Page 12 of Scar

I’m not stupid. I know that if she hadn’t come and got me, I would have been dead. My body aches, every part of me feels tired. With little to no strength to do anything, even having this shower is exhausting me. After switching off the shower I step out, not wanting to risk fucking passing out again. I don’t like her seeing me this weak. This isn’t the man that I am. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.

After wrapping a towel around my waist, I walk to the sink to brush my teeth. I’m thankful the mirror is steamed up and I can’t see my reflection. Mirrors weren’t needed. I can feel how fucking battered I am, and I don’t need to fucking see it. Once I’ve brushed my teeth—thankful for the freshness in my mouth—I slowly walk out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. She’s stood there with a chair in the middle of the room, with a sheet of plastic underneath it and a pair of scissors in her hand.

“Sit,” she orders, patting the chair.

“You know this looks like you are about to murder me, right?” I point out, leaning against the door frame to keep myself upright.

Her gaze narrows. “Are you okay?” she asks. I try and give her a reassuring smile, but she sees right through it. She places down the scissors and swiftly moves to me, her eyes searching my face. “Come on, get to bed. I can do your hair tomorrow. This is too much, too soon,” she says as she links her arm with mine. She tries to guide me to the bed, but I refuse to move. Pausing, she turns around and frowns up at me. “Come on,” she urges.

“Cut my hair. I want to feel like me again,” I tell her honestly.

She halts for a moment, as if she is deciding whether to argue with me or not. After giving me a curt nod, she helps me to the chair. I sigh, feeling relived that I’m not having to hold myself up.

Suddenly, she shoves a drink in my face. “Drink it,” she orders.

I roll my eyes and take it from her, knocking it back in one go. I scrunch my face up in disgust at the taste. “What the fuck is that?” I ask, fighting my gag reflex.

“That is a drink packed full of minerals and vitamins,” she states as she brushes my hair. “And maybe a good helping of sugar to keep your levels up,” she adds.

“Fucking thought so. Too fucking sweet,” I say with a shudder.

I hear her chuckle a soft laugh as she places a towel over my shoulders. “No, don’t move,” she orders.

“Yes ma’am,” I salute. “Please don’t give me a bowl cut,” I beg.

“Aww, damn it, that’s all I know how to do,” she mock whines. I laugh. “I am just giving you a good trim. I like your hair,” she compliments. My hair has always been long, well longfor a guy anyway. I sit there while she trims it, and as she moves around the front of me, the concentration in her green eyes is adorable. Instinctively, my legs open and I grab her curvy hips, pulling her closer so she is stood between my legs. Her hands rest on my shoulders, and as she looks down on me, her gaze is wide and her cheeks are stained a rose pink.

“Is that easier for you?” I ask, my voice rasping with the tension I’m feeling, and I know she’s feeling it too.

She swallows and nods. “That’s great, thank you.” She clears her throat and regains her focus on my hair. I don’t remove my hands from her hips, liking the feel of her beneath my fingertips.

She continues to cut my hair for a while in silence before she breaks it. “So, what’s your real name?” she asks, killing the silence.

“I’ve told you, my name is Scar,” I answer, and she raises her brow at me. “My name is Micah,” I answer.

“Hhm, Micah,” she mumbles.

I despise being called it. “Don’t ever call me that. Scar is my name now,” I tell her sternly. She doesn’t ask why or make further comment, sensing my unease about it.

She continues to cut until she lets out a pleased sigh and leans back. “Done.” She smiles as she looks down at me, still stood between my legs. I watch as she drops the scissors and comb before she runs her fingers through my damp hair. I groan at the feeling of her nails delicately scraping along my scalp. She stops immediately and I open my eyes. Her gaze flickers back and forth, probably trying to decide what I am doing. Truthfully, I don’t know. She inhales and smiles before her hands cup my heavily bearded face. “How about a trim here, too?” she asks.

“You can do whatever you want to me,” I tell her truthfully.

Her cheeks blush again as she smiles and reaches for a pair of clippers. “I won’t get rid of it completely. Just going to cut and tame it,” she says as she switches the clippers on. Her browsfurrow in deep concentration as she glides the clippers through my beard.

I know if it was left any longer to grow, I would look like a band member ofZZ Top. My hands are still firmly on her hips, and my fingers twitch, wanting to pull her to me, to grab fistfuls of her plump and round ass, but I don’t. I’m obviously still lightheaded from the lack of food and nutrients, and Elsie is the first woman I’ve been this close to in months. She isn’t the type of girl I could use for one night, because she deserves more, not that anything would happen right now. I’d probably cum with one thrust from where it’s been so fucking long. Definitely wouldn’t be the night she deserves.

She finishes trimming and as she switches off the clippers, she runs her eyes over her work. I watch as she leans in closer and gently blows across my lips, then she swipes her thumb across my bottom lip. My hands tense on her hips, and as her eyes lift from my mouth to my eyes, she licks her bottom lip.

“Sorry, you had a hair on your lip,” she says softly. “Let me wash your hair in the sink and rinse out any loose hairs. You can stay seated,” she assures me. “My fault really. I should have done it before you showered,” she apologises.

I swallow and nod, too focused on my own thoughts and trying to not get an erection.Rage’s ugly ass, Rage’s body part collection,I repeat in my mind as she takes my hand and helps me to stand. Then with one hand, she lifts the chair, and in the other retakes my hand. She lets out a huff as she struggles to carry the chair.

“Let me,” I say, holding out my hand.

She shakes her head no. “I’m not having you exert yourself.” She grunts as she walks into the bathroom, setting the chair down next to the edge of the tub. “Sit,” she orders.

“You know, you can be quite bossy.” I smirk.

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