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He’d gotten away with controlling and abusing me for years. Hell, even my own parents took his side. I’d never forget the day I summoned up enough courage to tell my mom what he’d been doing to me. I even swallowed my pride and showed her the lash marks across my ass from his belt.
She asked me what I did to deserve it.
She asked me what I did to piss him off.
Oskar is a good man, honey. If he did this, it’s because he had a reason.
Not,I believe you, Lars. Not,How dare he lay a hand on you?Not even a sympathetic,I’m sorry.
Just a,Don’t do it again, and keep that covered up so people don’t see.
I went home disillusioned and betrayed, questioning everything I ever thought.
About six months later, I worked up the nerve to tell my last remaining friend. The one Oskar had yet to run off.
Were you drinking? Did you fight back? Maybe if you were stronger, he wouldn’t think he could hit you. Maybe you should date a woman. Maybe men are too much for you to handle.
No one believed me. No one cared. Their lack of support pushed me farther into his abusive hands because, at least after he was done, he would tell me he was sorry.
“Baby.”
Win’s voice snapped me out of my spiraling, and I looked up.
He frowned. “Where’d you go, angel?”
“I think you fucked me into a coma,” I told him.
He laughed, loud and boisterous, the sound unknotting the worst pain in my chest. He pulled away, and I missed the security of his body immediately.
The sound of falling water filled the bathroom.
“Come on,” he said, nudging my hip. “I’ll wash you in the shower.”
Hot liquid poured over my skin, making me sigh with pleasure, and true to his word, Win grabbed the soap and started at my back, using the lather to knead my muscles until my head drooped.
“You feeling okay?” he asked.
“Mm,” I answered as he continued massaging. I knew he was likely looking for any knots or trigger points that might cause issues while I was swimming, and I found the action sweet.
“Your ribs?” he pressed, keeping his voice casual.
“They’re fine, babe. I promise. I’ve been practicing for almost a week.”
He grumbled something, soapy hands sliding over my hips. “How about your shoulder?”
“There’s no cow on the ice,” I told him patiently.
His laugh was rumbly just like I knew it would be, and I smiled.
“You think Americans have some crazy sayings?” he mused, dropping to wash my legs. “Please tell me howno cow on the iceis equivalent to saying no worries?”
“Cows are heavy.”
He laughed more.
When he was done washing my back, he nudged me around so he could continue on my front.
The bathroom turned quiet, my lashes sweeping downward under his ministrations. I would never get enough of the way he cared for me. Of all the tiny ways he showed he loved me without even saying the words.
