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“Thanks?” I say.
She shakes her head. “I just mean after being held captive, I’m surprised to see so much definition.”
She swallows as she looks up at me, and something clicks into place inside of me as I meet her eyes.
“You should’ve seen me before,” I say as I break our eye contact and pull the single chair in the room to the center. “I was a beast. Now I look like a wimpy college boy.”
“You don’t look like a boy,” she says, her eyes widening as she rolls her lips between her teeth.
I hide another grin as she works to get the supplies ready for the tattoo removal.
The scalpel stings as she uses it on the back of my neck, but I do my best not to react at all. I don’t want her terrified when it’s her turn.
I feel the same care in her touch as she bandages my new wound as I felt when she tended to my wounds at Pirro’s insistence back at the compound.
She’s less shaky when it’s her turn to sit in the chair, and I hate the distraction when she, too, pulls her t-shirt over her head.
The ridges of her spine are visible when she tilts her chin to her chest, giving me better access. It makes me wonder what her body looked like before she was taken from her sister’s college campus.
With every whimper I hear as I remove the marks on her skin, I want to slash Pirro and Cortez to fucking pieces. I feel as if I was cheated out of ending Pirro, but there are still so many men left that owe me a fucking debt. As blood flows from the wound I created, I vow to put as many of them six feet under as I can manage.
I follow her directions on how to clean and bandage the wound. Despite the tears in her pretty blue eyes when it’s done, I can also see the relief in knowing it’s gone as well.
We eat some of the food we grabbed at the market wordlessly, neither of us bothering to turn on the television. The noise makes it harder to hear if a threat is coming, and she seems to understand that as well.
After eating, we simply head to our respective beds and crash, the energy used today more than either of us have used in a while.
***
I don’t know if it’s her whimpering that wakes me or if I never actually went to sleep in the first place. I forced myself to stay awake until she fell asleep, knowing it would take her some time.
I can’t take her nightmares away any easier than I can make my own stop torturing me.
It isn’t until the whimpering turns to begging, and then turns to a shrill scream, that I get out of the bed and hover over her.
Her forehead is dotted with sweat, her hands gripping the sheet as if the connection is the only thing saving her.
“Ayla,” I say in a normal tone.
She stiffens for a few seconds, her brain trying to figure out where the sound came from, but then she goes back to jerking and making some of the saddest noises I’ve ever heard.
“Ayla,” I snap, shoving at her shoulder with one hand.
Her eyes snap open, but they don’t seem very focused. She blinks up at me repeatedly, and I have to wonder if I’m the thing she’s struggling with in her nightmares.
I step back, trying to give her some space, but her hand snaps out, clasping mine.
She doesn’t say a word as I stand frozen at her bedside. As much as I like the idea that she isn’t terrified of me, I’m not exactly comfortable either.
“I’m a brutally honest person,” I say.
“I know,” she whispers, her chin dipping to her chest.
“This isn’t fucking comfortable for me.”
She frowns, her lips looking fucking pouty and perfect.
“It’s the middle of the fucking night, Ayla. We both need to get some rest.”
I fully expect her to release my hand, but instead, she tugs, telling me without words that she has no plans to let me go.
I lie down beside her, but the way our hands are clasped isn’t exactly comfortable either. Instead of mentioning it, I stare up at the ceiling, wondering when I became the fucking type of man that allowed any level of discomfort in order to make others around me comfortable.
Instead of speaking, she tugs me again as she turns to her side, leaving my arm hanging over her hip. She’s made me the big spoon, and I fucking hate how much I like it. I keep my hips a respectable distance from her, but I don’t stop my fingers from flexing at the hint of skin exposed from the way she was jerking and wiggling in her sleep.
I feel her breath escape her lungs, and feel the tension leave her body as we settle.
