Page 26 of Misery In Me

“Gage,” she says, her voice soft and knowing, and something about it just sinks into me. “Are you still staring at the bathroom?”

I feel the weight of her words hit me, and I know exactly what she’s talking about. She knows. She’s been watching me, waiting for me to finally make the move, to take the step I’ve been avoiding for days. I’m not stupid—I can’t hide things from her. She’s too smart for that.

“Just… thinking,” I mumble, my throat tight. I try to play it off like it’s nothing. Like I’m not scared of something as simple as taking a goddamn shower. But that’s exactly what it is. It’s not the shower that’s bothering me. It’s the idea of her seeing me like this.

Of me needing her help on a new level.

I don’t know how to explain it. She’s here, fuck, she’s been here for weeks, but every time she moves close to me, every time I feel her hand on my arm or hear her voice in my ear, it’s like my body is on high alert.She’s so fucking close to me, and I’m terrified of crossing that line.Of what might happen if I let her in more than I already have.

Ale sighs quietly and the sound is filled with something... but I don’t know what. She walks into the room without hesitation, like she knows I need her, even when I won’t admit it to myself.

Because you're a pussy, Gage.

Just tell her.

“Alright,” she says, her tone patient but firm. “You need to shower, Gage. You’re not going to get better if you just stay in bed all day. Let me help you.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected. “Help me?” I ask, turning my head slowly toward her, trying to gauge her expression. There’s no teasing, no joking—just calm, unwavering certainty.

She means it.

She’s been helping me with everything else: the meals, the medicine, the ice packs, and the sponge baths. With Zoe. But this feels different. This feels more intimate. More real. And I don’t know if I can do it.

Her eyes are steady as they meet mine, and I feel this odd warmth bloom in my chest. “Yeah, help you,” she repeats softly, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You’re not going to get any better if you don’t take care of yourself. That means keeping this wound clean.” She reaches for the sheet and I clutch the hem. I know I’ve got basketball shorts on, but still.

I want to refuse, but the truth is, I’m exhausted. The thought of not doing anything for another day makes my skin crawl. But it’s more than that. It’s the fact that I’ve spent every single day since I’ve been home avoiding her.

Avoiding the way she makes me feel.

She stands there, watching me like she’s waiting for me to make the decision. I swallow hard, the tension building in my chest. I’ve been trying to avoid her touch for days, but here she is, standing right in front of me, her arms crossed, her eyes soft but unwavering.

“I can do it myself,” I try again, though my voice lacks the conviction it had when I first said it.

“Gage,” she says, her voice low, but there’s an edge of amusement in it now. Pinching the bridge of her nose as she sighs. “You can barely move without me. Stop being so fucking stubborn. Come on.”

I hesitate, but there’s something in her tone—something I can’t argue with. Her presence in the room makes me feel like I’m not as broken as I think I am. I can’t explain it, but when she’s near, I don’t feel like I’m just the guy who’s been wounded, who’s been through hell. I feel like... maybe I can get through this.

Maybe if I just let her help me.

I try to push myself up, but the pain shoots through my ribs again, sharp and quick. I curse under my breath, unable to hide the grunt that slips from my mouth. Ale immediately steps forward, her hand on my shoulder, steadying me.

“Easy,” she says, her voice gentle now. She leans in, her breath warm against my ear. “I’ve got you.”

I don’t know why, but that phrase—“I’ve got you”—hitsme like a freight train. It’s the way she says it.Like she really means it.She’s not just here because it’s her job to care for my daughter. Ale’s here because she genuinely cares and that changes everything.

I nod, letting her guide me. Not because I want to, but because I know I don’t have a choice. She’s right. I need help. I can’t do this alone.

She leads me to the bathroom, the distance between us feeling like a thousand miles, but it’s a distance I’m willing to cross now. As we move, I can feel her hand on my lower back, steadying me. She’s here. She’s not going anywhere.

Such a foreign feeling.

The bathroom feels cold compared to the warmth of the bedroom, but I don’t say anything. She helps me sit down on the lean of the edge of the vanity, the cool marble against my skin, and I can’t help but feel more vulnerable than I’ve ever felt before.

Alejandra stands in front of me, her hands gentle as they move to remove my shirt, her fingers brushing lightly against my skin. The touch is nothing like the ones she’s given me before. This is different. It feels like she’s seeing me—not just the soldier, not just the man who’s been through hell—but the man who needs help. The man who’s broken and the man who doesn’t know how to let anyone in.

Her touch is careful, almost hesitant, but there’s a softness to it that makes my chest tighten. She’s not just taking care of me. She’s doing something more.

“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, even though I’m not sure what I mean by that. I don’t know if I’m talking about the shower or her being here with me. Either way, it’s too much. It’s more than I ever expected to feel.

---