Page 83 of The Gods Forbid

“Shit, Persy,” I said, turning away from her. Seeing her fingers push just the top button of her sweater open was too far.

“I need these clothes off me,” she said, her voice sounding dazed. “They’re covered in food and he … he was yelling at me and saying all the ways that he was going to hurt me while he was dragging me towards him and I know that’s not true but I think—I think I can still smell his breath and he reeked of blood and I can’t get it off me and it’s—”

Something went splat on the floor and I closed my eyes even tighter. Having to hear her move was probably worse. Because every slip and slide of her skin sounded as loud as cannon booms in my ears.

She could ask me to leave. I could volunteer to.

Neither happened because after another smack of wet clothing hitting the floor, Persy started to struggle against something.

“What is—”

The rest of my question was cut off my a muffled grumble from Persy. My eyes snapped open on instinct—and good thing they did. Persy was damn near suffocating herself with a thin white tank top.

It was tangled in her hair and the whole mess of fabric and white-blonde hair was stained pink with something that smelled an awful lot like tomatoes. “Love, don’t … wait just a second … if you just—”

And then I was helping her. My hands were lightly knocking hers out of the way as I took over the job of peeling the tank top off her.

I stayed pointedly behind her, making sure the only thing in my line of sight was the top of her head or the swell of her knees where they were pressed tightly to her chest.

Who the fuck was I kidding?

Seeing her bare shoulders was enough to make me feel like my stomach was turning in on itself, it was pulling so tight. Even looking at the way her shoulder blades pressed against her skin, widened and flat as she hugged her knees, was too much.

I moved the spray over her back, watching as her hair absorbed the water and sent a stream of pink down the white porcelain of the tub. My own clothes were soaked, so much so that I could see my tattoos through the fabric of shirt.

Fuck it.

If Persy could be exposed like this in front of me, I could do the same in front of her. Keeping the spray on her in a comforting wash of water, I quickly unbuttoned my shirt and shucked it off, throwing it into the pile of clothes Persy had created.

The second the fabric hit the floor, Persy looked at me over her shoulder. She gasped sharply, and there was a moment where I felt embarrassment warm my chest.

She’d eventually get me to admit that those tattoos were one of my greatest regrets in life, so it was only logical to admit it to myself first.

But then I realized she was actually staring at my chest.

An entirely different type of warmth shoved away the embarrassment. No, no this was not okay.

I knew what I looked like. Appreciation was fine but it could go no further than that. I would sooner destroy every painting I’d ever done than cross that line with her.

Not because I didn’t want to, thoughts where that was concerned were on my mind more often than not, but because I would never taint anything she was working towards with me by crossing that boundary.

I forced myself to focus back on Persy. On trying to get the food off her hair and her face. Moving the shower head into one hand, I tried to untangle her hair from her necklace.

It was getting stuck, pulling enough that it risked a few of the strands breaking. Well, that wasn’t fucking happening. Not on my watch.

“I need to take your necklace off,” I said, hating myself just a little bit. I should have asked her to take it off herself. But she moved her hair out of the way, exposing more of her bare back.

I begged for help from the Fates, the Oracle, and every Apollo in history.

I unclasped the delicate gold chain easily, looking around for a place to put it safely. Her bath was isolated, nothing really around it.

With a groan, I quickly looped it around my wrist and re-did the clasp. Persy was looking at me with a new expression on her face, something I couldn’t quite gauge from my position.

I was staying firmly behind her. No fucking way was I moving in any way that would give me a better view of her front.

“Hair next,” I said, my voice more gentle than I’d ever used. Maybe it was the shock, the utter disbelief that she was letting me see her like this. Touch her like this.

Persy nodded, her lips fighting to curve into a smile, though her eyes told me everything I needed to know about her mental state. If I could chase away that sadness, I would feel more accomplished than any other moment in my life.