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Maybe not because life has been kind to me, but because the pain, the blood, and the unbearable loneliness made me realise I wasn’t ready to leave.

I wasn’t ready to leave Sergei. Not again.

It might seem foolish to put so much faith in one person, to rely on him so completely while knowing nothing about what the future holds.

But when I look at Sergei, I see a man overflowing with love he doesn’t know how to show, and the pain I caused him.

He is incapable of hurting me.

And if one day my heart breaks, at least it’ll break knowing what it is to be loved unconditionally by Sergei Zaytsev.

“Where’s my birthday gift?” I ask, trying to fill the silence as water trickles down my face.

I’m sitting naked in the tub, my hair submerged in the water as he washes it. His thick fingers work through my scalp in slow, soothing circles while I sit like an obedient, pliant little girl.

“What do you want?”

"That’s no fun.” I pout, causing him to chuckle. “What do you want?” he tries again.

My hands lift from my lap, fingers brushing over his strong thighs, scrunching the black fabric of his pants.

“Maybe this?” I ask sheepishly, my palm pressing over his hard dick as I bite my lip.

His eyes flash with hunger, a mischievous glint settling in them.

“No.” He takes a step back, squirting conditioner into his hands before spreading it through the ends of my hair.

“Why?” I almost whine. He hasn’t touched me again—not like that. He’s kissed me countless times, but only on my cheeks, never coming anywhere near my lips.

We slept in the same bed for the past seven days—that tiny hospital bed—and yet he never tried anything.

“I’ve always wanted to do this.” He whispers, almost to himself, as he rinses the conditioner from my hair.

“What? Torture me?” I tease.

“No. Wash your hair.” He sounds far away, barely tethered to reality, his gaze fixed on me as water continues to trickle down my skin.

“I was scared you’d shut the door in my face.” He admits in a low voice. “So, I never snuck in when you showered.”

“Sergei…” Words fail me, and I can only lower my gaze in shame. The bandages wrapped around my wrists feel like cruel reminders of my failure, proof that even death didn’t want me.

“Lift your head, baby.” His voice is so gentle it breaks my heart. He wraps a towel around my head, his movements careful as he gingerly lifts me from the tub and carries me to the bedroom.

He goes back, and I hear water swirling down the drain as he empties the bathtub.

I sit on the bed, naked as the day I was born, except for the bandages wrapped around my hands.

When he returns with another towel, he kneels in front of me and begins drying me off with so much affection, the guilt intensifies within me.

“You can come in whenever you want, Sergei.” I mumble, chewing the inside of my cheek. “I don’t want to hide from you anymore.”

He finally looks up at me and smiles, but it’s so heartbreakingly sad that a whimper slips past my lips.

“I’m sorry.” I groan as he removes the towel from my head, my wet hair falling over my shoulders.

He moves almost mechanically, giving me the space to process the consequences of my actions while he quietly continues drying my hair.

“I should’ve told you everything but I was scared that you might get hurt—”