“Sweetheart. I know you’re not mocking me, but the way you say it sounds… different.”
Angel takes my question as an invitation to stand mere inches from me. Before I can fully grasp what he’s doing, he gently cups my face in his hands.
His unexpected touch is scorching against my cheeks and ignites a fire inside me that warms me to my bones.
But my head starts spinning when Idon’tflinch. I don’t tense. The thought of protecting myself from him doesn’t cross my mind. My mind doesn’t flash with ways a man of his stature can hurt me. And most surprising of all, there’s no reflex to knock him flat on his ass. Just…calm.
Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.
His warm palms feel soothing against the cold, rough skin of my cheeks. My eyes flutter shut on their own accord, and I lean into his palm, like it’s instinct.
“I saw how you fiercely protected that kid last night. It gave me a glimpse into your heart. How pure it is. Howsweet.” His voice dips as he brushes his thumb along my cheek, a devilish smirk on his face. “And the way it makes you blush is my new favorite thing in the world.”
Angel laughs softly, amused by how he has rendered me speechless.
Heat flushes my face and slowly spreads to my neck. Before I can turn around to escape the tingly feeling in my stomach, I freeze when something soft and warm presses against my forehead.
I look up to see Angel’s eyes have fallen shut, and his lips are touching my skin. He lingers momentarily, and when he finally pulls away, I have this insane urge to drag him right back in and beg him to do it again.
No! What is wrong with me? Why is this green-eyed walking daydream affecting me so much?
When I can’t take anymore of Angel’s heart-melting stare that’s waiting for me to do or say something, I spin around, shouting ‘shower time!’ over my shoulder like a lunatic.
I bang my head against the closed door before I stiffen at the size of the bathroom. And the unnecessary number of buttons and taps.
Stripping out of my rag, I throw it in the trash can and start jabbing every button on the panel until I finally hit the one that pours hot water. It takes me longer than it should to figure out the shower settings and all the products sitting on the shelf, but it’s undoubtedly the best shower of my life.
I scrub so hard it feels like I’m shedding a layer of skin, but the dirt and blood I thought were a permanent part of me are finally gone.
There’s a new brush waiting for me on the bathroom counter after my relaxing shower, and I brush my teeth twice for good measure.
I was hosed down like an animal every week in the dungeon, and the same brush I had been using for the last decade was on its last leg, so feeling this squeaky clean is a luxury that I’m going to remember for the rest of my life.
When it’s time to fix my hair, no amount of brushing helps me tackle the nest on my head. I rubbed my scalp until it was free from all the buildup and so dry it felt like I would startbleeding, but that all seems like a waste because now there are tears in my eyes from tugging on my hair too hard.
My teeth are clenched tight, and the headache that was soothed by the shower has returned with a vengeance. No matter how hard I try, the stupid comb refuses to slide from my scalp to the roots in one smooth move. And the more I fight it, the more it frizzes like a lion’s mane.
I slam the hairbrush on the counter. The only reason it’s not in the trash is because I don’t want to break that sweet man’s brush just because I’m pissed off.
I admit my defeat and run wet fingers through my hair to make it look a little more presentable.
I reach for the set of new undergarments Angel had given me and put them on. It feels weird to have so many layers of clothing on me when I’m used to wearing a rag for a dress.
I pull up dark sweatpants that fit perfectly around my waist and a soft t-shirt over my head. But I stop cold when I see my reflection in the mirror.
Fuck, I can’t wear this.
The sleeves are too short, and the t-shirt sticks to me like a second skin. The scars on my legs are hidden, but the ones on my arms are making me reconsider if I want to leave this bathroom.
My scars are raised, jagged, and poorly healed. No one likes seeing them. If I step out like this, Angel will have questions, and my scars will be the star topic of conversation today.
I don’t want that. I want to pretend I’m somewhat normal for at least today.
I take a deep, calming breath and decide the smartest thing to do is to ask Angel for a cover-up. That will spare us both from facing the hideous reminders of my past.
Suddenly, my throat feels too tight to swallow. I’ve never felt this nervous before. I have spat in the face of my tormentor, fully aware of the consequences, yet here I am, scared to ask Angel for a jacket.
I close the bathroom door behind me and find Angel sittingon the edge of the bed, waiting for me. I shiver when his eyes take in the way I’m covering my shoulders and arms with the towel.
