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Walking to the mirror, I turned and looked at myself.
My hair had coiled and ratted, wild and messy as it fell around my face and down my chest and arms. Dried blood coated my left nostril, and the skin on the inside corner of my right eye was purple. My cheek was red from where he’d slapped me, a cut adorned my bottom lip, and a white bandage was wrapped around my upper right arm.
Reaching out, I touched my reflection in the mirror, feeling it. Remembering.
Every hair on my arms rose. Every inch of my skin hummed. The air coursed through my fingers, and the muscles in my legs flexed, standing tall and strong.
I curled my fingers into the mirror, alive.
I was a fighter once.
Closing my eyes, I flattened my hand against the mirror once more, feeling warmth from the other side.
Were one of them in there keeping an eye on me? Was Will in there?
“Hi,” someone said.
I opened my eyes and turned toward the door, seeing Micah stand there in black cargo pants, his hands full of stuff.
I backed away from the mirror, grabbing the sheet on the bed to cover myself as he entered the room in his bare feet.
“Some clothes,” he said, gesturing to the pile in his left hand. And then he set down a plate. “And in case you’re hungry.”
I looked at the juice, fruit, a small baguette, and a wedge of what looked like brie, my stomach growling. Aydin had soup brought up to me last night, but I couldn’t remember the last time I ate anything substantial, and I was starving.
Dropping the sheet, I grabbed the bread, broke it in half, and cut off some cheese with the butter knife, smearing it on the bread.
Lifting it to my mouth, I ripped off a piece with my teeth and chewed.
Jesus. My mouth salivated, and I almost felt nauseous at the taste because I was so hungry. I groaned, loading on more cheese and then drinking the juice.
“You want a bath?” he asked.
I looked over as he pulled his T-shirt over his head. His abs flexing and his hair hanging in his eyes, all messy-sexy.
I choked, coughing with my mouth full. “With you?”
He just chuckled, stuffing his T-shirt into his back pocket. “I’ll draw you one. You look rough,” he explained. “How do you feel?”
I opened my mouth to say ‘fine’ or ‘I’m hanging in there’, but surprisingly, I just nodded. “Good.”
I took another bite and stuffed a piece of apple in, too.
I felt good.
Weird.
Walking to the tub in the corner of the room—that wasn’t in the bathroom, maybe because the previous owner of the house liked his wife to bathe in full view of the bed—he started the water, dipping his hand in the stream and adjusting the temperature.
“Rory told me what you did,” he said, sitting on the edge of the tub and looking over at me. “Thank you.”
I’d seen enough in my twenty-four hours here to know all wasn’t what it seemed. Rory was the one who’d spoken in the cellar yesterday. The one who didn’t want me here, hoped I’d die out there, and liked things just as they were because he had all he needed here.
“Are you and him…?”
I didn’t finish, just letting him figure it out.
He smiled and looked back at the water, but I caught the blush on his face.
