“Zira?” Sitting on the end of her bed, I reach for her limp hand. “Come on… let’s get you cleaned up.”
She doesn’t respond but she also doesn’t fight me when I grip her hand and guide her up into a seated position. Nor does she protest or fight me as I scoop her bridal-like into my arms and hold her against my chest. While her arms stay limply in her lap, her head rolls and rests against my shoulder, which is as close to soothing as I’m going to get, but I take it.
She remains silent as I carry her into the bathroom, but the moment I turn to nudge the door closed, Zira stiffens.
I freeze and lift my head, following her line of sight. She’s staring at herself in the bathroom mirror and then she slowly closes her eyes. Tears quickly build and spill from under her lashes.
“Oh, Zira,” I murmur. “It’s okay. If you would talk to me, I could help you. I’m here for that.”
She doesn’t open her eyes and the tension doesn’t leave her body.
“It’s my fault,” she whispers weakly. “It’s my fault Peter’s dead.”
26
ZIRA
My confession was supposed to make Bradley stop touching me. How can he bear to, knowing I got my own brother killed? His blood is on my hands.
Bradley doesn’t seem to understand the gravity of my words, though, because he doesn’t throw me down in disgust. He keeps me cradled against his chest and turns away from the mirror I’m transfixed by, then he gently sets me down on the ground but keeps both his hands on my shoulders. Shivers ripple down my spine and I urge him silently to let me go.
Don’t stain your hands on me.
Bradley doesn’t acknowledge my internal demand and instead crouches ever so slightly until we’re eye to eye as he wipes my tears away.
“I’m going to help you undress and get in the bath, okay? If you need me to stop at any point, then say so and I will, or if you’d rather someone like Ivy or Valentina, I can get them for you.”
He’s being so nice and I hate it.
I hate it because I hate myself.
How have I spent my entire life doing everything for Peter, scraping him up with me and taking care of him, funding his bad habits and working myself to the bone to take care of him and get him help, and he didn’t even hesitate on that embankment?
I close my eyes and my thoughts flood with that same moment over and over. Peter raising the gun, the bang of the weapon and the hot pain of the bullet grazing close enough to me to cut skin. I was angry when I thought it was Harris. Now there’s nothing but despair.
Bradley moves around while humming softly as if he wants me to know where he is all the time. It’s annoyingly considerate and I hate it. His warm fingers brush my elbow and sweep up to catch the sleeve of the nightshirt he slipped me into, however many nights ago it was we arrived here. The material bunches at my shoulder and he places his palm there to keep the fabric in place, then his touch brushes against my hip. With his warmth leading the way up my body, he brings the fabric up to under my chest and then carefully manipulates the neck hole enough that it slips off me without incident. My hair catches briefly in the shirt and then slaps against my bare back in clumps.
It needs to be washed.
I need to wash.
I don’t care enough.
A bite of cold nips at my bare skin, but before I can wrap my arms around my naked body, Bradley’s already scooping me back up into his arms and lifting me over the edge of the tub.
“Tell me if it’s too hot,” he says in a low voice.
Finally, I open my eyes again, freeing myself from the torment of the same memory over and over again. Hot water and fluffy bubbles rise to meet me, kissing the soles of my feet and the backs of my thighs as he lowers me into the tub. Bradley shows no care for his sleeves as they instantly get soaked.
For a moment, the water is too hot. Bitingly so. It cuts against my skin, turns my shivers into trembles of pain, and every inch of me tingles with the urge to claw my way out of the water like some distressed cat.
But then I take a breath and the heat grows… pleasant.
The bubbles smell nice and they fizz slightly against my skin while the water wraps me in layers of warmth that tempt me to sink down until I’m completely submerged. Luckily, Bradley’s there to stop that from happening. After freeing his arms from underneath me, he rocks back on his haunches and quickly removes his shirt which frees him from his sopping wet sleeves. Then he’s back with me.
Hollow, I study his face. Never have I been naked with a man without the weight of expectation, but Bradley carries such a soft look as if he really is here just to help me.
I hate it.
