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What I can’t avoid is what a mess I am. My dress is ruined; not like I would ever try to wear it again after this nightmare. I would rather burn it, honestly. There’s blood on my arms, chest, and even my legs. So much blood. How can a person lose that much blood and live through it? The question makes me feel a little woozy, causing me to sway on my feet beside the bed.
“For fuck’s sake.” Before I know it, Enzo is by my side, catching me against him when I start to fall. “I don’t need two of you in trouble.”
“What are you doing?” I mumble, feeling confused. It doesn’t help that he bends down and scoops me into his arms, lifting me off my feet. “What is this?”
“Relax already.” He carries me to the bathroom and doesn’t set me back on my feet until we’re in front of the shower. “You’re a mess. You need to get cleaned up.”
Sure. If the room would stop rocking back and forth like we’re on a ship in a storm, I might be able to do that. The simple act of reaching back to unzip my dress is too much.
“What are you doing?” I almost jump out of my skin when Enzo touches the zipper and begins lowering it. “No! Don’t do that!” I twist around, trying to pull away, batting at his arms with both hands while my heart takes off like a scared rabbit, my panic response flaring to life again.
“Stop it! Calm down.” But no matter how sharp he is with me, it only makes things worse. I crash against the vanity and almost fall to the floor when my knees buckle. He’s going to hurt me. He’s going to kill me.
“Get a hold of yourself.” He pulls me to my feet and puts his arms around me, holding my arms at my sides. “You’re freaking out for no reason. I’m trying to help you. Do you understand what I’m saying? Listen to me.”
“Let me go!” I need to get away. I can’t let him do this.
“Stop.” A single word barked directly in my face. His arms are like steel, holding me in place no matter how I fight. “Breathe. Take a breath, as deep as you can.”
Who is he to be acting like this? Like I’m freaking out for no reason? He’s the reason I’m going through this. He’s the reason I’m falling apart. What he made me do, what he’s already done to me. Of course, I’m breaking. Anybody would.
“Breathe, dammit. One breath at a time. That’s all you have to do now.”
He’s starting to get through to me, leaking into my fog of panic. And though a part of me doesn’t want to follow his instructions, I don’t have a choice. Either I breathe, or I pass out. And if I’m unconscious, he can do whatever he wants without me knowing about it.
Our eyes meet, and he pins me with his gaze. I can’t do anything but what he’s demanding.Breathe in… out… in… out.After a few of those, with Enzo following along, I’m not so close to shattering anymore.
“That’s right,” he murmurs, nodding slowly. His grip loosens, and he begins stroking my back with one free hand. “One after another.” I do as he says, grateful now for his touch, for the way he seems to have everything under control. How can he be so calm after the fits he threw all night? How can he switch his temper on and off like that? I wish he’d give me a few pointers.
Finally, he unzips my dress all the way. It’s pointless to fight and maybe childish. He’s not trying to hurt me. He’s trying to take care of me in a way I can’t do for myself right now. I’m so far beyond the point of even the basics, too tired, too drained, and still haunted by Prince’s screams and the blood that kept pumping from him for so much longer than it should have.
Once the dress is open, he spreads the back with both hands, then slides it over my shoulders and down my arms. He unhooks my strapless bra and lets it fall between us. He says nothing, staring for a moment at my boobs before letting go of me so the dress can pool at my ankles. Goose bumps pebble my skin, and I expect him to do more than stand still while I drop my panties, but he hardly glances down.
I have to remind myself to breathe the way I did before. It isn’t panic threatening to steal my breath this time. It’s being naked in this man’s presence.
I tense up when he reaches for me again, sucking in a scared, sharp breath. “Relax,” he murmurs, pulling me closer, even brushing his lips against my neck. “You’re going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine.”
Why is he doing this? Being so gentle and even sweet? And when he touches his lips to my skin, all I want is to lean against him and beg for more. This is the last man I need to beg for anything, but especially this. He holds my life in his hands, and I’m craving his touch. It’s absolutely twisted.
But right now, it’s what I need. And somehow, he knows that.
“We’re going to get you washed up now.”
I nod, exhausted, glad to let somebody else deal with logistics for a moment. I can shut my brain off while Enzo turns on the shower. I step into the stall, immediately assaulted by the sting of hot water against my skin. But it feels good.
Leaning against the tiled wall, I close my eyes, letting the water run over my body. Maybe it can wash away the memories, too. A moment later, the door to the stall opens, and I go rigid all over again when a shirtless Enzo reaches into the shower to pour body wash over a washcloth.
“Just relax,” he murmurs, and something about his low growl comforts me. Like every word he says picks at the knot of tension between my shoulder blades and in my stomach, loosening them a fraction at a time. “Turn around. Let me get your back.”
I’m too relieved at being taken care of to insist on washing myself. I turn away from him so he can begin to slide the soapy cloth over my neck and then across my shoulders and down. He works slowly, but there’s nothing inherently sexual about his touch.
That doesn’t stop me from having to stifle my sighs, worried he’ll take them the wrong way. Really what I’m more worried about is him taking them the right way, interpreting my reaction for what it is. I can’t let him know what he does to me. I might be half dead from exhaustion, but I know that much.
He doesn’t bother telling me to turn around, using his hands to turn me in place. I close my eyes and tilt my head back so the water runs over my hair while he washes away the dried blood that seeped through my dress. Every touch is like magic, unwinding me a little more, so by the time he decides I’m clean enough, I feel loose and content.
He even wraps me in a big, fluffy towel before backing away so I can step out of the stall. He towels off his wet chest and arms quickly, and I can’t help but sneak a few peeks at his ridiculously chiseled shoulders, biceps, and abs. He’s the product of discipline, obviously, with the body of someone who drives himself hard and unmercifully. He’s just as hard on himself as he is on others.
“Feeling better?” he asks when he catches me watching him.
