Chapter 7 Brielle #2
The chime plays louder as he reaches across to grasp my hand with a light squeeze.
“I’ll see you next time,” he states.
I try to muster out the words I miss you, and I love you , but they don’t come. As if my throat has lost its vocal cords. Then the world fades beneath me, turning to ash.
A once beautiful dream, of enjoying a garden I’ve never been to, alongside our childhood pond and my deceased brother.
My eyes flutter open, staring at the ornate ceiling. Then I peer to my left to find a beautiful gold-and-onyx clock, chiming.
Drying the tears on my cheek, I reach to switch it off. The arms of the clock have beautiful, delicate gold hands, with detailed work imitating ivy and flowers.
I look at it, questioning who would have set it to chime.
Possibly Everett, to make sure I made it to my appointment on time. I snort to myself.
Such a chuffed bastard, broody and bossy.
I’m feeling like a daft idiot for running into that office with no qualm and finding him as the boss. I should have figured he would be some criminal. His daunting, icy persona and predatory features still haunt me from the first night I met him.
Shaking my head free of the handsome image of him, I begin getting ready for the day, wondering what exactly I should wear to a massage appointment.
Luckily the walk isn’t too far from my new home. It’s still hard to wrap my mind around having such a lush place to call home .
I find myself in front of the massage parlor. It is absolutely stunning. Large marble pillars adorn the outside of its three-story frame. Something out of a Grecian novel.
As I walk into the building, it appears that may be the theme—a Grecian bathhouse. Walls adorned with tied olive branches, beautiful flowers, calming fragrances and replica marble statues of gods and goddesses.
Approaching a large mahogany desk, I find a woman with long black hair and almond eyes as bright blue and stunning as a Grecian goddess’s. Before I may check in, she states, “Miss Afton, welcome to our massage house. I shall take you back to your room. My name is Jameson.”
My eyes widen in surprise as the woman seems to be familiar with me, though I have no idea who she is .
As I follow her down the vaulted hallway, we pass a series of black wooden doors.
“Let me give you a brief tour, madame, and then I shall be the one to administer your massage, if that is okay?”
I nod my head, though my attention isn’t drawn to the woman but to the beautifully carved marble walls, vaulted wooden ceilings and serene atmosphere.
She shows me the women’s bathhouse, as well as the combined bathhouse.
Steam rises from fitted marble Olympic-sized swimming pools. Beautiful carved marble statues of snakes and flowers adorn the far corners of the pools. Reclining benches are carved beneath the waters, and patrons lie comfortably atop them, the waters caressing their skin.
Tables hug the walls, covered with candles and various foods.
Individuals working for the massage parlor are posted at each table, delicately handing out pieces of fruit and accompanying wineglasses.
The men posted at each table wear ornate, gaudy suits, though if one looked closely, the outlines of firearms could also be seen .
Most individuals are wearing bathing suits inside the combined bathhouse, but the women’s bathhouse enjoys to be in the nude. I blush, finding myself uncomfortable with the thought of baring myself for others to see.
After Jameson shows me the bathhouses, respective women’s lounge and dressing area, she takes me back to the massage parlor hallway.
We enter a cozy room. A small marble fireplace is lit, and soft navy blue wallpaper adorns the walls, with shelves of glowing candles.
The corners of the room have large ornate pots filled with eucalyptus, cotton and olive branches tied together.
The high vaulted ceiling looks as if it goes toward the heavens.
Jameson hands me a plush, soft robe and instructs me to undress to whatever is comfortable.
I pause, self-conscious of the scars on my back.
She can read my unsettled soul and offers an empathetic smile. “Only to what you’re comfortable in, Miss Afton.” After I accept the robe from her, she leaves me to undress.
Considering I get to choose my level of comfort, I leave my undergarments on, as well as an undershirt that has thin straps. Hopefully Jameson will be understanding of my state. Though I hope she doesn’t pity me for what she finds.
The thin straps only cover a millimeter of the scars across my shoulders.
I climb into the soft silk sheets, lying facedown as she had instructed me to.
Anxiety slowly slithers up my neck as I anticipate her judgment.
I hear the door slowly open and my shoulders seize with tension.
Jameson’s smooth voice fills the room. “All right, my dear, let’s help ease some of that stress, yeah?”
Her body comes closer and I can feel her hovering above me. “I’m about to start on yer shoulders. Ready, deary?”
Nodding my head, I try to ease my breathing and allow this interaction to become a positive one. Or at least I try to convince myself I can.
The sound of the oil bottle twisting closed echoes, and then I feel her hands slowly move across my shoulder blades and underneath my top.
I take in a small, shuddering breath .
I wait for it .
The judgment.
The questions .
A few heartbeats pass and all that occurs is calm.
The calmness of her tender touch as it glides underneath my top. I feel her delicate fingers slide across my scars, caressing my skin ever so softly.
Her smooth, sweet voice sings through my ears, “You must be new round here, hon. I haven’t ever seen ya ’efore.” She kneads a knot right above the burn scar in my shoulder.
I sheepishly reply, “I’ve been here for a little bit, but all I do is work. So I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Oh?” she replies with surprise, then spews off a couple more questions: “Well, how many jobs you have that you can’t get any time for yourself?” “Anything you get to do for fun?” “Got a boyfriend?”
The probing questions irritate me, though I don’t let it show. “No boyfriend. A few jobs to try to save up. For fun? I don’t know. Never really paid mind to that.”
She gives a small chuckle under her breath as she continues her peaceful ministrations. As time passes, I tell her about Flanders Field. She thinks my scars are from the battle, but I don’t care to correct her.
“Well, ain’t you selfless? Make sure you take time for yerself, hon, ’cause being a nurse, I know you do too much for too many and forget ’bout yerself!”
Then she asks a haunting question.
“Well, any family?”
The question makes me physically shudder and I can feel her hands pause, then return to their duties. She recognizes the question makes me uncomfortable and states, “Well, no need to answer if it makes any unhappy feelings. Only good feelings in here, a’right?”
Her sweet, genuine demeanor makes me crack a smile.
“My parents aren’t lovely people. I do not speak to them unless I must. When I left my abusive husband, they gave me an ultimatum instead of supporting me. That’s why I am here. Miles away. I don’t even know where they are.”
She ceases massaging my arms and comes to kneel by my head. I see her beautiful face peeking through the hole of the table .
She carefully taps my nose with her index finger. “ You , my dear, are a survivor . I’m proud of you. I ’ope you’re proud of yourself, love. It’s bollocks how they’ve treated ya. Count me as someone in yer corner from now on, okay?”
I choke on my words, fighting the newfound tears that threaten to escape.
No one has ever spoken to me like that. No one has given as much as a care, though the girls at the hospital don’t know much of my back story.
I haven’t told them the details and they have never asked.
She runs her fingers through my hair, causing a small moan to escape my lips.
The feeling is delightful as each tingle chases my scalp.
“Now, just to find you a boyfriend, eh?”