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Liar.
“Hey, I just meant because he’s naked beneath that blanket and you’ve been looking after him. Stands to reason you’d have seen it.”
“Can you stop talking about my dick?!” I exclaim, which only makes Nala have another fit of giggles.
“Would you mind asking the cook to make some chicken soup with lots of vegetables?” Christy asks, changing the subject expertly whilst ushering Nala out of the door. “Once you’ve done that, perhaps you could go and find Leon and Konrad, tell them Jakub is awake.”
Nala waggles her eyebrows. “Sure thing, I’ll give you some alone time. Do you want me to tell Thirteen that Jakub’s awake or should I wait a bit for you to, you know—?”
“She’s busy right now,” Christy says, cutting her off. “I’ll go and fetch her once Jakub’s eaten and Leon and Konrad are here.”
“Okay, sure. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Nala sing-songs, winking as she skips out of the door.
Christy pushes the door shut, breathing out slowly before turning to face me. She plasters a determined look on her face, but I see the hint of fear she tries to hide. “Okay, let's get you to the bathroom.”
Shifting my body, I shuffle towards the edge of the bed and swing my legs over the side. Pins and needles prick my skin as blood rushes to my feet. I wiggle my toes, allowing my aching body to adjust to the new position. Despite the pain I feel, my dick is still determined to stay hard. It tents the sheet slung over my waist.
“I’m naked,” I blurt out.
“Like Nala said, it’s not like I haven’t seen your dick before,” she replies evenly, her gaze dropping to mine. If she notices my erection she doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Right,” I mutter, peeling back the bed sheet. Ignoring my bastard cock, I stare at the ruination of my body. Fuck, it’s worse than I remember. I look like a piece of cracked marble. Bruises litter every inch of my skin, made worse by the criss-crossing of newly-formed scabs. However, most of the cuts and lashes are knitting together nicely and I know I have Thirteen to thank for that.
“Should I be worried?” Christy asks me.
“About my dick?”
She raises a brow. “No, not about your dick,” she replies dryly. “Should I be worried that you’re going to try and kill me again?”
“You’re here alone with me, so why don’t you tell me?”
“I’m asking you.”
She has every right to question my intentions. It’s not as if I’ve given her any reason to trust me. I’ve done nothing but try to kill her since Thirteen brought her back to life. A million words spin through my head as I stare at her, none of which I can articulate. I want to know why she helped me, why she hasn’t tried to murder me in my sleep, and why she’s being so fuckingkind. My brain scrambles to form an apology, and when it can’t come up with one that is worthy of such an incredible woman, my mouth snaps out a crass reply instead.
“You don’t need to be afraid of a man who’s about to piss himself.”
Christy nods, ignoring my rudeness and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Ducking down, she hooks my arm over her shoulder, hoisting me upright. I wobble on unsteady feet. Nausea churns my stomach, which in turn softens my cock. Thank fuck for small mercies.
Slowly, and without complaint, Christy guides me into the bathroom and over to the toilet. “I can take it from here,” I bite out, male pride getting the better of me as I press my palm against the tiled wall and wait for her to leave.
“I think you should sit, rather than stand,” she says. “I don’t want you passing out.”
“I’ve got this!” I say through gritted teeth, but my body proves me a liar and I fucking wobble on my feet.
“Sure you do.” Ignoring my caustic behaviour, she helps me to sit. As soon as she’s satisfied I’m safe, she walks to the other side of the room and fills up the bath. “Just let me know when you need help getting into the bath,” she says before stepping back into the bedroom.
Five minutes later I’m chin deep in warm water, the soothing scent of lavender-imbued salts filling my lungs. Christy sits on a stool beside me, her ghost eyes watching my every move.
“How are you feeling now?”
I think about the question for a moment. It’s innocent enough. It’s the kind of question normal people ask each other all of the time. Except I’m not normal. We’re not normal. This whole fucking situation isn’t normal.
“Raw,” is all I’m able to answer.
“It will take a while for all the bruises and cuts to heal,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thirteen assured me the bath salts wouldn’t sting…”
“Thirteen is exceptionally good at what she does. Whatever she’s put in the water is soothing, not irritating. Besides, that’s not what I meant. I knowthesewounds will heal.”
