Today, I learned that the two men I love the most played with my life like it’s a fucking fiddle, using me for whatever gains they seek. I stop in the middle of the hallway at my thoughts. I love Easton, and I’m starting to hate myself for it. Because after everything, I can’t turn off my heart.
“Amore, let me help you.” His voice is softer than it’s ever been, care and concerned weaved into every syllable he speaks.
“I said I’m fine,” I snap and glance over my shoulder, but I don’t look at him.
He drops his hands from my arms, giving me the space I’m asking him for. That’s not really what I want, but I can’t allow myself to want him to hold me right now. Not when my emotions are all over the place, not until he confesses everything I learned today.
Pulling my shoulders back, I continue toward my door, noticing the rug outside my apartment is no longer overturned. I remember kicking it when they dragged me out of here, but I guess my neighbors put it back.
Easton follows me inside and closes the door behind us. It’s barely on the hinges, and I don’t remember it being this way when they dragged me out of here.
“I’ll get you some water,” he says to my back while I fall onto the stool in front of the tiny island. “And I’ll have someone come fix the door in the morning.”
I watch him move, and like every other time we’ve been together, he seems so calm and so unfazed. He’s never riled up, never in over his head, even as he carried me away from that raggedy motel, he didn’t blink.
He opens the cupboard for a glass that he fills with water from the sink. I accept it when he hands it to me, but I don’t drink it. I can’t, just the thought of consuming anything turns my stomach, and I know it’s because I’m still shaken up.
Easton is on the opposite side of the counter, his eyes boring into me. He’s attentive like he was last night, and normally I’d love the way he’s looking at me like he wants to take care of me. Though if he’d been honest with me, and not done whatever it was he did with my dad that sent those men to my door, he wouldn’t need to cater to me.
He feels guilty, and it’s written all over his face. Sitting the glass down on the counter, I twirl and stand to my feet. My shoulders slump as I somberly walk toward the back of my apartment. Along the way, I strip out of my nightgown, wanting desperately to wash the smell of that place, the smell of those men off of me.
They didn’t hurt me, thankfully, but their scent still lingers, making me nauseous. When I turn into the bedroom, I see Easton standing in the center of the living room watching me. I ignore him, which is something he’s not used to, and the lines above his brow prove how uncomfortable that makes him.
Good, he should worry.
I make it to my bathroom, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Just like I thought, my eyes are red and puffy, and my skin is tight from the dried tears. My hair is unkempt, my skin sticky from sweat, and my body still shows evidence of the night I had. I rake my hands through my hair, but it does nothing to smooth out the flyaways.
With a deep breath, I push off the counter and reach into the shower, turning the dial to its highest temperature. I step under the stream before the water has a chance to heat all the way up. Wetting my face, I close my eyes before dipping my head into the spray.
I think back to this morning and how afraid I was staring down the barrel of that gun. Unaware if I’d get the opportunity to wake up tomorrow. And as I was tied to that chair, my mind traveled to all the things I’d miss out on. Thoughts of my dad cloud my headspace, and I realize how close I was to never making amends with him.
I feel about him right now the same way I do Easton. Hate is the feeling I want to have, but he’s my dad, and the only parent I have left. So while I’m angry and hurt by all that transpired, I’m unable to turn off my care for him as well.
The tears start again, and a scream builds in my throat. But then I hear the floors in my room creak and know it’s because Easton has followed me into the bath. Thanks to the clear shower curtain, I see him from the corner of my eye just standing in the doorway watching me. Not wanting to acknowledge him, or allow him to see me crying, I dip my head under the water again and turn so that my back is to him.
As I run my palms over my hair, I steal a glance over my shoulder at him. I want to hate him so much right now, but for some sick reason, I don’t. I’m just glad he’s here, even though I know I’ll never have to worry about those jerks again. Easton and his brother made sure of that. I guess I should be thankful for Jude. It’s clear he doesn’t like me, I’ve known that since I walked into the jewelry store, but he still helped Easton save me. So maybe he isn’t so bad after all.
The ruffling of the curtain being opened brings me from my thoughts. I turn in time to catch Easton stepping into the shower with me. He rubs my shoulders, kneading them while pressing his thumbs into the space at the base of my neck.
Not that I mean to, but a moan slips past my lips, and my body immediately relaxes. I didn’t realize how sore I actually am until this very moment. Without much thought, I step back into him, loving the way his large frame feels against mine.
He reaches around me and grabs the shampoo bottle from the shelf. Easton fills his palms and proceeds to lather up my hair, take extra care to massage my scalp. I close my eyes again, melting away with each passing second. For the next few minutes, he continues to wash my hair, getting each strand then removes the detachable hose and using it to rinse the soap from my hair.
With my head pointed to the tub’s floor, I watch the suds flow down the drain while everything else around me fades into a blur. The only thing my mind seems to pick up on is the sound of the water and the flow of it at my feet. Easton grabs my loofah and body wash, bringing me back to the present.
He works at my shoulders first, then my back before instructing me to face him so he can lather up my front. We make eye contact as he runs the soft sponge over my breast, my nipples instantly pebbling at his touch. But he doesn’t react to that, which is something I appreciate at the moment. I can’t control the way my body reacts to him, even with sex being the furthest thing from my mind. But to be here with him, naked while he bathes me and to have him not sexualize me means more than I think he knows.
The intimacy without the physical makes me feel secure. I can’t help but wonder if he’d come up with me last night, would he have done this. I read that aftercare is big in his world, and while he didn’t come up to care for me, he did leave me with instructions.
Easton squats in front of me to clean my legs, then my feet, and when he silently pries my legs open to reach my pussy, my breath hitches. But just like a moment ago, he’s focused on only me, and it turns me on beyond belief. Why is that? Why is knowing that he can be completely naked in a small space with me but keep himself from getting hard so erotic?
After he’s done, he guides me under the stream to rinse the day away. The pipes rattle when he shuts off the water, and the curtain rings scrape against the rod when he pulls the clear covering open. He steps out first and snags a clean towel from the rack next to the tub then holds out a hand for me and leads me into my bedroom as if he’s familiar here.
Easton is patient as he dries me from head to toe. He juts his chin toward my vanity, and I flop into the chair. He moves about my room collecting lotion from my dresser, not caring one bit that he’s still buck-ass naked. He stands in front of me, his dick eye level as he sits the moisturizer on the desk behind me.