Chapter 28
I regret many things, my actions, words and hesitation. I’m drowning in darkness with no hope for forgiveness. After all, how can you ask for forgiveness if you can’t forgive yourself?
My thoughts were no longer clear. They got hazy and seemed more like a dream.
I sat down on the toilet lid, leaning to the side and resting my left cheek on the cold tiles.
Pleasant sensations spread throughout my body.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him enter the room.
It seemed like I felt him long before I saw him. It’s like my body always knew when he’s near as it cowered in fear, ready to flee.
Staring ahead blankly, I asked,
“Am I just like you now?”
He crouched down in front of me, took one of my feet and pulled the red shoe off.
“No.”
He took off the other shoe and placed my foot on the cold tiles.
“You’ll never end up like me.”
I didn’t believe him. I knew he was lying.
His hand was still bleeding, but he didn’t care.
I tore off a chunk of my dress that had already been hanging by a thread anyway and took his hand.
I placed his hand in my lap and bound it up silently.
I got up to walk to the mirror.
What I saw there shocked me to the core .
Half my face was red and swollen, like I had some kind of horrifying hives. My left eye was swollen shut and I still couldn’t open it.
Was my eyeball still intact in there?
My lower lip was split, a dried-up red streak went from my nose to my chin.
Makeup was smeared across my face.
My face looked like I stood a few rounds in an UFC fight. And only the blue fingerprint bruises all over my neck told the real story.
The dress lost all its allure. It was no longer as delicate and flowy as I remembered.
It turned into a rug. The top was torn up, a piece of it now tied around Eric’s hand. The rest of the dress was stained with wine and looked blood-covered.
I shuddered.
Eric stood right behind me all this time, watching my reaction.
Our eyes met and he calmly unzipped it, letting the dress slide to the floor.
I took a deep breath. The dress stopped feeling light a long while ago. It was more like a chain mail now.
My gaze fell on my body.
Large red blood vessels showed me a morbid map of all the bruises I had yet to see. A few spots were already showing blue.
My look reminded me of a defaced painting.
I reached for the band-aid on my shoulder and ripped it off. I stifled moan left my lungs.
I smirked.
“The stitches didn’t come apart.”
I didn’t know why I was so happy about it.
My gaze rose to the reaper as he undid the last button on his shirt and threw it aside.
My heart skipped a beat and began picking up the pace.
My eyes explored his body, looking at his scars .
I turned to face him, not even hiding my curiosity anymore.
The scars were both big and small. Some looked like gunshot scars, others were probably there from various knife wounds or stabbings with some other sharp objects.
For a moment I felt like I wasn’t alone in this.
Reaching behind my back, he unclasped my bra with one sweep of his hand and it fell down loosely.
My heart beat rapidly in my chest as I stared into his bottomless eyes.
He leaned in to take my underwear off. His eyes never left mine.
He took my hand and led me to the shower.
Every little movement reverberated through my body with sharp pain.
He checked the water and pulled me under the warm streams of water.
The water felt nice, but there’s no way I could relax with him around.
Taking a washcloth and shower gel, he began to lather me up.
“Your hand’s gonna get wet.”
My voice was hoarse and my throat felt sore from all the screaming I’d done that night.
He stayed quiet, coating my collarbones with soap.
“I can wash myself.”
“I didn’t say you can’t.”
I had no strength left to fight him, and I gave up without a fight.
“Raise your right hand.”
He slid the washcloth along one of my arms. Then did the same to the other one.
There was nothing sexual about his touch. His movements were earnest and caring.
I watched his deeply focused face .
I allowed myself to let go of everything brewing inside of me. I allowed my eyes to wander his body to get away from my stifling thoughts.
His eyes were fixed on my stomach as he gently lathered it up.
I wanted to see him smile. A smile would’ve made him look less tense than he did.
His hair got wet and began to curl up. He brushed it back.
The splashes looked almost cinematic. I watched in awe as they flew every which way.
Tiny drops went on to languish on his eyebrows, cheeks and lips, ready to run down.
He swallowed and I saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down.
His arms were buff, his torso looked chiseled.
I watched as the drops trickled down, getting lost under his belt.
I shamelessly stared at his scars and was about to bring my fingers to touch them when I hastily pulled my hand back.
Feeling his gaze, I looked up and met his eyes.
Did he notice me ogling him?
I quickly looked away.
“You don’t have to worry about it. Look as much as you want.”
I saw a shadow of a smile on his face.
I didn’t notice I began fiddling with my fingers the way I always did.
“I got hit on the head. It has some unfortunate consequences, as you can see.”
His smile grew wider.
“If you say so. Turn your back to me.”
I swallowed and did as he said.
“You’re too good at this, which means you must be doing it all the time. So...”
“You’re the first.”
I turned back to him with a smile.
“Why are you lying? ”
“Why are you jealous?”
I looked away.
He crouched down.
“Put your left foot on my leg.”
“Why?”
“I want to wash all of you.”
“He didn’t do that.”
I didn’t know why I told him that. I felt uneasy. Both my body and my head were buzzing. My emotions got garbled up and I couldn’t tell them apart. I didn’t understand what was happening.
He raised his eyes to look at me.
“Doesn’t matter. I want to wash you. May I?”
I nodded my head slightly and did as he said without another word.
I lost my balance for a moment and grabbed his broad shoulders to steady myself.
He didn’t react and I quickly pulled my hands away.
“It was an accident.”
“Sure it was.”
He poured shampoo into his hands and began to lather my hair up, massaging my scalp.
All of it seemed wrong, way too intimate.
His movements felt relaxing and I closed my eyes.
He stood too close as he rinsed the shampoo off of my hair.
He stared into my eyes intently.
“Don’t look at me.”
“I like looking into your eyes.”
“Why?”
“They tell me a lot.”
“Tell you what?”
“What you’re feeling.”
He took a step closer to turn the shower off behind me.
He got close enough for his torso to brush against my nipples .
A jolt of electricity ran through me, making them hard.
He picked up a white fluffy towel and began to dry me carefully.
“Why are you doing this?”
He kept drying me, ignoring the question.
After a while, he replied,
“I don’t know how to apologize.”
Why would he want to apologize? Was he sorry? Then why did he choose to do something he’d feel sorry for?
Anger was coming back to me, sobering me up and giving me strength.
I snatched the towel from his hands, wrapped it around myself and stormed back into the bedroom.
I sat on the bed silently, struggling with the storm of emotions rising from the depths of my mind.
I heard him leave the bathroom and turn off the light.
“I want you to leave.”
I refused to look at him, staring at the white carpet instead.
He stood there, and I made myself meet his gaze.
He let his gaze dwell on me. He looked like he was about to say something, but he just turned and left the room instead.