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When we get back to my place, I carry Delilah through the front door and directly to the bathroom. She’s freezing and hasn’t stopped shivering since before I gave her my jacket. My girl needs me to bandage her up and get her in a warm shower before she gets sick.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, the tears in her red-rimmed eyes tearing my fucking heart out.
I hate that she’s hurt. I hate that she felt like she couldn’t call me for help. I really hate that she can’t stop apologizing. It speaks volumes about how she grew up. I’m going to get the rest of her story tonight, and then I’m going to show her that I’m nothing like the people she’s known in her past. I’m always going to be there for her, to support her and encourage her.
“Baby, it’s okay. Everything is okay,” I tell her as I set her down on the sink counter and then turn on the shower to give the water plenty of time to heat up.
She’s silent, and I know my girl doesn’t believe me just yet, but she will. I’ll keep showing up, keep showing her how strong and amazing she is all on her own, and that I’m the lucky one to have her in my life, not the other way around.
Focusing my attention back on Delilah's wound, I take out the first aid kit I keep under the sink. I gently clean up the dried blood, relieved to see the cut looked worse than it actually is. No stitches are required, and she probably won't even have a scar after a few months.
I carefully put some antibiotic ointment over the cut, then cover the spot with a bandage. Leaning forward, I kiss her temple, careful to avoid her injury. My lips brush against her ear, and I whisper once again that I’m here and that she’s safe. I think she needs the reminder.
After helping Delilah off the counter, I peel off her wet clothes and guide her into the steaming hot shower. She looks at me, her blue eyes swimming with vulnerability. I know what she needs before she even asks me.
“Would you like me to join you?” I ask, already tugging my shirt off.
Delilah nods her head and moves over, giving me room to step inside once I have my clothes off. I immediately reach out for my girl, wrapping my arms around her and holding her trembling body under the hot stream of water.
“I love you, too,” she whispers, her words so soft-spoken I almost don’t hear them. When it finally sinks in that my woman said she loves me, I squeeze her against me, tucking her head under my chin so we can be as close as possible.
“Love you so damn much,” I murmur.
After a few moments, I grab the bottle of body wash and squeeze some into the palm of my hand. Gently, so damn gently, I wash every curve, every dip, every inch of her skin until she’s clean and her muscles are relaxed.
She steps out and dries herself off with a towel while I quickly rinse off, joining her with a towel of my own. When we’re done, Delilah looks up at me, then down at her naked body. “Can I borrow some clothes?” she asks.
“I told you from the first time you came here that clothing is optional,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. I’m rewarded with a small smile, which I’ll consider a win after today. “But yes, of course, I have some clothes you can wear.”
I lead her to my room, but instead of going to my dresser, Delilah climbs into bed without anything on. Fine by me. I follow suit, crawling under the covers next to my beautiful woman. I open my arm up, loving when she automatically curls up into my chest. I comb my fingers through her hair, letting our breaths sync up and our hearts beat as one.
“Who made you feel unworthy?” I ask, my voice soft and reverent. At first, Delilah tenses in my arms, but I kiss the top of her head and run my fingertips down her spine in what I hope is a calming gesture.
She eventually relaxes once more into my embrace, taking a cleansing breath as she does. “I grew up with just my mom. Never knew my dad, though my mom never missed an opportunity to tell me that was my fault. If I wasn’t such a needy baby or so clingy as a child, maybe my dad would come back.”
“Sweetheart, no,” I whisper. “That’s not true.”
Delilah shrugs, breaking off another piece of my heart. I’m more determined than ever to prove to this woman that she deserves a good life filled with love.
“My mom never wanted a kid. She didn’t know what to do with me most of the time, so she tried pawning me off on family members or friends. I’d spend a few weeks with one guardian or another, never really feeling like I belonged anywhere.”
She pauses to gather her thoughts, giving me time to do the same. I’m starting to get a clearer picture of how this precious girl grew up, and I hate everything she’s had to endure. I get the feeling there’s more to the story, however.
“I guess my mom finally couldn’t do it anymore,” Delilah continues. I feel more than hear her whispered words against my chest. “On my seventeenth birthday, my mom announced that I was old enough to look after myself and that she would be leaving with her new boyfriend to sail around the world. When I reminded her I just turned seventeen, not eighteen, she got livid. I’d never seen her filled with such rage. My mom said that was close enough, and that she paid rent until the end of the month, so I had at least two weeks to find a new place.”
I have no words, so I just hold my woman tight as she shows me the most vulnerable parts of her heart. What I really want to do is find out where this woman lives and tell her exactly what I think of her parenting skills. Abandoning her daughter at seventeen? Telling her everything is her fault? No wonder Delilah was hesitant to call and tell me about the sink.
“And look how much you’ve grown and flourished since your mother left. You were on your own at such a young age. Your grandma had already passed away at that point, right?” She nods her head. “And you managed to put yourself through college, come up with a business plan, get a loan, and start living the life you always dreamed of.”
Delilah blinks a few times, letting my words sink in. Has she never taken the time to appreciate everything she’s accomplished?
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I guess I almost have everything I ever wanted, minus the current flooding setback.”
“Almost?” I ask, resting my forehead on hers, avoiding her wound.
