Page 49 of Collateral Damage

Isuck up my nerves, swallowing them sharply down my throat as I drop my loose white tee to the floor. She is looking away as always. Her respect grows on me more and more every day and it scares me… I should not be letting her in this way, but my body is screaming at me in words I don't understand, a different language I cannot decipher. The top I change into is folded up in front of me, waiting for her to turn back around and watch me peal it over my skin without feeling exposed. Something about the way she's been cradling me at night has me almost melting, craving physical affection, her skin on mine, maybe more? I have never been an affectionate person. None of this pairs with my genetic makeup, but I suppose a lot has changed in three months, I am no longer that girl anymore.

I'm a survivor, with a new spark of subtle confidence within myself. Confidence I'm not sure what to do with but right now whatever I'm subconsciously telling myself to do, feels right. She's still facing the wall waiting for the signal but the water hasn't started running yet, I find myself scraping my bottom lip through my teeth just looking at her frame from behind. I've never paid much attention until now, too afraid to give herthat satisfaction, keeping eye contact with her makes my eyes burn, fear and devastation is all I feel. I run my hands against my icy flesh, looking down at myself completely bare, my heart palpitating at a rate I've never felt. It knows what I'm about to do, and maybe it's a bad idea but I can't seem to stop myself. I weirdly want this. I want her to see me. I want to defy her in the most disrespectful way. I am curious to know the effect I have on her. That night in the woods. We haven't spoken about it but I haven't stopped thinking about it. It sucked the sadness from me for a temporary moment. It made mefeel. I want that again. I want tofeel.

I tiptoe on the cold tiles, almost burning my feet it's so damn cold, I have goose bumps lathering every inch of my skin and my nipples are visibly hard as my hair tickles the dip in my lower back causing me to shudder at the sensation, yet I don't know if that's because of the room temperature or mine. My heart is now on the floor as I stand there for a moment. My hand clenched tightly to the metal lever, breathing in through my nose to calm my now trembling body. This euphoria is scarily addictive…it is fear. But it is inflicted fear, which is an entirely new comfort I can't understand. My toes are now tingling as I face the wall, my curves now completely exposed to her unknowing view. I close my eyes and pull the lever down, letting the initial cold water shake off my state of shock, focusing on anything other than the eyes that are now about to burn into the back of my head.

A few moments feel like hours as I trail the tiles in front of me to distract myself from the fact I am being entirely crude and diabolical right now. I am standing stark naked in front of a woman who committed manslaughter on the only people I had.This is so unbelievably wrong, what the hell am I doing?I cover my face with my wet strands of inky hair, rubbing the parts of my arms to create friction where they aren't quite under the now warm water seeping into my skin, hopefully washingaway this sin, dripping down my curves, water freeing itself from my hips as it disconnects. I hear a shuffle. The various chains and buckles that smother her rugged attire are clanking against the china bathtub she usually sits on. That can only mean one thing, and the shower seems to get awfully hot, but it's just my blood boiling. I can practically feel her eye fucking me but my inner thighs are throbbing, what is this?Alora you're crazy…You're literally a virgin. Kacey is so right. No one would ever go anywhere near you. As I stand there contemplating my impulsive and regretful choices, my throat jams, feeling my spine straighten in fear as she finally speaks. A low growl hums from her mouth.

Play - ‘Eyes don’t lie - Isabel LaRosa’

“Look at me…” Her damn voice never lets off. How can a woman have a voice I can only describe as honey smothering bark. There is always a harsh undertone, full of fury, but her words roll off her tongue like my own personal lullaby. Sweet and sticky, glueing me in place.

My confidence finally dispatches as I expected, leaving me completely vulnerable to my own stupidity as I hesitate like a jammed clock, lagging as my body and brain battle one another to decide what move to make. I manage to choose and creep round to face her, my eyes fixated on the puddle building underneath me.

“I don't like to repeat myself.” I internally jump at her back handed threat, causing me to slowly lift my head until my eyes meet hers and I feel my stomach knot. She's giving me a look I cannot read at all, is she mad? Happy? Surprised? She begins to trail her gaze upon my frame, I can practically see her eyes curving against my curves, like she's following my outline and her eyes are a pen, but she doesn't say anything. Not a damnword. And I don't know whether to feel nervous or relieved. Does she like what she sees?Am I ugly?

Her soulless gawk has my chest contracting in ways I didn't think possible as she brings her eyes back up to mine and I suddenly feel the room spinning. This amount of vulnerability is making me lightheaded. Even more so now that she's slowly rising from the basin and her eyes are still heavily locked on mine causing me to hold my breath. This time, I don't feel fear or devastation, I feel nervous and beyond curious to know what she's thinking behind those eyes that could kill, and have. I see a starved animal homing in on its prey. And she is now stalking closer to me.

Omg. Fuck. Fuck. Shit- OK.

Now inches from me, the smell of paint becomes fonder to me by the day. It's her permanent cologne. It's invaded all my senses and buried a home somewhere inside me that now strongly misses it when she is not around. An ugly comfort that makes me feel.Safe?I sound crazy. Maybe I am. She's rubbing off on me and it makes me feel sick but not because I don't want her to be. Because I'm allowing her to get close to me. I'm angry at myself for craving such a toxic form of attention.

