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“Not for me?”
I laugh, as if she would ever want that. “And have all the fun by myself? Never.”
“I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”
I move my hands away from her feet until I’m caressing her calf, slowly kneading my way up her legs. She spreads her legs wider to accommodate my shoulder width as I make my way up to her thighs. I love the way I can see her already starting to glisten for me with barely any prep at all.
I pepper kisses over her inner thighs. “There are a lot of reasons you keep me around,” I tell her, letting my breath fan over her exposed pussy.
Her fingers sink into my hair and tighten around it, urging me closer to her. I guess I won’t make her beg for it. Today anyways.
I brush my nose over her lips, just barely hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves. I breathe in deeply, loving the way her scent drowns out all of my worries. I push her knees wider, opening her up to me even more. Loving every little sound that spills from her full lips.
I run my tongue up her center, stopping at her clit to lather it with attention. I lap at her as she writhes against my face, begging for more. I don’t make her wait for long before I’m slipping two fingers into her warmth and begin to thrust in and out of her. Her moans get louder, and I move my tongue faster as I roll it against her. I crook my fingers inside of her to hit her g-spot and don’t stop until she’s coming on my tongue.
The way she cries out my name is one of the sweetest things, second only to the taste of her. I slow my movements as she rides through her orgasm and comes back down. I don’t give her a chance to say anything though as I scoop her up in my arms and carry her to the shower, letting her get in first while I undress myself.
I climb into the shower behind her and let the water sear into my skin. I can’t help but flinch at the burn the moment it hits. Scar smirks and turns the dial of the shower down. I roll my eyes and lean over her to turn it back up. I’ll get used to it.
She leans into me and I grab a clean washcloth and pour a generous amount of body wash into it. It smells nice, but different than what Scar normally uses. I dismiss the thought and focus on scrubbing her body down, giving her a light massage as I go.
We don’t speak, nothing more than little sighs of contentment from her and murmured directions from me. I don’t rush through it, giving each of her limbs special attention until she’s fully relaxed under the water spray.
As I turn her around to start washing her hair, I almost wish we were in a bath for this part so she could continue to lean against me completely. I scrub her scalp, brushing just behind her ears where I know she’s especially sensitive. Her small moan makes me smile as I grab the shower head and pull it back to us to carefully rinse the suds from her hair.
I half expect her to make a comment about putting it to better use. We’ve all heard about her little shower adventure with Luca and Noah more than one time, but she keeps any dirty thoughts to herself. That more than anything shows me how in her head she still is.
I replace the shower head on the wall and repeat the process with the conditioner. The new and unfamiliar fragrance shouldn’t aggravate me as much as it does, but I can’t seem to help the rising bitterness that even this simple thing isn’t the same. I’ve come to accept just how much I rely on things not changing. I wonder if it’s the same for Scar? If she too is wishing she had her own products from home right now. Knowing her, there are probably travel sizes of everything she uses in her bag, but I guess I let my impatience get the best of me.
After rinsing the conditioner from her hair, I turn off the water and lift her out of the shower. I deftly wrap a towel around my waist before grabbing another one and begin to pat her dry. With every movement she leans more into the motion, swaying slightly on her feet.
I bundle her up in a fluffy robe and grab a new, dry towel and a hairbrush before carrying her to the bed. It’s when I’m drying her hair, she finally starts to share some of the thoughts running rampant through her mind.
“I don’t know my own mind anymore,” she admits in a whisper.
“So what?”
She tilts her head back to look at me, confusion marring her features.
I give her a small smile. “So what if you don’t know your mind? We can hold on to him until you know what you want to do with him. If you want him dead, he’s dead. If you can’t do it yourself, I’ll do it for you. If you want him to live, we will figure that out too. You don’t have to have the answers right now.”
She’s silent for a few moments as she mulls over what I said. I finish pulling the brush through her damp hair and braid it back away from her face. If I know one thing about this girl, it’s that she moves a hell of a lot in her sleep and will wake up with crazy hair if she doesn’t pull it up.
“Who would have thought that we would be switching roles?”
I chuckle as I finish her hair and pull her into my arms and fall back onto the bed, situating her so we are laying face to face. “Why do you think you always have to be the strong one?”
She doesn’t answer. I know once upon a time she wouldn't have hesitated to answer that it was because she always had been before. But we all know that isn’t the truth. We’ve seen Scar break. We’ve seen her come back from her absolute lowest. Where she had to lean on us to find her strength and purpose again. To actually heal from the wounds that had festered that she pretended didn’t exist. No one ever said there is an end to healing though. The thing about trauma is it sneaks back up on you in unexpected ways. Just when you think you’re finally okay, it all comes rushing back and it feels like every step forward was all for nothing. She was never going to heal in just a day, or a week, or even a year.
“You once told me that you would be my strength when I needed to be weak. We will all be that for you, Scar.”
“I know,” she whispers, closing her eyes.
“So be weak,” I tell her. “Admit that you don’t know what to do with Charles. That maybe seeing him brought up emotions you don’t understand. That finding out who one of your rapists was, finding out how close that person was to you, feels like a gut punch and you’re just trying to catch your breath before figuring out what it all means. That just because you’ve been feeling better doesn’t miraculously mean you arebetter.That what happened all those years ago doesn’t still tear you apart.”
Her big green eyes search mine, filling with so much emotion I know she can’t possibly reconcile everything she’s feeling. “I always thought my path to revenge was a clear one. Kill anyone who gets in my way, no hesitation.”
I trace my fingers down her cheek, cupping her face in mine. “Not all wounds are created equal. Not all cuts bleed the same. Not all scars still ache. Some lies, some betrayals, some mistakes are worth forgiving. You told me you would rather be destroyed by your anger than absolve your rapists of their sins. You were entirely sure in that conviction. They didn’t deserve to be written off as a lesson learned, didn’t deserve to be forgiven. Maybe Charles does. Maybe the scars he left don’t ache anymore. Maybe the marks he left are the ones you took to build everything you have since you left Charlotte behind. Maybe the blood spilt due to his broken edges is what fueled you into becoming Scar. A fierce badass with a huge heart she had to protect until she was strong enough to let people in again.”
