Fractured (Lucian & Lia #2)(10)
Lucian drops his forehead against mine, and we are communicating without words. He realizes what I need, and I know that nothing, even his aunt, will stop him from giving it to me. “Unhook her, Fae.”
“Luc, we need to wait until tomorrow. Lia, it’s really not a good idea to rush…” Fae’s words trail off as Lucian gets off the bed and calmly starts pulling the covers from my body. I hear her bite off a curse, which would have probably been highly frowned upon by the hospital administrators. “She’s taking a shower right now no matter what I say, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Lucian answers firmly, giving no room for arguments. “I could really use your help, though, because I don’t want to mess anything up.”
His aunt brushes his hands aside as she pushes the call button on the side of the bed for the nurses’ station. When they answer, she requests immediate assistance and in less than a minute, another nurse is standing at my bedside. “Wendy, Miss Adams is going to take a shower so we need to start unhooking her. Lucian, please step out into the hall until I call you.” As both Lucian and I protest, she looks meaningfully at the catheter hanging at my bedside, silencing our protests immediately. He all but runs from the room, prompting his aunt to laugh. “Something about the threat of seeing that gets to them every time.”
I feel my face heating. It might be comforting to know my nurse, but in this instance, I’d have rather have a stranger than Lucian’s aunt touching my private areas, even if it is with complete clinical detachment. “Thank you,” I murmur shyly as I’m finally free from everything that had me tethered to the bed. My body is throbbing like a toothache, but I’m determined to see this through. I have to. When Lucian’s aunt asks me if I’m in pain, I say no. She looks at me as if she knows it’s a lie but doesn’t call me on it.
“All right, I think we’re ready to try this. Lia, I’ll change your bandages when you’re finished with your shower. Wendy, I’ve got it from here. You can tell Luc to step back in on your way out.”
Lucian comes back and walks to my side. “All ready?” he asks as he rubs my arm reassuringly.
“Luc, if you’ll help Lia into the bathroom, I’ll get the shower chair ready for her to sit in. Then you can wait for us in the room.”
“No!” I cringe as my voice echoes throughout the room. They both look at me with concern. “I mean, I want Lucian to help me…bathe.” His aunt is looking at me in surprise, but I see nothing but understanding in Lucian’s eyes. “I…he knows me,” I attempt to explain. In truth, I can’t stand the thoughts of anyone else but him being with me as I try to wash the filth from my body.
Without a word, his aunt steps into the bathroom and turns the shower on. She then motions for Lucian and me to go in. Instead of allowing me to walk, he scoops me into his arms and carries me into the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind us. He places me gently onto the shower chair, which his aunt has situated close to the stream of water. He opens the ties on the back of my hospital gown and slowly lowers it from my shoulders before removing it completely. When I nod for him to continue, he picks up the detachable showerhead and brings it to my back, letting the warm waterfall against my skin. He uses his other hand to pump out soap from the wall dispenser into his palm and begins to alternate between soaping and rinsing my body.
I look down at his hand against my breast and silent tears fall as he gently washes the ugly, bruised and bitten areas surrounding my nipples. He sees evidence of every moment of violence I endured, and I know with certainty that it’s tearing him apart. Instead of turning away, though, he looks for and cleans every bruise, scratch, and bite he possibly can. He understands that I need this, and in some ways, I know he needs it just as badly. This is no longer just about a bath for either of us; it’s an attempt to cleanse our minds from the horror of my attack.
When he reaches the juncture of my thighs, he pauses for the first time, waiting silently for me to give him permission. I open my legs and we both see the mass of black and purple marks marring my inner thighs. As I open to him further, I hear him inhale raggedly as one area of my thigh shows a visible handprint etched into the skin along with jagged bite marks. I feel him tremble against me, and I hold my breath. If he isn’t able to touch me there and replace the ugliness, which threatens to consume me, I’ll snap. The thread holding me together is completely in his hands, and it will kill me if he turns away from me now.
As if sensing my focus on his hand, he moves it slowly and begins washing me. Even though I know it’s hurting him, he continues to touch every inch of my skin with tender, almost loving strokes. I flinch and try to close my legs on reflex when he reaches my sex. I wasn’t penetrated by my stepfather…he tried, but his failure to achieve a sufficient erection to violate me drove him into a rage which led to his complete loss of control. From that moment forward, his only aim was to punish me for his inability to perform. I said a word of thanks for every blow, that rained down upon me, because even if he killed me, he would never have that part of me. His beating, in a way, was my triumph over him and he knew it, he sensed it. That was what drove him to try to carve the word ‘whore’ into my stomach. When he told me he was going to do that, he finally saw and felt what he wanted to from me: desperation, despair, and anger. God, he had been thrilled to finally strike that chord of fear.