Page 104 of The Rogue and His Flower

“I–I need to w—wash it away,” I hiccup, blinking up at him, my teeth chattering, my bones rattling as my body tries and fails to find strength from somewhere, anywhere.

He nods, pushing upright, helping me to stand on shivering, shaky legs. He leads me to the edge of the bath, pushing me gently downwards to sit on the lip.

“Let me run a bath. Just sit there, okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper, my hands falling to my lap as I teeter on the edge, not just of this bath, but my grip on reality, my father’s voice still whispering cruel words in my mind.

Beside me, he turns on the taps, unaware of how close I am to free falling into a terribly dark place. He plugs the hole, before dropping to his knees before me. His hands are warm as he cups my bare knees, looking up at me.

“Just concentrate on me, okay? Just breathe. I’m here.”

Our gazes clash as I nod, doing as he asks. He breathes with me, dragging in deep breaths through flared nostrils, blowing air back out of parted lips. We do that for long minutes, our breaths mingling as the bath fills and steam curls up into the air, eddying between us, covering our skin in a sheen of dampness. It’s as though my whole body is weeping, oozing with past hurts. Every second that passes is another second where I try to mentally lock up the nightmare, but it lingers like a nasty stain, darkening everything with bitterness.

“What time is it?” I eventually ask, noticing the shadows beneath his eyes, his mussed up hair. Needing to hold onto his image, needing to remain in the present, forcing myself not to spiral further.

“Early hours of the morning. Just after two am, I think.”

“I woke you up. I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“Don’t be. I’m not,” he replies, reaching up to gently rub my arm, his eyes flicking to the bath. “It’s almost full. Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” I reply on a panicked breath. “Please, don’t leave me. I’m not ready to face the rest of the night alone. I can’t.I can’t.”

“Then I’ll stay. I’ll do anything you need, Daisy,” he reassures me as I reach for the buttons of my pyjama top. My hands are shaking so much that I can’t seem to undo them. Dalton covers my hands with his. “Let me.”

Caught in the warmth of his concern, my hands fall away as he slowly unbuttons my top. Cool air pools over my bare skin as the material parts, revealing not just my naked skin, but the heart of me, the damaged, broken core.

I wonder if he sees it, what he thinks of me now?

“Stand, Daisy,” he gently commands, taking my hands as I lift up onto my feet robotically.

Silently, he slides the material off my shoulders, his warm hands coasting over my skin as the material falls to my feet. He drops his gaze to my sleep shorts, and I just nod, giving him permission to remove them. Unable to do much more than that.

Dalton drags in another deep breath, his fingers brushing my hips as he starts to slide the fabric down my legs. My heart hiccups at his tenderness, and I sway on my feet as I step out of them. For the briefest of moments, he captures me in his arms, holding me close as I bury my face in his chest, breathing in the heady scent of him, my stupid, foolish heart desperate to find solace there.

“Let me help you into the bath,” he offers, taking my hand as I gingerly step over the lip, sinking below the surface as he turns off the taps. Despite the heat of the water I shiver, unable,incapableof getting warm.

“Get in with me?” I ask, but it’s more of a plea than a question.

Dalton nods, stripping off his clothes, revealing his lean, tattooed body before climbing into the bath, facing me.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, hating the pity I see in his gaze as I draw up my knees and wrap my arms around them.

“Stop saying that. Stop it, Daisy.”

“I can’t… I… Oh, Dalton…” I whimper, and his hands press against my crossed arms, gently prying them apart.

“Come here,” he whispers, pressing his hands beneath my armpits, hauling my body against his as water spills over the ledge and onto the floor.

My legs slide over his thighs, my chest pressed against his chest as I fall into his embrace. His hands glide over my back, gentle fingers gingerly tracing my skin as he rocks us both.

“Close your eyes, Daisy,” he whispers. “Turn off your mind, just concentrate on my touch.”

I try to do as he asks, but every time I close my eyes all I can see is that monster who hurt me so thoroughly. The memory isn’t tightly locked away. It hovers still, waiting for the opportunity to drag me back under.

Snivelling little shit…

My father’s voice is loud in my head, and more wracking sobs bubble up my throat, spilling out of my mouth, staining him with tears.

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