“That’s because you scare everyone else,” I shoot back, my scowl still in place.
“I scare people? Little old me?” She bats her eyelashes exaggeratedly, and now I know she’s fucking with me.
I grab Stella’s shoulder, careful not to hurt her, and with my free hand, I shove her head under the water. She resurfaces a second later, spitting bubbles and laughing.
“You asshole,” she giggles, and it’s really fucking hard not to smile at the sight of her face and hair covered in bubbles.
“Sorry. I needed to wash your hair. Isn’t this how you do it? Sorry about that. I never washed a woman’s hair before.”
“Right,” she says, splashing water at me.
“Hm. I think I missed a spot,” I warn playfully.
“Don’t you fucking dare, Kill. I mean it,” she laughs.
My smile returns, and so does hers. We stay like that, laughing and gazing into each other’s eyes with goofy grins onour faces, until the memory of last night crashes back, building a wall between us that no amount of playful bath-time antics can wash away.
“Kill…” she says softly, reaching for me.
I jerk back as if her touch could burn me alive.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say, my voice cold, my features carved into stone.
Stella’s jeweled eyes dim instantly. She turns her face away, pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging them tight. The shift hits me square in the gut, but I force myself to keep going.
I wash her hair in silence, using the handheld showerhead to rinse away the shampoo and bubbles. Then I hand her a washcloth and a bottle of lotion soap.
“You think you can handle the rest?”
She doesn’t look at me as she takes the cloth from my hand and starts scrubbing on her own. I leave her there and walk to my room. I open my drawer, pull out one of my black T-shirts, then slam the drawer shut, pressing my hands to my head, trying to shake the last twenty minutes out of my mind.
Why does it feel so fucking effortless with her? So goddamn right? Everything just flows naturally with us… as if we were always meant to be. But it’s all a lie. A fucking lie I let myself believe because the truth is too hard to bear.
Get it together, Kill. This isn’t about you and your wounded heart. This is all your fault anyway. Get her well and make sure she gets home in one piece. After that, say goodbye. There’s no reason for you two to be in each other’s lives anymore. No reason why you should hurt like this.
I keep repeating those lies as if they were the only sacred mantra ensuring my sanity remains intact.
Once I’m in full control of myself, I walk back to Stella’s room and into the bathroom. She’s sitting with her back to me, her red hair a darkened maroon color, swept over one shoulder,leaving her back bare. The sight of her like this makes something in me splinter. I ache to touch her, to feel the silk of her skin, to press my lips to her neck until she can’t take it anymore and kisses me back.
In my mind, I imagine slipping into the tub behind her, holding her tight, thanking whatever force kept her alive. Thankful she didn’t leave me. Thankful air still fills her lungs. Thankful that maybe, just maybe, hope isn’t lost.
“I’m starting to get cold,” she says, clearly having sensed my presence even though I didn’t say anything.
I grab a towel and hurry to her, lifting her carefully out of the tub. Then I wrap her in the towel and pull her against me, her head tucking beneath my chin once more. I don’t move. I barely breathe. I just stand there, reveling in the moment.
“I…” she starts to stammer. “I don’t know what you want from me.” Her words hit me dead center in the chest.
“I know,dusha moya. I know.”
Stella lifts her head just slightly, her fingers brushing the stubble on my jaw. “I’m the one who should be angry with you, not the other way around.”
“I know that too.”
“So how do we get back?” she asks. “Back to where things were normal?”
I let out a long, weary breath. “We were never normal,milaya. Because you were always exceptional,” I say truthfully, this time holding her gaze without looking away.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
