Still nothing.
I rested my forehead against the cool wood and shut my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean…” My voice cracked. “Scheiße, I never meant to hurt you like that.”
The crying slowed, then stopped, but she still didn’t respond.
There was a little movement then, soft footsteps on the bathroom tile.
“I know I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. I hate that I made you cry, and I hate that I took something beautiful and ruined it because I’m too chickenshit to…” I paused.
More movement, closer to the door now.
“Please, princess, just let me see you. Let me try to fix this.”
A long moment passed before I heard the soft click of the lock turning.
The door opened slowly, and there she was. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, tears still clinging to her lashes, her arms wrapped around herself like she was holding herself together.
“Babe,” I breathed, and without thinking, I reached for her.
She didn’t pull away. She let me cup her face in my hands, let me brush away the fresh tears with my thumbs. Her skin was damp, and I could feel her trembling.
“I never wanted to make you cry,” I whispered, searching her eyes. “Never.”
She looked up at me, and I saw something in her eyes. It was as if she could see past my walls to the scared, stupid woman underneath who destroyed everything good that came into her life.
“I know,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the tears. “I’m sorry for raising my voice at you. I just…” She paused. “It… it hurt.”
“Sshhh… hey.”
“Hey,” she answered softly.
“I am sorry. Tell me how to make it up to you. I promise I will.”
She was quiet for a moment, studying my face with those dark eyes that captivated me. Then, so softly I almost missed it:
“Come in. Let’s shower together, wash this day off.”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice rough with relief. “Yeah. Whatever you need.”
She reached up and covered one of my hands with hers, pressing it more firmly against her cheek.
I closed my eyes, feeling something crack open in my chest. When I opened them again, she was still there, still looking at me.
She stepped back into the bathroom, and I hesitated for a second before following.
She reached for the shower handle, turning the water on. Steam began to rise as she glanced at me.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. We had never showered together. Hell, I’d never showered with anyone before in my life. This felt more intimate than anything I’d ever done, but I couldn’t tell her that.
She pulled her sweater over her head, and I found myself staring at her body, at the stretch marks that mapped her skin like silver rivers, before forcing myself to look away.
I stripped off my sweater, hyper-aware of her eyes on me. When we were both undressed, she stepped under the spray first, and I followed.
The water was almost too hot, but neither of us adjusted it.
She reached for the shampoo without asking, working it through my hair with her fingers.
“You don’t have to…” I started, but she shook her head.
