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“Just take things at your own pace, Bambina.”
I watch him closely as he searches my eyes. The voices in my head get louder, the men taking over my mind. My brain wants to scream; my body wants to jump to him, wrap myself around him, and beg him not to leave, but I don’t do that. I don’t fucking do any of it. My body stays still, and my mouth stays shut. It is better this way. It is better this way. It is fucking better this way.
My days of screaming are over. My days of begging are over. Whatever he wants to do to me, he can do. Christian stands and gently pulls the blanket down before he leans down and takes me into his arms. My heart is racing, but I lay my head against his muscular, tattooed chest and take a deep breath. He smells like fresh fallen rain.
He turns and walks across the massive room into the bathroom. I watch the lights turn on themselves as he goes over to the shower and turns it on. He gently sets me down on shaky legs, and I lift my hands and firmly plant them against his chest for support. He wraps his arm around my naked body, keeping me in place. He leans down, removes his sweatpants, and slowly leads me into the steamy shower. I walk out of his arms and into the wall, resting my forehead against the wall, my hands resting next to my head, as I feel the hot water covering my body, touching my aching skin, but the shower slowly eases my tense muscles. I never took more than a sponge bath using an old bucket and rag I found on the floor. Who really knows if what I was using was, in fact, even water. It was all that was available.
When the hot water pelts my skin, I hiss out a breath, but my body adjusts to the pressure, and it almost feels good. But just like with anything, anything that feels good to me gets fucking ripped away. This will be no different, no different, no different.
I turn around and press my back against the wall with my hands at my side before I look at Christian. He grabs a washcloth and slowly walks over to me, stopping right in front of me. He lifts the cloth, wets it, and puts soap on it before he starts to clean my body. I close my eyes, allowing myself to fully feel his touch, smell his smell, and feel the hot water I haven’t felt in years.
He leans into me as he washes my chest. I open my eyes, lift my hand, and gently rest it against the side of his face. He stiffens with my touch, just like I did with his at the coffee shop. His eyes stay locked onto me as he lifts his free hand and rests it against mine.
You dirty fucking Bitch.
You’re a fucking Whore.
You disgusting Slut.
You are mine, Puppet.
Broken Bitch.
Their voices flood my head, and my heart stops as my stomach tightens. I drop my hand from his face, but his eyes continue to search mine. I close my eyes and rest my head against the shower wall.
Dirty, Whore, Slut, Puppet, Broken.
Dirty, Whore, Slut, Puppet, Broken.
Nothing left, nothing left.
18
Christian
Istand still, as my brain has no fucking clue what the fuck else to do right now. She didn’t speak, but she was there; for a moment, she was there. She touched my face, her eyes, she looked at me the same way she did at the coffee shop, without judgment, with passion and desire, and just as fast as it came, it was fucking gone. She is gone again, going to a place I can’t follow.
My heart is racing and sinking at the same time. I lean into her, pinning her against the shower wall. I have dreamt so many fucking times what it would be like to touch her again, what it would be like to kiss her lips, what it would be like to whisper things into her ear, what it would feel like to have her pussy tightly wrapped around my dick.
Over the years, the list of women who have been in my bed is beyond what I can remember. I lost count a fucking long ass time ago, but her face is the only face I ever saw over the years. My eyes, mind, body, and soul searched for Nicole in those women. And never once did my eyes, body, soul, or mind find what they were searching for. None of them had the look in their eyes or had the touch she had just moments ago. How can someone affect me that fucking much? She is a fucking mystery, a mystery I am determined to fucking solve.
I can’t even begin to know what she went through in that house or what happened to her. I fear they made her believe what they told her, but she wouldn’t hear me right now. She wouldn’t believe my words. One thing my eyes, heart, soul, and mind know for fucking sure is that whatever happened in that basement created a mostro, a mostro that matches my own. I saw it in her eyes and felt it in her touch. We are one and the same now.
I drop the cloth to the floor, lift my hand, and rest it on the wall next to her head. I reach up with my other hand and gently place my fingertips underneath her chin, lifting her face to look at me. She opens her eyes, but she is still gone, far the fuck away from me, from reality.
“Piccola, per favore, torna de me,” I whisper in a shaky, unstable voice. I want to help and take all this from her, but I know I can’t. The only thing I can do is keep holding on for the both of us, and I will, I fucking will. Whatever they made her believe in that fucking disgusting house, whatever they have done to her, it has broken her. It has sucked that light right out of her eyes, the light that caught my attention. I want to bring it back. No, I fucking need to bring it back.
Because the truth is ho bisogno di lei, anyone can say they love someone. That word is used so much that it has lost its meaning. What I feel for her is more than love. It is a need, a burning fucking need like me needing air to breathe kind of need. Without air, I would die, and without her, I would surely die. I’ve been searching for her for so long. I fucking refuse to lose her now. I just got her back. I will do whatever the fuck I need to do to make her want to stay with me.
She is looking at me, but I can tell she isn’t seeing me. I need her to see me. I need her to feel me. I lean down and press my lips to hers. I keep my eyes on her as she closes her eyes. She doesn’t lean in but doesn’t push me away. She doesn’t do anything. But her heart is racing against my chest, telling me she feels me and knows what is happening.
I pull back just a little. “Ti amo,” I say softly. Her eyes stay on me, but the light that was just there has disappeared into a place once again I can’t follow.
“Ho bisogno di te,” I whisper, feeling the tears build in my eyes. My heart races as my body continues to lean into hers. I lean back in and kiss her forehead as I close my eyes, allowing tears to fall down my face.
2 Hours Later
I washed her entire body from top to bottom, and she let me. She didn’t even move from the wall. She allowed me to move her and wash over the carvings on her inner thighs, reminding me of when I got mine.
