“Don’t thank me for my love,” he replies softly.
I watch as he sits against the wall.
As I climb into the shower and pull the shower curtain closed, the last thing I see is him running a hand down his face in distress.
* * *
The entire time I was in the shower, he stayed with me.
It seems taking a hot shower, scrubbing all of my baby’s blood off of me, has drained all the remaining energy I had left.
“Can you help me, Leonidas?” I ask and gesture to the towels.
He looks over at me and nods in understanding. His tall, muscular frame stands up. Gripping the towel in his hands, he pats me down gently. I watch the entire time as he tenderly wipes me down with a frown. Once I’m all dry, he places his enormous shirt over my head. It falls mid-thigh. Bending down, he places his boxers near my feet. I place a hand on his broad shoulder as I step through the legs. After he drags them up my legs, he pulls my shirt down to cover me.
Leonidas leans in close and gives my nose a peck.
I lean against the counter as he digs around for something. Finally pulling out a brush, he turns me around. He runs it through my hair. Every movement is delicate and full of love.
“Thank you,” I whisper when my eyes meet his in the mirror.
Dragging my body into his, he nestles his face in my neck. “I told you not to thank me.”
“But you deserve it for putting up with all my problems. Just throw me out,” I reply, and he glares at me.
Too soon? I deal with my sadness with dark humor.
“You should have a shower.” I glance at him and instantly feel sadness consume me again.
Seeing the look in my eyes, Leonidas nods. Stripping right behind me, he hops in the shower.
Just as his hand grips the curtain to shut it, I rush out, “Can I sit on the floor here and wait for you?”
He nods. “Of course.”
I sit on the hard floor. Placing my head in between my knees, I let out a shaky breath. My head pounds, my eyes kill because of all the crying I’ve done, and my heart clenches. Simba dying hasn’t even hit me full force yet. Just like my dad, when he died, I needed to see him to believe it. Now, with Simba, I saw him, but I can’t wrap my head around what happened.
I sit on the floor the entire time and wait for my boyfriend. He gets out of the shower ten minutes later. My eyes watch his olive skin shine with wetness. He dries his hair with a towel before putting on a pair of boxers, black sweatpants, and a black T-shirt.
Turning around, he spots me on the floor. His eyes dampen. He extends a hand down to me, and I grip it. He pulls me up. His lips place a delicate kiss on my cheek. A second later, he guides me out of the bathroom.
“Stay here. I’ll be back in a second,” he says softly before jogging out of the room.
A protest makes its way up my throat, but I stay rooted to my spot.
My eyes find his desk. It’s messy, filled with sheets of paper and different colored pens. Walking over to it. I know I shouldn’t snoop, but he’s my boyfriend, and if he didn’t want me in here, he wouldn’t have left me alone.
My eyes trail to the ground and spot a beautiful wooden guitar propped on a stand. I didn’t know Leonidas played the guitar. That’s never something he told me. My hands grip the notebook on the desk that looks like it’s been through hell and back, but as his door swings open, I drop it and stand up straight in embarrassment.
Leonidas eyes me carefully and tenses up. “Did you read that?” He looks over at the notebook.
I shake my head, and he relaxes.
“You play?”
Swallowing tightly, Leonidas nods.
“How come you didn’t tell me?” I ask him, feeling defeated.
