“It's okay,” he said. “We're alone. No one's here.”
Her head slammed back against the shower wall with a painfulthunk, but still, she didn't stop. Kira lost herself to an uncontrollable panic, bashing her head again.
“Stop,” Zayne said. He ripped her forward and caught the back of her head with his hand. “I said stop.”
The command in his voice seemed to snap away the panic. Kira breathed heavily, staring into his eyes again, no longer moving or speaking. Limp hair lay stuck to her face, still covered in thick blood.
Zayne released her only long enough to rip his uniform jacket off and throw it on the ground. Kira couldn't help it. She'd been dehydrated, starved, and tortured in a sadistic way that only a sick fuck could dream up. Her unsteady body wavered where she sat, and he took her arm, wincing when he remembered he'd held onto her like this in the basement after the slaughter.
“It's just us.” He feared that she might fight again, because how could she let him touch her after what he did?
Zayne climbed into the shower with her and closed the curtain against the rest of the world. Sitting behind her, he tugged her to him, legs on either side of her. She wilted back against him, trembling violently. With a gentle touch, he crossed her arms over herself, placed her hands against her shoulders, and embraced her tightly.
Hot water rained over them both.
“Breathe,” Zayne said.
They both sucked in a breath. Released it together.
“Grip your shoulders. Feel your fingertips against your skin. Breathe.”
Memories of being nineteen and soaked in blood like this battered his mind. The smell was too similar. He remembered when everything had stopped back then. Everything. The torture. The screams. The pleading. The intermittent gasping of dying breath.
Hours before, Ashantae had told him no one would hurt him or his friends. Zayne thought he should have felt something, but he didn't. Not until that night, when the silence ripped him to shreds, and then finally, he felt it all.
Blood had oozed from his deep chest wound as his breath came too fast. Too strong. Ashantae held pressure to his wound, and Imani pressed his own hands to his shoulders.
“Breathe.”
They never left him.
“Breathe,” Zayne said.
Resting his forehead against the top of her head, he tightened his hold on her.
“I'm so sorry.”
The camera couldn't see them in here. It wouldn't pick up their voices over the rushing water. They were alone again.
In and out, they breathed together until she fell asleep. Or passed out. He wasn't sure which. He closed his hands into fists, realizing his fingers rested against her arms. That first night, he knew he shouldn't touch her with bloody hands. Knew it. Had he done this to her? Awful, aching pain filled his chest. Did he set her on this course that night?
“I'm sorry,” he said again, forcing that night to stop existing. Kira was his prisoner. The Phaedra ordered him to steal her heart. The least Zayne could do was show her the respect of not remembering how her lips tasted while he did it.
Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him.
“Zayne…” Kira twisted, and this time when she met his eyes, she saw him. Actually saw him. Her gaze still looked far away, but she was here.
“I've got you.” He wanted to sit back so she couldn't see him, but he wouldn't abandon her again. “You're safe.”
Her eyes dropped to his arms around her, like she had just woken up and saw it all for the first time.
Fear hit him that she might panic.
“I'll let you go,” he said. “I—”
Her hands shifted from her shoulders, fingers reaching until they grazed his arms. She was pinned with the way he held her, but she managed the softest touch against him. “No…”
Did she remember anything? If she did, she'd try to kill him, not touch him.
