-rimmed and sorrowful. “Open your legs, sweetness.”
My mouth opens to object, but I can’t find the words.
He holds the cloth up to me. “Unless you want to do it.”
Taking it from him, I nod swiftly. That’s just a bit too much intimacy for me right now.
He doesn’t offer the slightest protest.
James has always doted on me when we shower together. Considering how he has always cared for me in other ways, it’s no surprise he seems to find joy in cleaning my body too. It typically ends with spicy times, which is a happy bonus for us both.
Tonight, he doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it. Not that I blame him. He reeks of pain.
Much like me.
He rises slowly, dragging his palms up my legs and over my hips. It’s not seductive or arousing, just affectionate.
As I turn my back to him, I reach between my legs with the washcloth. It stings at first. Nonetheless, I press through the pain and scrub the hell out of myself.
Out of habit, I glance down at my body. My eyes lock on the marks that had James barely able to control his rage when he took off my shirt.
I gasp in shock.
A series of four oval bruises, progressively larger in size, stretch from my waist to my rib cage under my right breast. My upper arms have fingertip-shaped bruises on them. And I know that they weren’t caused by just one person. They all loved to grab us harshly and sling us around like rag dolls.
Bastards.
If James doesn’t make them pay, I’ll do it myself. Eventually.
I rinse the washcloth, then hold it out to him. He tries to take it from me, but I don’t release it. “More soap, please.”
He nods, instantly understanding.
Four times, I clean the tender spot between my legs.
Then four more times, I clean my rear.
Sadly, it’ll never be enough.
When I ask for more soap for the ninth or tenth time, he shakes his head and takes the cloth from me, throwing it onto the shower floor. “That’s enough. You’re clean. I’m not going to let you scrub yourself raw.”
The only reason I don’t fight back is sheer exhaustion.
I’ll get another shower tomorrow morning. And again in the afternoon and before bed. I’ll squeeze a bath in there somewhere too.
He cuts off the water and leads me out of the shower, instantly wrapping me in a clean towel. The fresh smell of laundry detergent fills my nose as I soak in the warmth and comfort.
Soft, fluffy cotton blissfully cuddles my skin. It’s like a little slice of heaven.
You’d be surprised how much you can miss something so commonplace when it’s taken from you.
At least I smell good despite how contaminated I feel.
When James physically attempts to dry me, I put my foot down. “I can do it.”
“I love taking care of you, sugar bear.”
“I know you do. But I’ve got it.”
Backing away slowly, he grabs his own towel and proceeds to dry himself, never taking his eyes off me.
With my body dried, I attempt to wrap my hair in the towel like a turban. When I bend over at the waist to hang my head forward, shards of pain shoot through my midsection. “ Ahh, shiiit. ”
In a flash, he drops his towel and scrambles to my side. “Your ribs?”
“Yes,” I force out with a hiss.
“We should get you an X-ray tomorrow.” Placing one arm around my upper back, he takes the towel with his free hand. Slowly, I straighten my frame, letting him assist me.
I’m so fucking broken.
He moves behind me for a better angle, then languidly squeezes the moisture from my long locks into the towel.
“Thank you, babe,” I whisper as the pain slowly ebbs. “But I draw the line at letting you brush my hair and teeth.”
“I’d do it if you wanted me to,” he rumbles from over my shoulder.
There’s a velvety softness to his tone. It reminds me of how he sounds when we’re intimate. I know he’s not turned on right now, but it sounds like he’s using his special voice. You know the one.
The normalcy of that thought seems to unlock my tongue. I quirk my head to look over my shoulder at him and widen my eyes. “Are you using your... sex voice?”
His jaw drops. “What? Lettie baby, no. No. I wouldn’t.”
As he’s metaphorically clutching his pearls, a modicum of a smile tries to escape me. For a split second, I forget how awful I feel.
Before the moment can recede, I embrace the comfort of teasing him. Of being myself. I need it. So I know I haven’t disappeared entirely.
I turn all the way around, moving close to him. Damn. I just want to feel him hold me some more. I want to pretend it never happened. Embrace my inner delulu —my delusional side.
When he realizes I’m amused and not offended or upset, he faintly caresses my upper arms.
I purse my lips and arch a brow. “Are you sure? Because that’s what you sound like when you’re trying to be all sexy.”
He holds back the grin that threatens to lift the corners of his mouth. It’s almost as if he’s afraid to smile. Maybe he thinks it’s not the time to be happy.
On the contrary, it’s the perfect time.
He saved me.
Same as he’s done since the day we met.
What’s not to be happy about?
“Cut me some slack, sugar. I might be awkward as fuck, but I still know this isn’t the time for anything like that.”
Teasing him a little, I concede. “I know, but I heard what I heard.” I tip my head to the side, letting a sleepy smile dance across my face. “Perhaps it wasn’t intentional. Maybe it’s because you were taking care of me, and I was letting you. I know you’ve always loved that. So your Dom voice came out naturally.”
His gaze pours over me, comfort and compassion warming my damp skin. “I do love taking care of you.” He shakes his head, lips pressed in a white line. “But not like this. I’m so fucking sorry this happened.”
The tight set of his eyes and his wrinkled brow match his words. Seeing the anguish marring his handsome face weighs me down with despair like an elephant has climbed on my shoulders.
I have to comfort him. It’s a physical need.
Running my palms up his chest, I wordlessly beckon his haunted eyes to meet mine. “It’s okay, babe. We’re going to be okay. I know you’re going to take care of me. And this time, I’ll let you.”
Bending down, he lowers his forehead to lean against mine. “I will take care of you.”
“I know.” My vision becomes cloudy with more flipping tears, so I lean into his embrace and hold my cheek to his chest. “You always have.”
“And I always will.”