His arms squeeze tighter, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away. I cry harder, allowing the pain to sweep me under the waves.
After a few moments, Santos gently pulls away, and a chill spreads over my skin at his absence.
“Let’s get you cleaned up and stop the bleeding.” He holds me at arm’s length, looking down at me with pity.
“Don’t pity me,” I bite through a sob.
His face pinches. “I don’t, V. I’m afraid.” The words are a slap to the face, and I try to pull away, but he only grips me tighter. “I’m not afraid of you, Valentina. I’m not afraid of what you might do.I’m afraid for you—I’m afraid you won’t see how strong you really are before it’s too late.”
“I—” There are no words.
He begins tugging me toward the bathroom, not saying anything else, and I follow him. For the first time since he’s pulled me from my panic, I notice he’s wearing nothing but a pair of tight fitting black boxers, the fabric clinging to him. His back ripples as he walks, and there’s two deep dimples right above his hips. Moles splatter across his shoulders, a thin layer of translucent hair on his lower back. A glistening scar intersects his right shoulder blade, and I wonder how he got it. Besides the spiderweb tattoo crawling up his arm, ending on his neck, and some kind of writing scrawled over his ear, his skin remains unmarked by ink.
He’s a perfect specimen, all man, and I wish I could lose myself in his arms.Surely I’d be safe there.
“Get in the shower.” He opens the glass door, turning on the spray. He doesn’t look my way, and a wave of uncertainty fills me. After a moment, he looks over his shoulder, confused.
“I don’t?—”
He shakes his head. “You’re covered in blood, V. I just meant for you to wash off, and then I’ll look at your hand to see if you need to go get stitches or not.”
“In my clothes?” I look down, only to realize I’m wearing very little. Besides the black cotton panties and matching bra, only blood covers my skin.
“You can strip down if you want.” He smirks. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel self-conscious in front of a man. Skin has been my only currency—my weapon to wield—for most of my life, and because of that, I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be insecure. “I’m teasing. I’ll go find you something to put on. You never have to show more than you’re willing.”
He leaves the bathroom, but not before making sure I get under the spray and that the temperature’s warm enough. His tenderness cuts me far deeper than the glass ever could have. I don’t know how to act around him; I care what he thinks of me, even if I don’t want to.
After washing the blood off my body and covering up in a fuzzy dark robe, I sit on the edge of the tub, Santos turning my hand over as he inspects the cut.
“It’s not too deep. You should probably get stitches so it doesn’t ruin your perfect skin.”
Butterflies erupt in my stomach at the thought that he thinks any part of me could be perfect. “I don’t mind.”
He looks at me as surprised. “It’ll probably scar.”
I nod. “I know. It’ll be a good reminder.”
“Of what?” he asks.
“That I’m alive.”
We remain locked in a silent exchange, our eyes never straying from the other’s as I will him to hear everything I’m unable to say. His emerald gaze is hard at first, but it quickly softens, understanding filling them. With the most carefultouch, he traces over the jagged line on my palm, the skin angry and pink.
“You have everything. Why wouldn’t you want to be alive, V?”
“You called me V,” I say instead of answering his damning question.
“Yeah?”
“You called me V. You’ve always called me Valentina.”
His hand quivers, and I fear he’s going to release his grip. Instead, he closes my palm in his. “Why wouldn’t you want to be alive, V? Does it have anything to do with the tattoo on your back?”
Dread consumes me, my tongue turning to lead in my mouth, my blood turning to ice in my veins. I yank away from his grasp, his words burning me more than his touch ever could.
“How dare you?” I hiss. It’s the only thing I can think to say—the only words I can form that aren’t the painful truth. A truth I’ve spent my entire life running from, hidden beneath the mask of ice I’ve created around my heart.
“Valentina—”
