Page 208 of Barbi and the Villain

I wonder what he sees. Blood stains my exposed skin. My clothes are in tatters, torn and slashed in the same pattern as my now healed injuries. My face is streaked with blood and tears and an indescribable feeling of loss. I am quite the sight, am I not?

I give him a tentative nod.

He reaches for the hem of my shirt, gently pulling it up. I lift my hands to aid him, and he throws it on the bathroom floor.

A shiver goes down my back as he takes in the streaks of blood on my chest. I’m not wearing a bra, and this is the first time he’s ever seen me naked.

My cheeks heat up as I cross my arm over my chest to shield my breasts.

His hands move to the band of my pants, his gaze meeting mine as he waits for my approval.

I lift my butt, wiggling from side to side to allow him to slide my pants and my panties down my legs.

He throws them outside the stall, too.

Now, I am completely bare before him.

I hug my knees and look away.

“Barbi,” he calls softly. “You are safe with me, sweet thing. I will not hurt you. Do you understand that?”

He tips my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“Do you understand?”

I nod.

“Good. I will clean you up now, sweetie. May I touch you?”

Another nod.

He takes the shower head and tests the temperature of the water. Satisfied when it’s not too hot nor too cold, he glides the jet over my body. The green water mixes with the red of my blood, and I stare down at the dark yellow water that accumulates around my body.

“They…” I swallow. “They peed on me.”

The shower head drops from his hand to the ground. He stares at me, his eyes swirling a dark gray. His nostrils flare as he inhales and exhales, all the while never taking his eyes off me.

“Come here,” he says as he pulls me into his arms.

He holds me close, skin to skin, his fingers gliding down my back in a soothing gesture.

“I am so incredibly sorry, sweet thing,” he whispers. “You cannot imagine how sorry I am.”

I flatten my lips, holding in a sob as I tighten my arms around him.

“Let me wash you,” he murmurs. “Let me wipe everything away.”

He turns me around, bringing the shower over my head and wetting my hair. His touch is soft and gentle as he washes the dirt away. He massages my scalp with slow, deliberate movements, and I let out a sigh of relief as I lean into him.

“You are doing great, sweetie,” he murmurs approvingly in my ear. My eyes close as I let him take over.

He rinses my hair thoroughly before he lathers soap onto his palms and brings them to my body. He works the soap into my skin, cleansing every bit of those men’s touch away.

Slowly, my fear dissipates until I feel comfortable letting go. My body relaxes, slumping against him as I allow him to touch every inch of my skin.

Despite the intimate way in which he is touching me, there is no discomfort. He does his best to put me at ease, keeping his touches clinical. He’s seeing me fully naked for the first time, but I find no disconcerting lust in his eyes, only worry and affection. He handles me like a prized possession, and my heart silently weeps, thankful for him but still shaken by his absence.

Yet despite my disappointment, I want to understand why he couldn’t come. I want to know what happened to him and why he wasn’t there when I needed him—why he didn’t answer my calls.

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