Page 114 of Sweet Surrender

Take care of her.

Let her know how appreciated she is.

And I don’t know how I feel about that as I turn the water on and wait for it to heat up. It’s like my head and heart are in a constant battle of opening up and shutting down. Of letting her in and then guarding it back up.

Yet time and again, I let her in when I’ve never let anyone other than the guys in. That says something, doesn’t it?

She blinks up at me, a little dazed, as I help her into the bathtub. She moans softly as she settles.

I go in search for a cup to help wash her hair and at first when I return, I think she’s fallen asleep. But I don’t stare at her like I want to, I don’t take advantage of the trust she’s given me either.

She sighs when I pour the warm water over her scalp. She tilts her head back as I work the shampoo into a lather and begin massaging it into her scalp in painfully detailed circles. I rub my fingers into her temples and then to the back of her neck.

This is such a new experience for me, taking care of someone.

Then again, is it? The thought startles me. I took care of my mom for a long time, and maybe I subconsciously stopped wanting to take care of anyone because of that.

Until now.

Until Hendrix.

What does that mean?

“The other day, the day of the gala,” she says quietly, her eyes still closed.

“What about it?”

“You were at the homeless shelter. I saw a picture on a gossip site. You were in the food line helping out.”

I digest her words as slowly as I respond. “And?”

“Why didn’t you tell me that’s where you went? Is that where whatever happened, happened?”

I exhale, running my fingers through her wet strands. “I don’t tell anyone when I go.” It’s not a lie, it’s just not the full truth. “It’s my way of giving back and it’s not for public fodder or good press. I never want it to be.”

She tilts her head back, eyes barely parting as if the dim light is too much even now. “I’d like to go with you sometime. I mean, if you ever want company. I’d love to help.”

Fuck. My chest tightens. No one’s ever said that before. No one’s ever wanted to be part of that side of my life.

Not that she has any clue how close it hits to home for me.

I nod. “Yeah. Maybe.” I’d like that.

I finish washing her hair in silence, afraid that any conversation might lead to more questions I’m not ready to answer.

When her hair is done, when she’s dressed in a fluffy robe, lying on her bed, I assure her the cookies downstairs are coming along just fine.

And then I crawl into bed beside her, tuck her against my chest, and let her steady breathing and warm body calm my mind.

I should be asleep.

It doesn’t come though, because my head is no longer quiet. In fact, it’s screaming.

“I’d like to go with you sometime. I mean, if you ever want company. I’d love to help.”

How does she keep on giving? Yes, I’ve helped her financially, but I’ve uprooted her life, asked her not to crowd mine, and yet, she keeps offering so much to me. Her kindness, her smiles, her light . . . her body.

“Need me. Take me. Want me. Use me.” And I have. I do. Repeatedly. Uncontrollably.