Page 8 of Saved By Two

His hands reach under my armpits, gently guiding me back to my feet. Once he’s satisfied I won’t fall over, he begins to wash my body, meticulously working over my exposed flesh using a soft satin loofah. He’s gentle and attentive but avoids my breasts and between the apex of my thighs. There’s no way he can’t see the bruises.

He adds more shower gel to the loofah and passes it to me before turning his back, giving me some sort of privacy. Now that his back is to me, I find myself admitting it out loud.

“He raped me,” I say, my voice cracking. Caleb’s shoulders tense, but he remains facing the tiles. “I was passed out, unconscious when he did it.”

The thought alone makes me want to vomit. It must have happened after he shoved me and I hit my head on the cabinet. I blacked out after that, and in a way, I’m grateful because violating me like that on top of everything else is too much.

“I woke up with my shorts around my ankles.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this, but I can’t stop the words spilling from my lips. “He used to be so attentive, but that didn’t last long before I met the monster.”

I scrub the loofah between my legs and drag it over my chest, but it’s not enough. There’s no way I’ll ever be clean again.

Angry with myself, I scrub even harder, another gut-wrenching sob catching in my throat, but a strangled cry escapes me. I’m unable to catch my breath now; the pain in my ribs slices through me, making it even harder for me to breathe.

“Hey, look at me, Jessica.”

My face is between Caleb’s calloused palms, and his touch is firm yet gentle, grounding me.

“Breathe for me. I need you to take a slow, deep breath.”

He holds my stare, his eyes an intense blue with flecks of yellow and green around his pupils. I’ve never seen blue eyes this colour before, and for a tiny moment, I’m captivated long enough to inhale a staggered breath.

“That’s it, little one, slow and deep. Breathe and release,” he says with one of his palms pressed softly against my ribcage as he continues to breathe in and out with me.

I rest my forehead against his chest, tears streaming down my face. His hand cups the back of my neck as my body sags against his. If it weren’t for his other arm around my lower back, I’d be a crumpled mess on the shower floor by now.

My tears eventually subside, and he pulls back, cupping my face softly, his thumbs wiping away my tears.

“Do you want me to try and wash your hair?”

I clear my throat, but my voice comes out hoarse. “Yes, please.”

He says nothing in response as he ushers me to sit back down and carefully lathers my hair with shampoo. I close my eye as he works his fingers deftly and carefully over my scalp, doing his best to avoid the laceration on my head.

I don’t recall him turning off the water or wrapping me in a towel, but we’re no longer in the shower, and he’s guiding me out of a steamed-up bathroom and back into the bedroom. He walks me over to a gorgeous white wooden dressing table and lowers me onto the small stool.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, glancing at Noah, who comes into view before he leaves the room.

Noah walks towards me with a small towel, kneels beside me and starts to dry off the excess water from the ends of my hair. Then he reaches for a small brush and combs through the ends, detangling the knots. He rustles through a drawer, retrieving a hairdryer and plugs it in, switching it on before waving it over my hair for a few minutes. It won’t be enough to dry it thoroughly. My hair is too thick for that, but I’ll take damp hair over soaking wet any day.

When he switches it off, I miss the warm heat and let out a shiver, my teeth beginning to chatter.

“Here, let’s get you out of that wet towel and into some dry clothes.”

He helps me put a t-shirt on, slipping it over my head as I push one arm through and then the other, keeping the towel in place. It helps that the shirt drowns me. He hands me a pair of boxers and then turns around. It gives me a moment to dry my body, a small hiss escaping as I pat gently between my legs. I slip the boxers on, having to roll them at the waist since they fit me more like a pair of shorts. Even though these clothes are too big for me, I'm thankful for them, for the way they hide the markings of my mistakes.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice weak as I hand him the towel.

He turns and heads to the bathroom and I find myself inhaling deeply for the first time. The soft cotton of his shirt smells like him and it's strangely comforting.

"Have you managed to get hold of Mason yet?" I ask.

I know the kind of work my brother does involves him going off the grid. He’s in the MI5, but that's all I know. He’s always been very cloak and dagger. I’ve questioned him multiple times, but I am still none the wiser. He’s always trying to protect his naive little sister, and yet here I am.

“No, not yet, sweet girl, but we’re on it.”

“It’s my fault,” I say and move to stand up. “I should have left after he hit me the first time.”

Noah’s expression turns hard, cold even, and I go to step away, but the back of my calf connects with the stool I was sitting on, and my arms flay.

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