Page 28 of Reluctantly You

I didn’t expect this when I walked in. Not at all.

When Mitchell doesn’t move or even look at me, I fist my hands on my thighs and let out an angry exhale.

“I know you’re wondering why I’m here. But I just came by to say that you’re fired. I’ll have your things packed and by the front desk when you want to get them.”

He just closes his eyes and doesn’t move. “Okay.”

I watch him intently and then stand up, my knees cracking as I head toward the door, hesitating for just a moment.

My hand is on the cool metal of the doorknob when I stop moving. I hear the TV in the background, the purr of the cat, and then a sniffle.

I rub at my chest and squeeze my eyes shut. I will not feel bad, not for someone like him.

And yet… I turn around and make my way back toward where he’s sitting.

I see a single tear track that’s etched its way down his cheek, and I curse myself for looking for it. He’s not my responsibility, and still, I take my jacket off and set it on the kitchen chair, the caretaker I thought I’d left behind making a rare appearance.

I’ll never do this to myself again. I won’t.

“Fuck. Me,” I murmur as I move down the hallway, the kitten scampering after me, attacking my ankles as I go.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I mutter to it, just as I open a door and find it. It’s small, with a sink, a shower, and a small tub attached.

“Don’t fucking do it,” I murmur to myself, and yet I still turn the bath water on and squirt some body wash into the stream of water. I watch as the bubbles foam and grow before moving back to where Mitchell is sitting.

“You need a bath. Come on.”

He doesn’t respond so I just squat down, place my arms around his torso, and lift him up.

He grunts, his legs barely moving, his large body tumbling into mine as I lift. He’s heavy and smells like sweat, like misery, and part of me wonders if I’m the reason for it. Maybe he’s finally come to the conclusion that he’s worthless, that he’s done nothing to earn what he has. Maybe it’s my fault, and here I am, taking care of him.

Just like I did with my dad.

Fuck.

I shake those thoughts away as I drag him to the bathroom, and he slouches against the wall, his legs shaking slightly.

“You really need a bath. You stink.”

He doesn’t respond, just visibly sags, his knees buckling as he slides to the ground.

“You can’t live like this. Just because you don’t get what you want, because for once in your life someone told you no.”

I’m angry, my words cutting, and yet still, my hands peel my shirt sleeves up, getting ready to get dirty. I cuff them right under the elbow before turning off the water in the tub and gesturing toward Mitch’s boxers.

“Take those off and get in.”

He closes his eyes and another tear slips down his cheek, disappearing into his unkempt beard.

Jesus. What the hell am I doing? What the fuck is this?

I don’t even like him.

You didn’t really like your dad and still, you looked after him.

“Stop crying,” I bite out, and when I realize he’s not going to move on his own, that he’ll just sit there against the wall for the rest of eternity, I reach forward and pull him up again. I unceremoniously tug his boxers down his thighs, his soft cock making an appearance. I glance away, making a point to not look for too long. He’s big, but I already knew that due to his little rendezvous in the office the other night.

Placing my arm around his back, I lead him to the full tub, biting my tongue when he takes ages to finally get in and settle down. The water is slightly opaque, his body covered by only a few bubbles. But the tub is small and the water only comes up to his belly button, leaving the rest of him exposed. He just sits there, resting his head against the wall beside him and closing his eyes once more.

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