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“Please, God,” I wept, looking back up at the ceiling again. “Please… help me, help her. Please… I beg you.” I wasn’t an extremely religious man, but I did believe in the power of prayer.
But at that moment I would have sold my soul to the devil if it meant it would take away her pain, undo what had just happened, and her memory of this day.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran into the room, slowly walking toward the bathroom as if I was walking towards my execution. In a way, I was. With each step my heart pounded faster, it rang louder in my ears. I gripped the handle, leaning my forehead against the door for a few seconds. Praying once again she wouldn’t push me away. I took a deep, shaky breath and gradually opened the door.
My stomach dropped.
My heart was now in my throat with bile rising, but I swallowed it back down. The glass shower doors so fucking foggy with steam immediately pouring out of the bathroom as if she couldn’t get the water hot enough. Her skin bright red, which only accented all the bruises on the side of her stomach, her arms, and down her legs.
She was sitting in the middle of the shower with her legs pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Her face tucked in between, sobbing so fucking hard, her entire fragile frame shaking uncontrollably.
The memory of seeing her like this would forever haunt me. There wouldn’t be one day where I wouldn’t see her like that.
Falling apart in front of me.
Not. One. Day.
I didn’t even bother to take off my shorts or sneakers. I opened the glass door and she never stopped bawling, if anything she just cried harder. I approached her with caution, terrified that she would push me away, but not caring if she did. I needed to hold her, to help her, to do fucking something. I crouched to sit down behind her, straddling my legs around her body.
I gently touched her back with the tips of my fingers, where more bruises and cuts had formed, instantly shutting my eyes remembering that I put some of them on her last night. I shook my head, feeling nothing but disgust towards myself. Her body shuddered when she felt me, but I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
My fingers moved to her sides, her stomach, and down to her legs. Wanting to transfer all the hurt and the pain that she was feeling to me. Wanting to remember that I did this. That I was the reason she was raped. That I was the reason my girl was gone.
It was entirely my fault.
I sucked in air, my chest heaving from my own sobs. She was hysterically crying at that point. I wrapped my arms around her, pressing her into my chest, and she let me.
As soon as she was in my arms I broke down.
“I’m so sorry, baby… I’m so fucking sorry… please… please… I’ll do anything for you to forgive me… please…” I wallowed in her misery and my own. “I’m so fucking sorry…”
I don’t know who was crying more. Steaming hot water rushed down on us as if it was cleaning off the mistakes that I would never be able to change. Never be able to make better, never be able to forget.
We stayed like that until the water was freezing and her skin started to turn blue. I shut off the shower and cradled her in my arms, grabbing a towel and laying it on her. I took her up to our bedroom, taking each stair with ease. I pulled back the comforter and sheets before gently placing her under them. She didn’t move from the place I laid her, just stared up at the ceiling that I was praying to, minutes maybe hours before, and I wondered if she was doing the same thing.
I took off my shorts, grabbing a dry pair of boxers. I sat at the edge of the bed, looking at her for a few more seconds. I slowly gripped the seam of the towel and she immediately froze, holding her arms tightly around her torso.
“Shhh…” I whispered, placing her hand over my heart. “Shhh… feel me, suga’, feel my heart beating for you.” I placed my hand over hers and gently rubbed my thumb up and down.
She shut her eyes but still didn’t relax. I carefully took off the towel, never letting go of her hand. Her face fell to the side the moment it was fully off her. My hand went straight to my mouth.
My sadness turned quickly into rage.
There wasn’t a place on her torso that wasn’t black and blue, what looked like a boot print etched near her belly button. I fell over, holding myself up with my hand on the other side of her waist. Breaking over my girl that was already broken. With my teeth chattering, I kissed her bruised cheek, her neck, her chest, her waist, her wrists, every place that I saw a mark, I touched it with my lips. Her body remained stiff the entire time, but she didn’t stop me.
I would take what I could get.
By the time I made it down to her waist, I was shaking, closing my eyes to get the courage to look at her sacred area that wasn’t mine anymore.
“Please, don’t,” she wept, reading my mind.
“Baby, I have to make sure you’re okay. I’m not going to touch you,” I replied with agony laced in my tone, not wanting to look but needing to.
She sniffled, sucking in air as I spread her legs, opening my eyes. I resisted the urge to fucking hit something when I saw the bruises on her inner thighs and her swollen folds. There was a tiny tear at her opening, and I had to look away unable to control the anger and remorse I felt burning inside.
She rolled over to her side, cradling her body in a fetal position. I scooted up toward her front and engulfed her in my arms. Her face now mere inches from mine with her dark dilated eyes, vacant, soulless, and dead.
