Chapter 25
Vincent
Charlie – I had to remember that’s what he preferred to be called – ate almost half of the serving in the bowl. It was better than I expected. I mentally made a note to make a protein shake later for him.
“Would you like to get cleaned up?” I stood from the chair slowly.
I had a feeling the last time Charlie got a shower was the day he left this house, which was close to a week. If he wasn’t up to taking a bath, a wet warm cloth would work for now until he was ready.
He nodded. It was a tiny tip of his head, but an answer all the same.
I beamed, hoping that my emotions would encourage Charlie to show more of his. Relax him, too.
I knew the road to earning his trust would be a long one. One I was willing to work and wait on for however long I needed to.
“I’ll get the water going, then I can help you if you need it.”
“Okay, Sir.” A soft reply passed his lips.
I glanced at him one more time before heading towards the bathroom. He didn’t hold himself so tight, his shoulders slightly more relaxed than when I had first walked into this room.
His eyes were shadowed in dark circles, hiding his youthful face. But with time, that would fade. I’d make sure of it.
I ran the bath, letting the Epsom salts dissolve into the water, steam curling up in soft ribbons. I placed soap, towels, and a clean washcloth within reach.
I stood for a moment, scanning the setup, making sure I hadn’t missed anything. Then I returned to the room. Charlie was just easing himself off the bed. I stopped in the doorway, every instinct screaming to close the distance and carry him the rest of the way.
But I didn’t. He needed to move on his own. Even if it costs him.
His feet touched the floor, slow and uncertain. Each step looked like it took everything he had—like gravity was heavier for him than it was for the rest of us.
When he reached me, I slipped an arm around his waist, steadying him.
“Let me help you,” I said quietly.
He didn’t pull away, nor did he lean into me like the other times when he was so out of it.
I guided him into the bathroom slowly, one arm steady around his waist. The steam had already filled the space, curling around us like a veil. The salts had melted into the water, softening the air with something faintly herbal.
Charlie hesitated at the edge of the tub. His eyes flicked to the water, then to me.
I didn’t rush him. I stood beside the tub, hands open, voice low. “I’ve got you,” I said. “We’ll go slow.”
He nodded—barely. Eyes wide, mind spinning with thoughts that he wasn’t ready to speak out loud.
With a tighter grip on my hand, he lifted one leg, then the other, into the water.
His skin was marked, bruises blooming like old ink, the carved V still angry on his shoulder. I didn’t look away. I didn’t let the decorations grow the fury that was simmering underneath my skin.
He winced as the heat touched him, but didn’t pull back.
I held his hand until he was seated, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around himself.
Then I sat beside the tub, silent. Not watching. Just present. Because sometimes, presence was the only thing that didn’t hurt.
The silences bloomed, letting him relax as the water reached close to the top. I reached over, turning off the taps, the bathroom growing almost too quiet.
“Would you like me to wash you down? Or do you prefer to do it?”