She has never touched me inappropriately, but recently I find myself wishing she would. Does that make me sick? She has blood on her hands. She's a walking, breathing reminder of everything I've lost, she's a monument of pain I carry, she's everything I was warned to stay away from, but she touches me in a way that shows me, deep down, in that black hollow heart she wears proudly that there is some salvation still left inside her. A kindness stills within her for me. Maybe I am being naive, she will probably end up burying me in her back garden but right now, I've nothing else. She is all I have left and accepting that is becoming easier the sweeter she is. I wish she wasn't, it would make this mental war in my head much easier to bear.

I'm beginning to choke on steam as she crosses her arms to pull her shirt over her head. I've never seen anything like it.

Wait.

She's undressing.

There isn't an inch of her skin that isn't smothered in ink. Thick, bold, linework. The pain is practically seeping into my eyes. How many hours did she endure such agony to cover her flesh? Does it even phase her? Her art signifies death in every sense of the word. It's gothic and raw, hideously beautiful. I have the strangest urge to touch them but my mind stops working as she begins to unbutton her denim jeans letting them fall down her legs, stepping out of each hole one at a time as she pushes closer to me. She's not once broken eye contact with me. Have I just opened Pandora's box?

Her face paint has begun to haunt my dreams, clowns used to terrify me but they are growing on me. Or might I say,one in particular. Her piercing eyes contrasted against the black taper smeared around her lids is hypnotising. She looks horrific and disturbing but I'm finding it all the more intriguing to know what lies beneath it.

I walk back to accommodate her size in the shower as she forces me against the wall with only her eyes, bearing witness to my flush complexion, catching me completely off guard as her right arm suddenly raises to rest on the tiles above my head and all I want to do is crumble beneath her. I forget how tall she really is until she's towering above me. I'm only 5’4 and I feel like a troll when stood beside her. It's intimidating, it's humiliating, but it's also strongly assuring of her ability to keep me safe. Not that she needs to save me from anyone but herself.

She is brutal and dangerous, mysterious, capable of terrible things, yet I find myself drawn to her like the ink in her skin. She does things to me I don't want to think about but I findit slipping through the cracks of my now broken perception of good and bad.

It's like she wants to tease me as she leans into my frame between my collar bone and the base of my hair sending electric currents between us, a magnet to the micro hairs lining my skin before pulling away holding a bottle of shower gel.

She was grabbing shower gel Alora you idiot. Calm down.

“Turn around.” My heart stops as the base of her voice rumbles against the empty room, bouncing off the tiled walls. I do as she says, slowly rotating to face the wall and my absurd thoughts begin to plague my mind as her rough hands meet my wet skin, rubbing soap in to wash my dirtied flesh. I have thought about this more than I'd like to admit and the bashful smile gracing my face is so embarrassing. I am so glad she cannot see it right now. Travelling both hands around my hips to meet my stomach, pushing her fingers into my frame as soap builds underneath her palms all the way round to my front causing me to ache in a way I've never felt in my life, an ache that physically hurts.

She's inches from my flower and my heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest, I find my breath quicken and my eyes are fighting to focus ahead of me as she pulls my hips into her abdominal area. Her boxers are soaked against my ass and it feels far too good for my liking…this is vile.I'm a virgin.Alora you're a virgin, and she's nefarious. This is all types of sin, but I love how she feels against my skin, this twinge between my legs is psychically painful, screaming to be touched as both her hands ride up my front to shape my breasts and I can feel my head limping back.

Get a grip Alora. Focus.

She runs both of her hands around my forearms and cups my neck, digging her thumbs into the sides of my spine, naturally making me face the floor, I struggle to open my eyesat this new found, phenomenal sensation, my mouth parted without my control trying to hold back the moans that want to escape my mouth, but when I do, I'm met with a piece of artwork at my feet where her face paint is seeping into the water creating a river of devilry, like she is letting herself bleed to the floor.

I place my hands firmly against the wall trying to keep my body weight up, almost suffocating on my ability to breathe as the water asphyxiates my access to oxygen. I can hear nothing but the beating of my own heart as the water barricades my hearing and I feel mere moments from passing out only focusing on her touch breaching mine with pure hunger.Is this lust? Where your body yearns to feel human contact, becausefuckthis is what I can imagine extasy to feel like. I've never taken any substance, but I feel like I'm drowning in its effects when I'm around her.

“BreatheAlora.”Shit. She can literally sense how anxious I am. Well. That's what I assume until I suddenly realise how stiff I am against her frame, and how my head is submerged under the shower head. I have no choice but to pull my head back and lay it into her chest, sucking in a breath like I'm dying.I feel like I'm dying.

She is so tall I can feel her heartbeat against the back of my skull, panting in rhythmic fashion as her hand trails the front of my chest, gently choking my throat to direct my focus to the ceiling where I can see her jawline and partial cheek bone exposed. I'm not at the correct angle to see her face but I think that's what she wants. And I am patient. I don't want to push. This is far more than I was ever expecting, but God that jawline could cut through glass.

I find my hands trying to link with hers before being stunned at her response.

“Hands on the wall.” I roll a gulp and follow orders leaving an empty space between us as I reach for it. I can hear the bottleopen as she gathers more shower gel and I swear my lungs are evaporating as her hands glide down the curves of my ass and my outer thigh. She is too tall to be standing right now which means she's kneeling and it hurts to swallow as she pushes her fingers to ring my leg like a flannel, lathering soap against the inside of my leg. I can feel her breath brushing against the back of my thigh and an inescapable sigh leaves my throat. I know she's enjoying this far too much. I'm practically a puddle and the urge to turn around just to see her looking up at me with those devilish eyes is driving me beyond insanity.

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