Page 55 of Implode

“Anything that isn’t an outdated lukewarm can of salty soup,” she grumbles.

I am half-confused and half-disgusted by her response, but sense that it has some layer of meaning and is not just a flippant expression. I fill up the huge bathtub with hot water and add some vanilla-scented soap to make it bubbly. Ever since I have gotten close with Claire, I have developed her love of vanilla. I have converted many of my soap products over to that scent, so when I use them, I can think of her.

Hell, I don’t even need something tangible to remind me of Claire. All of my waking and subconscious thoughts lead to her.

The bathroom warms with the steam from the bath, and the smell inside is incredible. I hand her a robe. “Make yourself comfortable. There’s a sound system installed so feel free to use it.”

I meander back into the bedroom to search for something for Claire to wear. During the time where we couldn’t get enough of each other, but were still too afraid to actually talk about our feelings, I bought a few items for her to wear while here to feel comfortable. Sadly, she never got a chance to see them or use them. Several arrived via online delivery after we already ended things. It was a punch to the gut every time a new box arrived. I just didn’t have it in me to return them. Maybe it was my own heart’s way of not officially letting go.

When Claire declared her love for me at Graham’s penthouse, I shut down. I thought I was unlovable, and while I’m still managing those feelings, Dr. Zimmerman is convinced I’m already making progress. I allowed a person from my past to control how I proceeded into the present. It was unfair for Claire, but also unfair for me. I stayed stagnant for years, never pushing forward. Then Claire came along and changed everything. She was the one who let me start living again. She wasn’t the game changer. She made it so there was no need for any games.

With Claire, I could take her words at face value. There are never any ulterior motives or hidden messages. It took me some time, but I learned that I can trust her. And for me, trust is everything.

I lay a pair of bright purple fuzzy pajamas on the bed, along with a soft cotton bra and panty set in an aqua-blue shade. My girl likes to be bold. Even though she appears rough and ragged right now, I know that her spirit will shine through again, and she’ll learn to cope with whatever happened to her during her trip.

“Nic? Are you out there?” she asks from the crack in the door.

“You done already?”

“No.” She hesitates and then clears her throat. “My hair is really knotty and I thought…” Her eyes cast downwards, as a shyness coats over her features.

“I will help you,” I say softly.

I’m not used to seeing my girl this solemn, and a part of me wonders what she went through when I shattered her heart.

After a few seconds, I walk carefully into the bathroom and find Claire resting under a sea of bubbles. I clean up the water that she dripped on the floor and grab the hair brush I bought specifically for her from the drawer. I grab a folded towel to sit on and lean forward to gather up her wet hair. I run my fingers gently through it and notice right away the nest that must have been created over the course of days.

I section off the hair and glide the brush through it until it comes to a halt with the first tangle. I squirt some conditioner into my palm and massage it into the knot. It takes a lot of patience and a slow methodical pace to untangle everything from her hair, but I have success.

“All done, baby.”

“Thank you,” she says, giving me a small smile while tilting her head back to look at me.

“I would do anything for you, Claire. Please know that.” She nods and I continue. “Even when I was stupidly pushing you away, I never stopped wanting the best for you.” I watch as she glances away.

Claire may not be responding with words, but I can tell my declaration is marinating inside her brain. My girl is a deep thinker. I imagine that her bubbly personality is confusing to those who don’t really know her at her core. People like her mask their emotions with a positive outward appearance. I just hope she continues to let me know the real her, because what I have seen so far is unique and beautiful.

Claire allows me to help her out of the bathtub, dry her off, and get her dressed into her warm clothes. She looks small and fragile, as if one wrong move could cause her to break down.

Her shoulders round forward, as she wraps her arms around her midsection. “Thank you,” she whispers.

I help her into the living room, where I wrap a blanket around her and prop up pillows for her to rest her back. I move into the kitchen to prepare hot tea to be steeped on the stove. I call in an order to be delivered of a bunch of comfort foods from a local restaurant that I think Claire would like.

I will be happy if my girl starts to look less pale and fragile. The way she looks off into the room—at nothing in particular—is scaring me a bit. If she doesn’t start telling me what’s wrong, then I may have to call Mitch to come evaluate her.

I pour some tea into the ceramic mug I ordered with my dick pic printed all over it. I add some honey and a few lemon rounds. Stirring it, I walk into the living room and hand it over to Claire.

She lets out a half giggle at the sight of my member in glossy paint all over the side of the steaming mug.

“Buy yourself a gift to go with the others I got you?”

I shrug, try to act cool. “What can I say? I was inspired.”

Claire laughs. Really laughs. Even in her sadness, she has an aura of strength and resilience about her that I can’t help but find beautiful.

“Aren’t you worried about a family member finding your cock on a mug in the cupboard whenever they visit?”

I take a seat on the opposite side of the sofa. I pick up Claire’s legs, draping them over mine, and work my fingers into her feet to help her relax. She melts into the sofa cushions, as I continue my massage.

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