Page 79 of Carved in Ruin

For now, I let him hold me. Let him keep me.

The ache in my shoulder is nothing compared to the pressure building in my bladder. I shift slightly in bed, wincing as the movement pulls at sore muscles. “I need to pee,” I mumble.

Rafael’s arm tightens around my waist like a vice. He lifts me up with a terrifying ease, his other hand expertly maneuvering the IV pole like it’s an extension of his body.

“Rafael, I can walk,” I protest weakly, but my words dissolve as I bury my nose in the crook of his neck. He smells like dark wood, smoke, and something that’s distinctly him.

He carries me into the bathroom, setting me down like I’m made of glass. I wait for him to leave, but he leans casually against the doorframe, his dark eyes fixed on me.

“Rafael,” I say through gritted teeth. “Leave.”

“Hell no.”

“You can pass out,” he justifies. “You can fall and hit your head. You can—” He cuts himself off, his fists clenching like he’s holding something back.

I know exactly what he’s implying.

“I already told you,” I snap, anger bubbling under my skin. “It was a lapse in judgment. I swore I wouldn’t ever do it again.”

I regretted it as soon as the gun went off. It’s not like me, not at all. I can’t even explain why I did it. I just… snapped, I guess. Felt like everything was crashing down and I didn’t know how to handle it. It was a moment of pure desperation, nothing more. I’d never do that again. It’s not who I am. But at that moment? I was just drowning. I’m done sinking—whatever it takes, I’m getting myself to the shore.

He nods, but he doesn’t move.

“I’m not peeing in front of you, Rafael.”

He raises an eyebrow, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Who do you think’s been helping you these past few days?”

My heart stops, my pride splintering into jagged pieces. “What?”

“Who do you think’s been helping you to the bathroom?” he repeats, his voice calm, as if he’s stating the weather.

The realization crashes over me like ice water. “Why didn’t you get one of the nurses to help?” I screech.

“No one sees my woman like that,” he says simply.

I roll my eyes. “It could’ve been a female nurse, Rafael.”

“Female, male—it doesn’t matter.” His gaze darkens. “No one touches you like that. No one takes care of you like that. Only me.”

I glare at him, but it’s pointless. Knowing I’m not winning this, I sit down, avoiding his gaze as I do what I need to do.

When I’m finished, he’s there, handing me toilet paper like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The humiliation burns through me as I flush the toilet and move to the sink.

As I wash my hands, something catches my attention. My skin isn’t grimy, my hair isn’t matted, and I don’t feel the way I expected after days in bed. My brows furrow.

“Did you… bathe me?” I ask.

He steps closer, his reflection towering over mine in the mirror. “I take care of what’s mine,Kroshka.”

“You’re mine,” he continues. “I’ll burn the world down before I let anyone else touch you. So, yes, I bathed you. I cleaned every part of you with my hands, and I’ll do it again if I have to. Because that’s what I do, Mila. I take care of you. Even when you don’t want me to.”

I sigh, grabbing the toothbrush Rafael had clearly set out for me. The minty toothpaste foams in my mouth as I brush, trying to keep the silence from stretching too far. Around the brush, I manage a muffled, “Thank you.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “You don’t need to thank me. It’s my duty as your husband.”

Duty. He says it like it’s a law etched into his bones, like it’s as natural as breathing.

I rinse my mouth, washing my face to avoid his gaze. The mirror feels too small for the both of us. The air between us feels too charged, too heavy. I need to shift the focus, lighten the mood. “Hopefully, I didn’t say anything embarrassing.”

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