Page 80 of When the Storm Breaks
Her arms fall to her sides, and that’s when I see it.
The stain on her shirt.
Fuck.
Her eyes flick to mine, just for a second, before darting away. She knows I saw.
Her cheeks flush. Her shoulders shrink.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, barely audible.
She’s mortified. And something in me shatters, watching her fold in on herself over something that isn’t her fault.
I step forward slowly, crouching to her level.
“Come on,” I say softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
But she doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. For a second, I’m afraid she’s stopped breathing altogether.
I know she wants to do this herself—fix it, hide it, pretend none of it happened. But I can’t leave her like this.
I slide my arms under hers and lift her gently to her feet. She doesn’t fight me. Her head tips forward, hair falling around her face like a curtain.
I keep one hand on her forearm, holding her, then lean past the shower curtain and twist the knob. The water roars to life. Steam rises around us, curling into the air.
I watch her, waiting for the tension to ease from her shoulders.
It doesn’t.
It never does.
After a few seconds, I lift my thumb to her chin, tilting her face up. Her skin is warm beneath my touch. I brush her hair back, tucking it behind her ear.
“Calla,” I murmur, voice low. “It’s okay.”
She looks at me, and there’s a storm behind her eyes—uncertainty, exhaustion, and something else I can’t quite name.
“Arms up,” I say gently, giving her the chance to pull away. To say no.
She doesn’t. She just watches me. Eyes locked on mine. Silent, but open.
She’s giving me this.
Carefully, I guide her left arm through the sleeve, then the right. When I pull the fabric over her head, I stretch the neckline as wide asI can, making sure the stain doesn’t touch her skin.
Pale, soft skin catching the bathroom light. She’s delicate in a way that feels undeniably real.
Not fragile. Just real.
My hands stay firm. Controlled. But inside, I’m spiraling.
I can’t fuck this up.
She mumbles something under her breath—too quiet to catch. I lean in.
“What?”
She swallows, then asks again, clearer this time.
