The words hit like a slap.
“Fuck you!” I turn away from the mirror, from the broken girl trapped inside it. “I can shower myself. I’m traumatized, not incompetent.”
“I never said you were incompetent.”
“You’re treating me like I’m going to shatter if you look away.”
“You already shattered, Haven.” His voice is matter-of-fact, not cruel. “I’m just making sure you don’t cut yourself on the pieces while you’re still putting yourself back together.”
“And that requires me stripping naked in front of you?”
“You’re not getting any more paint on my things,” he says. “Get yourself cleaned up and into some warm clothes.”
Clean sounds nice. All I can smell is grass and mud and the chemical stench of paint. Warm sounds even better. My teeth are chattering, grinding, clenching together and I keep catching the inside of my cheek.
“Fine,” I mutter, stepping reluctantly into the shower.
I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at the shower controls, but it’s long enough for Bastian to lose his patience.
“Got it all figured out, don’t you?” comes his voice behind me.
I flinch, glaring at him over my shoulder. “This thing come with a manual?”
“Face the wall.” He snaps his fingers, pointing, and I hesitate before facing forward.”
The black marble is exquisite. Feint lines of white and gray weave through the glossy, midnight-black stone. I trace a line with my finger before I can stop myself.
“We need to take this off,” Bastian says, tugging at the trash bag stuck to my skin.
I push my fingers through the plastic just below my throat. Every time I move, the leash attached to the collar around my throat clinks, but I try to ignore it. Bastian said he was going to cut it off when he led me through his front door.
At least I don’t feel like I’m being strangled anymore.
Bastian rips the plastic off my back, and I shiver as the cool bathroom air touches my skin in new places.
The small of my back.
Between my tits.
Over my belly.
“Good,” Bastian murmurs, reaching past me to turn on the faucet. “Tell me when it’s the right temperature.”
His voice is so smooth, so deep, so…caring. Is this what kindness feels like? Someone seeing me fucked up and broken, and still wanting to look after me?
Water hits the top of my head. I gasp and leap back, out of the spray.
Right into Bastian.
He catches me, stops me. But our bodies are fused together, and I can feel he’s not wearing a shirt.
Panic hits me. When did he take it off?
“Sorry.”
“That’s alright,” he says in a tight voice that suggests it’s anything but. He steps back, distancing himself, and immediately cool air swirls over my skin where his warmth used to be.
Fuck, I miss it.
