Chapter Nine #3
I carry her through the foyer. The staff bow their heads, too afraid to look at the monster in front of them. Good. They should be afraid. I carry her up the stairs, tucking her into my chest so no one sees her, so no one sees the state she’s in, so no one dares to look at her while she’s breaking.
Once I get her into the bathroom, I place her softly on the ottoman.
She sits there, small and shaking, staring at nothing.
I run the bath, glancing around for something that might calm her.
Nothing looks right. Nothing looks like it belongs to her.
So I head into the bedroom, grab my shower gel, and pour a decent amount into the water.
The bubbles rise quickly, smelling of me.
Her eyes finally leave the empty spot in front of her and drift toward the bath. She rises on shaky legs and reaches back to undo her zipper. Before she can get a grip on it, I’m behind her.
“Let me.” My voice is quiet, steady, meant to anchor her. My fingers graze her skin as I undo the dress, letting the fabric fall in a soft pool at her feet. She sits to take off her heels, hands trembling too much to manage the buckles.
I kneel and take her ankle gently, unbuckling the strap with careful fingers. I press a soft kiss to her ankle, not for desire, but for comfort, for grounding, for the simple act of reminding her she’s safe.
“Let me help you, Bunny.” I take off her other shoe, slow and steady, giving her time to breathe.
She nods, small and exhausted, letting me guide her. Her eyes stay fixed on the fresh ink on my chest, the tattoo she gave me, the mark she left on me. I place my fingers beneath her chin, coaxing her to look at me. Her eyes meet mine, red and swollen, but present.
“I am so proud of you.” I whisper it, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead, a grounding touch, nothing more.
“You took back that part of yourself. It was beautiful.”
I lead her toward the bath, shedding my own clothes quickly, not for intimacy, but because she needs someone in the water with her. She needs weight. She needs warmth. She needs presence. I step in first, letting the heat soak into my skin.
I hold out my hand. She takes it. She steps over the side and sinks into the bubbles with me. I feel her inhale my scent and watch her shoulders loosen, her body relaxing in my arms for the first time since the basement.
We stay that way for a moment, quiet, breathing the same air. I reach forward and grab a sponge, wiping the sweat and dirt from her skin, slow and gentle, careful not to rush her.
I lean down and press a soft kiss to her shoulder. “I need to wash your hair, Bunny.”
She screws her eyes shut, overwhelmed, but she nods.
I guide her gently beneath the water, my hand steady at the back of her head, making sure she doesn’t slip too far.
She folds into me, her forehead resting against my chest, her breath uneven, her body still trembling from everything she let out downstairs.
The bubbles cling to her skin, the scent of my shower gel rising with the steam, filling the room with something familiar, something grounding.
I reach for the shampoo and pour a small amount into my palm. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t speak. She just stays pressed against me, small and exhausted, her fingers curled weakly against my ribs. I lift her chin with my other hand, coaxing her to tilt her head back so I can reach her hair.
“Easy,” I murmur, voice low, steady, meant to anchor her. “I’ve got you.”
She lets me guide her, her eyes half closed, her breathing slow and uneven. I run my fingers through her hair, working the shampoo in gently, careful not to tug or pull. Her hair is soft under my hands, heavy with water, slipping between my fingers as I massage her scalp in slow circles.
I feel her shoulders loosen. I feel her breath deepen. I feel the tremors in her body begin to fade.
She leans into my touch like she’s finally letting herself rest. Like she’s finally letting someone else carry the weight. Like she’s finally safe enough to stop holding herself together.
I keep my movements slow, deliberate, steady. I wash her hair the way she deserves to be cared for, the way she should have been cared for her whole life. I rinse the shampoo out, guiding her gently beneath the water, keeping my hand at the back of her head so she doesn’t slip.
When she resurfaces, her eyes flutter open, glassy and tired, but present. She looks at me like she’s seeing me for the first time since the basement. I brush a wet strand of hair away from her cheek, my thumb lingering just long enough to make sure she’s still with me.
“You’re alright,” I whisper. “I’m right here.”
She exhales, a small, shaky sound, and leans her forehead against mine. I feel her breath warm against my lips, her body softening in my arms, her weight settling fully against me.
I hold her close, letting the water lap around us, letting the steam wrap us in something quiet and safe. I wash the rest of her hair with the same care, the same patience, the same vow in every movement.