Snarling, I raised my foot and brought it down hard on his right hand. A scream pierced the air as bone crunched beneath my heel. His body flopped to the side half-heartedly, just in time for him to puke. I didn’t give him time to recover before I rounded him. Raising my foot again, I brought it down equally hard on his other hand. He screamed once more, but this one was cut off short as his eyes rolled back into his head. He passed out cold, his face drooping into the pool of his own vomit.
“I hope you drown in your own bile,” I told his unconscious body. “I hope you fucking rot here. Even if you somehow pull through this, you’ll never again hurt her.”
With his hands broken, I hoped that would keep him too busy to reach out to Serenity. I hoped it would give her space away from anyone who could set her back.
Satisfied with the sorry state Bradley was now in, I returned to my home. Serenity hadn’t moved from where she slept, and I tried not to let that get to me.
“She’s here,” I told myself. “She’s safe.”
I blew out a shaky breath and sat back in my chair beside the bed. Despite having no interest in nonfiction whatsoever, I grabbed the book I’d checked out from the library on how to support a loved one who dealt with depression. While she slept in my bed with a body worn down by concealed pain, I sat right beside her and read.
It was while I was reading that she opened her eyes again. The gray had dulled, and the sorrowful gaze seemed to peer through me. I bit back my own agony and reached out to take her hand, which rested near her face on the pillow. I swallowed hard and squeezed her hand lightly.
“I’m here, Serenity,” I whispered to her. “I’m here when you’re ready.”
For a moment, those eyes moved and met mine. For a moment, I saw my girl coming back to the surface, reaching up through the dark she swam in. But then her gaze slowly fell until they were void of anything again. Just like before, they closed, and she returned to the peace of sleep.
“Fuck,” I hissed, my voice strained with rising emotion as I dropped my head to the mattress.
Being patient was important for those who struggled. They oftentimes needed time to sort through everything they werefeeling, and even still might not necessarily be able to define what was wrong or what they were experiencing.
And it wasn’t like I could take those feelings away. Thousands of lifetimes on this earth had taught me that. I couldn’t make her feel something she didn’t, but I could endure the storm by her side, reminding her that the sun was on the other side of those clouds. She needed time to find the strength and ability to talk, and pressuring her or forcing her to do those things on my own timeline would only make things worse.
So I took a deep breath and sat back up, watching her sleep. Sleep meant she was still here. Sleep meant she was still alive. Sleep meant she was still holding on. So I’d hold on, too. For her, I’d hold on forever.
DAY FOUR.
Day four, Serenity’s lashes fluttered open. I held my breath and watched as she blinked blearily a few times before finally looking up at me.
I squeezed her hand, which I hadn’t let go of since taking it. “Hi, beautiful.”
“Dante,” she croaked, her voice hoarse and weak from lack of use.
I ran my free hand over the top of her head. “You’ve been out for a few days. Can I get you something to eat or drink?”
I’d thought Perseus was a moron for giving his own energy to Harper when she’d been too lost to eat properly, but I’d found myself doing the same thing. As soon as day two had hit, I’d taken matters into my own hands and had started funneling my energy into Serenity. I couldn’t let her waste away, so giving herlife through me was the least I could do until she was able to function again.
She seemed to consider my question for a moment before slowly shaking her head. While it wasn’t much, the response was something. It was more than she’d been able to do in days, and that was progress. I didn’t care how fucking small it was. A step was a step.
“That’s fine,” I told her.
In truth, I wanted her to eat. I wanted to get something into her stomach that would make her feel better, but I didn’t want to rush her. She’d just gotten up after days of fighting something dark and hard. She needed to recover slowly, not all at once. So food could come after she resettled into her own skin instead of her mind, and I had a good idea of how to get that process started.
I looked at her oily silver hair. While I could snap away any oils or filth from her body, that would be easy. Easy meant less effort, and I wanted to do more for her. I wanted her to feel cared for in her dark times. I wanted her toseethat she wasn’t alone in her suffering.
I gently pulled the comforter back. She didn’t say anything as I scooped her up and carried her into my bathroom. Her cold, clammy skin and drooping head hinted at how drained she was, even after all that sleep. My heart twisted. I didn’t let it discourage me, though.
After sitting her by the door, I filled the clawfoot tub with warm water and added some lavender scented soap to create bubbles. The book I’d been reading mentioned that certain essential oils could be beneficial for those suffering negative mental health episodes, and while I had no idea if that truly held any weight, I decided there was no harm in trying. Nothing was too small or too big when it came to being there for my girl.
Testing the water with my hand, I decided it was the perfect temperature. I stripped Serenity and placed her nude body in the water. Her eyes slipped closed, and while defeat naturally sprung up at the sight, I realized she was merely settling into the feeling of the warm water and bubbles. She breathed in softly and sank a little deeper in the tub. I swallowed hard as hope climbed my throat.
I placed my hand on her back and asked, “Do you care to lean back so I can wet your hair?”
She leaned into my palm, and I guided her lower so that just her hair dipped under the surface of the water. While I held her in the one hand, I used the other to run my fingers through her curls, making sure they were thoroughly wet and tangle free.
Once she sat back up, I grabbed a bottle of shampoo and slowly washed her hair, taking care to thoroughly devote time to the ends, middle, and scalp. I took just as much time rinsing and applying the conditioner. Every bit of her deserved to feel treasured, because she wassofucking special to me, and I’d done a terrible job of showing her that up until now.
“Does that feel good?” I asked her as I rinsed the conditioner.
