Page 56 of Ruining Vanessa

He turns the shower on, and I cry out as cold water pounds down onto my shoulders. He eyes me, putting a finger over my lips to quiet me, then adjusts the water. Soon, it’s warm, but it’s not much of a reprieve. Blood is still flowing freely from a few of the cuts on my thighs, leaving a pinkish tinge to the water as it runs down the drain.

He grabs a washcloth and some soap, and with more care than I would’ve expected, he cleans my body. He’s especially careful around the wounds, but they still sting when the soap hits them. He leaves my still-damp hair alone, though the ends get wet from me standing under the spray.

I don’t say anything, even as he shuts the water off and grabs a towel. He’s damp from leaning into the shower too, but he ignores that, focusing instead on drying me off. The black towel hides the blood, but it streaks against my leg.

“Those are going to need some glue and bandages to heal properly,” Slayer says after a pause. “Come on. We’ll go out into the living room, and I’ll get you bandaged up.”

He’s acting so nonchalant, like he hadn’t gone partially feral and tortured me while Giulio had looked on and encouraged him. I’m not sure what to make of it. Not that long ago, he’d killed a man in front of me, and he’s just cut me up like it was nothing. But right now, he seems almost normal, like all of that is just something he does on the side and separates himself from.

No. He’d been too into it for that.

Slayer lays a towel across the couch, motioning for me to sit. I’m glad all the cuts are concentrated on my front, although bending still makes all the slices on my thighs open up. I wince as I get on the couch.

I also shiver. The shower helped warm me up, but I’m still naked, and there’s no heating in the cabin.

Slayer sits down on the coffee table in front of me with a first aid kit. “Hold still while I bandage you up.”

I don’t know why he thinks I’d fight. I hadn’t even fought while I was lying across the table with a knife on me.

I’d simply lain there and taken it. I’d cried. I’d begged. I’d orgasmed.

I’m pathetic.

I don’t say anything while Slayer dabs alcohol over the wounds to clean them. “This might hurt a little,” he warns, pulling out a small tube from the kit. He concentrates as he pushes the edges of the cuts together, using the substance on them and holding them closed until they seal. Glue.

He takes his time gluing together the bigger wounds, then covers them with bandages. They should hurt more than they do, but at this point I’m just numb.

The rest of my life is going to be like this. I’d thought it couldn’t get worse, but Giulio keeps proving me wrong, over and over again.

“Okay, we’re all done,” Slayer says. “Here, you can wrap the blanket around yourself. I’ll get a fire going.”

He hands me a blanket, which I stare at for a little too long. Finally, I take it off his hands and spread it out over my lap. I don’t have the energy to get it around my shoulders.

Slayer’s already gone to the fireplace. He squats down, loading firewood into it along with a starter brick, and he lights it. He fusses with it for a moment, making sure it catches before he stands up. He glances back at me, frowning a little.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

I flinch, shrinking back a little on the couch. Whatever’s wrong, I don’t want to deal with the consequences.

But instead of striding to me and hitting me, or even yelling at me, he goes to a cooler on the other side of the room and produces a bottle of orange-colored water and something wrapped in plastic.

He sits down next to me, holding the bottle out to me. “You’re in shock,” he says matter-of-factly. “Let’s get you warmed up and settled, then you can take a nap and get some rest.”

Shock? Of course I’m in shock.

I try to take the bottle, but my hand shakes so badly that I drop it. It rolls across the floor, and I stare at it. Even the thought of getting up is too exhausting.

Slayer goes to pick up the bottle without a word. When he returns, he unscrews the cap and holds the bottle up to my lips. “Here, drink.”

I glance at him, but he tilts it a little, and I drink. Sugar explodes over my tongue, unexpected despite the unnatural color of the drink, and it tastes better than I thought it would. I drink more, and he patiently holds the bottle up until I’ve finished nearly half of it.

I push lightly at his hand, and he takes the hint, pulling it away and capping it again.

“Okay, good,” he says, almost sounding like he’s trying to be encouraging. “Now food. It’ll make you feel better.”

“I don’t think I can eat,” I mumble.

“C’mere,” he says, sitting down next to me, and I’m suddenly engulfed by his arm moving around me. He urges me closer, until I’m in his lap. He pulls the blanket back on me, carefully putting it back in place.

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