I guess tonight that makes sense.
She comes and sits next to me on the couch. I gesture to her tea, encouraging her to drink.
Shit. I never ordered food.
“Are you hungry?”
She shakes her head, clasping the mug in both hands, as though she’s seeking warmth.
“I think you should eat something. What about soup?”
She makes a non-committal sound in her throat.
I take that as consent and grab my phone. I was skeptical when she first showed me how to use this thing, butit’s proven to be invaluable. Scrolling through the options for feeding us, I decide to make all the girls happy and order with abandon. Since Betsy isn’t charging me rent (not that I’m living in the space she offered), saving my pay hasn’t been an issue. I place my order and toss my phone onto the table.
Ash is finally sipping her tea. Taking that as a good sign, I find her remote and turn on one of her shows. If nothing else, the comfort of the background noise should soothe her. I watch from the corner of my eye as she unwinds her hair and begins to towel dry it.
“Do you want help?” I blurt.
Smooth. You fucking idiot. The last thing she probably wants right now is to be touched by anything male. It didn’t occur to me when I carried her home. My only thought then was to get her home, to get her to safety, to take care of her. Right now though, it’s obvious, and I’m kicking myself for not considering it earlier.
She looks at me, surprised and if I had to guess, a little wary. She holds my gaze and I struggle not to look away. She is clearly looking for something and, I feel, is coming to some decision about me. She nods, shyly and I take the towel from her hands.
She picks up her tea and rearranges herself on the couch so her back is to me. I gather the long length of her rainbow and begin to work the water out. She has so much hair. I would say I’d forgotten, but I’ve forgotten nothing.
Placing the towel aside and picking up her pick, I begin to slowly comb through her hair. The smell of her shampoo fills the air and surrounds us. I gently untangle the ends, working my way up to her scalp, hesitant to cause her even a moment’s more discomfort tonight.
I can see her physically relaxing and a cursory glance in her mind shows that the adrenaline crash, shower and now this, is doing its job. She is slowly relaxing, although I worry about the rest of the evening. One problem at a time.
As I finish combing her hair, there’s a knock at the door. She starts.
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “It’s just the food.”
I accept the delivery and take it to the kitchen. I note that she’s curling up on the couch, pulling the heavy throw over her lap. Good. She’s getting comfortable. She’s in her safe space. And she’s telling me, in every way but verbally, that I’m still her safe space.
My heart soars and I work to keep my expression sober. The odd range of emotions is battering against my restraint, in every way.
I dish up the soup, leaving the rest of the food in bags.
I serve Ash her dinner, chicken and noodle, which my mother always swore would fix anything that ails you.
I sit next to her and slowly eat my own dinner, acutely aware of Ash sipping on the broth in her bowl. I’m going to consider that a win. At least she’s eating something.
As I’m about to ask how she’s feeling, there’s a loud slam at the door.
I am immediately on my feet, as Ash starts again and draws into herself in the corner of the couch, shrinking into the cushions and making herself as small as possible.
Fuck.
Another slam rocks the apartment door.
What the actual fuck?!
I’m at the door in an instant and throwing it open.
Taking in the sight before me, I am completely dumbfounded.
After the mental kick, I get out of the way.
