Miller breaks away but remains close. "Get ready and I'll make you coffee." He leaves me there, reeling with his touch and the image of what his father did to him a long time ago.
I can't fathom the idea of sweet Miller having done anything to deserve or warrant a reaction that extreme. From the depth of the scars, he must have been beaten badly for them to heal that way. And over and over again...not a square inch of his back not marked by the remains of an abusive man.
My heart aches thinking about that version of him, the young and terrified Miller, the one who never knew a proper adolescence because it was stolen from him. In a way, we really are one and the same, our youth hoods stripped from us by men who gave us no choice in the matter.
If only there was a way I could make it up to him, to rewrite history and give him the childhood he deserved. The one we both deserved. But that isn't possible, because we're almost out of time, our story ending far too soon because of yet another man who set claim to what isn't his.
I run my fingers through my hair, the tangles catching each of them. Groaning, I grab the brush and attempt to get them out. I never should have gone to sleep with my hair wet without brushing it first. My side aches as I contort to free my ratted hair, and I clench my jaw through the pain.
Miller pops his head in the door. "Hey, do you want hot or cold coffee?"
I drop my hand, and my hairbrush remains stuck in the knotted mess.
"Do you need help?" Miller abandons his question and continues toward me until he's standing right behind me.
I let out an exasperated sigh. "Kind of."
Miller, as gently as fucking possible, removes the brush from my hair. "Where's the spray I got you?"
"I didn't see any," I tell him, despite not having looked very hard. I was trying to hurry so we could leave sooner rather than later. I figured I could snoop through all the goodies he got me later once I confirm London is okay.
Miller opens the double doors and peers inside, pulling out a bottle a second later. "Here." He holds the thing out in front of me. "Have you tried this stuff before? The lady at the store said it was the best they had."
"On my budget?" I chuckle and cross my arms over my chest, the embarrassment of not even being able to afford anything other than the detangler setting in.
"Well, let's give it a try." He spritzes some of it into my hair and sets the bottle on the counter, returning his attention to my tangled hair. Miller bunches it up in one hand and slowly starts from the bottom, untangling a little at a time until finally, he's reached the top of my head.
It doesn't take him long to get through it, and surprisingly he didn't pull or hurt me at all.
Miller carefully brushes my hair a few more times, making sure to tread ever so lightly and ensure every inch of my hair has been covered. "There, is that better?"
"Yeah." I smile at him in the mirror. "Thank you."
He takes both of my shoulders with his hands and leans toward me, kissing the side of my temple. "Anything for you."
"Hot, please," I tell him, finally answering the question he came here for.
Miller presses his lips against my face again. "Good deal. I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you need any more help."
I push my rampant thoughts away and do as instructed, getting ready in the lavish bathroom that Miller so gratefully secured for me with no shortage of supplies at my disposal. Even tucked into one of the drawers is a complete setup of makeup, everything I use on a daily basis, only new and not years old and gross like the stuff I have at home.
I apply a thin layer of mascara and tinted lip balm before pinching my cheeks and leaving the bathroom, grabbing a pair of sneakers from the closet on the way through. Pausing at the door, I rush back to my nightstand and grab my very busted phone and head to the kitchen, where I assume Miller is.
At the thought of coffee, my stomach growls, reminding me that I'm not sure when my last meal was.
Miller looks up from his spot at the island as he pours something into a bowl. "I made you some oatmeal." He slides it across the counter to where a steaming cup of coffee sits with a few various small bowls nearby.
I approach to find they're each filled with raisins, brown sugar, and walnuts.
"I can cut up an apple, too." Miller snatches a green one from the selection of fruit.
"No, this is perfect, thank you." I hold out my hand. "Really, unless you want it." I climb onto the seat and stare at the selection in front of me. How did he know this is how I liked my oatmeal...down to every last ingredient?
Miller hesitates but drops the apple gently in with the others, and pours himself a bowl of hot oatmeal. He claims the seat next to me and spoons some of the stuff into his afternoon breakfast.
I reach for my coffee, blowing on the top before taking a sip. "Mmm, this is good."
"Vanilla oat milk latte," Miller says and takes a bite of his food.
