Stefan sighed and kissed my forehead.“Don't drink too much.Take small sips.”He walked away, and I took the time to open the bottle.Except I couldn't turn the cap.No matter how much I tried.
I cried harder, and that only made my head and body hurt more.
I didn't even notice when Stefan came back with a fresh T-shirt and a few wet washcloths in his hands.
“Chesca, what's wrong.Don't cry,” he crooned, dumping everything on the bedside table.
“I—I—” I handed him the still-closed water bottle.
He took it from me and opened it.“Here.”He held it to my lips, and I took a sip.The cold water gave me some relief.
When I was done, Stefan set the bottle on the bedside table, and then his hands went straight for the hem of my shirt.He lifted it halfway up before I even knew what was going on.“What are you doing?”I asked, but the T-shirt was gone, leaving only the cool air against my hot skin.
Stefan stared at me.
And stared at me.
And stared.
I could only imagine what I looked like.But why was he staring at me like he wanted to murder someone?
“What?You've never seen a sick, disgusting woman before?”I asked and leaned over to grab one of the washcloths.Stefan just stayed where he was.
Staring.
Unmoving.
Good grief.
I wiped my face again and then my neck.My hair was all sweaty, and it was going to remain that way until I could stand up on my own long enough to shower.
Stefan finally seemed to come out of a trance.His hand moved slowly to my torso, his fingers grazing my ribs.“Francesca.Who did this to you?”His voice sounded—eerie.As if he were reining in the uncontrollable rage he'd displayed yesterday.
I looked down and gasped.
Crap.
I tried—too late—to cover the bruises there.“It's nothing.I fell a while ago.You know how clumsy I am.”I attempted to brush it off.But from the way Stefan was glaring at me, I knew he didn't believe me at all.
“Don't lie to me.”His tone was scary, but I knew he wouldn't hurt me.“Who did that to you?”
I rolled my eyes, and wiped down my arms even though my skin still ached horribly.“No one.”I gave him the same answer.“Can you wipe my back, please?”He took in a long, controlled breath and picked up a washcloth.I turned a bit to make it easier for him.The heat from my skin instantly dried any water the washcloth left behind.
After Stefan wiped my back, I quickly slipped on the new white T-shirt he'd brought out, covering up the bruises he couldn't stop looking at.
I lay back in bed and said, “Thank you.”
He nodded, and without saying a word, he undid the shorts I still had on and pulled them off.He picked up the last clean washcloth and started wiping the lower half of my body.
“Stefan, you don't have to—”
His eyes hit mine.“How many fuckin' times did you do this for me?”His voice cracked as his eyes welled up.
And mine would have done the same thing—if I had any water left in my body to spare.My eyes hurt as I gave him a sad smile.“A few.”
A forced laugh flew out of his mouth.“A lot more than that.And I appreciated it every single time.”Then he went back to his work of wiping me down.By the time he was done, I'd already drifted back to sleep.I didn't wake back up again until he slid into bed and spooned me.
“No, I'll get you sick, too.You should stay away from me.Go sleep in another room.There must be a dozen bedrooms or more in this place,” I muttered and pushed his hand away.
