“Are you doing that on purpose?” I shout in his direction. “Saying things you know will turn me on?”
I only receive a deep, echoing laugh in return.
When August comes back a few minutes later, he’s holding a steaming mug of tea in one hand, with my laptop tucked beneath his other arm. I’m fully submerged in the near-full tub, bubbles covering the majority of my body.
I still have pain, but the muscle soreness I was experiencing on top of my cramps has faded substantially, and my headache has gone from full roar to dull throb. August sets everything down on the vanity counter and bends over to rummage through the cabinet below it.
He pulls out a long wooden tray and a small white pillow. The tray sits perfectly across the tub, resting on the edge of either side. August then motions for me to sit up as he slides the pillow between my back and the side of the tub.
“Damn.” I sigh, settling back. “You really do love baths.”
He laughs, setting my tea and my laptop on the tray before sitting on the edge of the tub. “They help with my panic attacks.”
“Panic attacks?” I ask. “How long have those been happening?”
He tilts his head, offering a sorry smile. The kind that tells me there is no point in answering. They’re another one of themany aftershocks from the earth-shaking catastrophe the two of us caused.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, dipping a hand into the water to run his fingers along my thigh. We’re both quiet for a moment, watching the water ripple past his hands as he brushes my skin. “I’m going to warm up some clothes for you in the dryer, then I’ll come back and check on you.”
“Lucky day for you to get off work early, huh?”
He gives me a bemused expression as he lifts off the tub. “I didn’t get off early. I left when Leo said you weren’t feeling well.”
“What?” I ask. “Why would you do that?”
“I know you don’t like your family seeing you like this.” He leans against the door, crossing his arms. “I know I’m the only person you allow to take care of you. Even though you don’t want to, I’m the person you trust to know what you need without you having to voice it. You need to be taken care of today.”
Those all-too-familiar black threads of guilt creep over my shoulders and slowly tie themselves around my throat. I’ve been wrapped up in work, in my family—in August. I’ve started to forget all my sins. I’ve forgotten the reason I shut myself out to begin with, the reason I didn’t allow myself the distractions of love, friendship, self-worth. I’ve allowed myself to forget that I don’t deserve any of this.
“How many panic attacks—how many night terrors—have you experienced over the years that you had to handle on your own? That I wasn’t here to care for you?”
“And how many flare-ups did you go through on your own?” He swallows, rubbing a hand over the stars tattooed on his wrist. “You left me to crumble beneath the weight of my pain, but I see now that you forced yourself to suffer too.” He lifts his eyes to mine. “I just want to know the why of it all.”
22
VIOLET
“UNKNOWN / NTH” - HOZIER
The bathroom is dimly litby candles and the glow of her laptop where it plays what I instantly recognize as Season Four ofReal Housewives of Beverly Hills. I’ve rewatched it with her so many times it’s now impossible for me to miss the two women fighting back and forth about hexing one another.
Elena’s head is tilted back against the pillow, a washcloth covering her eyes. She didn’t answer my question earlier, and I knew she wouldn’t. She simply stared at me with quiet trepidation until I finally left the bathroom and went to get her things ready.
Now, candlelight flickers against her golden skin, casting a soft glow over the moisture glistening on her chest. She’s still mostly covered by bubbles, but they’ve diminished enough that I can make out the two peaks of her pierced, honey-colored nipples.
My fingers tighten around the fabric of her robe with a sudden itch to sketch her like this. Her body is a masterpiece, meant to be re-created through multitudes of mediums, forever immortalized. She’s the kind of beauty that should be remembered. Studied. Cherished. She’s art.
It’s been years since I’ve allowed myself to draw her, and the way it hits me as I watch her in this light is enough to knock me off my feet.
I must have made a sound, because she’s suddenly sitting up, the cloth falling off her face and into the palm of her hand. Her head whips sideways, eyes meeting mine.
“Hi.” She blinks.
“Sor… Sorry,” I stutter, realizing how fucking weird I must look, being caught staring at her like this. She smiles knowingly, and heat crawls up my neck. “I grabbed your fuzzy robe from your bathroom and warmed it up in the dryer for you.”
“Thank you, Augustus.” She grips the sides of the tub, pulling herself from the water.
