Page 35 of Brood
He wraps an arm around me to hold me up as he talks to the guards, biting out instructions and insisting they take the threat seriously this time.
They’ve brought cuffs with them, and I feel better when they’re secured on Gus’s wrists. The guards have to drag him away. Even bound, he’s still desperate to attack me and Will, and he’s growling out the foulest language I’ve ever heard anyone speak about how much he hates Will and how he’s going to take it out on me.
The aftermath hits me harder than the panic did. My teeth are chattering when Will and I are finally alone in the hallway.
“Come on,” he murmurs thickly, still holding me up with one of his arms. “Let’s get you back to our quarters.”
“You need to go to the clinic,” I manage to say through my shivering. I have no idea why I’m suddenly weak and freezing.
“No, I’m okay. It’s a few bruises and some scratches. Nothing serious.” He’s already walking us toward our door at the end of the hall.
“Are you sure?” A couple of tears leak out and stream down my cheeks. “He had you by the throat.”
“I promise I’m okay.”
The confidence in his voice reassures me, so I let him support me into our quarters and over to my bed. I collapse into it, curling up on my side.
Will gazes down at me with dark eyes.
“I’m not falling apart.” The words don’t sound convincing—even to my own ears.
“I’ve got to make sure they don’t let him get away again. And talk to Brody. I won’t be long.”
“You don’t have to come back. I’m fine.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll be back.”
Will strides out, and I shiver on the bed for a minute. Then I summon enough energy to get up, switch the lighting to gold, and go to the bathroom to pee and wash my hands and face.
I’m back in bed, feeling not the slightest bit recovered, when Will returns several minutes later.
He stops in the entrance for a moment, glancing around the room as if he suspects someone might be lurking. Then he comes over to my bed and kneels beside it.
I lift my head. I’m still trembling, but at least my teeth aren’t chattering anymore. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. They’ve sedated and restrained him. He won’t be going anywhere. Are you okay to get up? I got them to turn our shower back on. You’ll feel better if you can really wash up.”
“I can take another shower?” My voice breaks three times in the short sentence.
“Yeah. Come on.” He reaches down to haul me to my feet.
I’m capable of walking. I know because I got up on my own earlier. But it still feels like I need to lean on him as we limp into the bathroom. My thigh muscle strains painfully when I move it wrong, and I’m starting to get a headache. I can’t stop shaking. I want to go to bed and start the day over again.
As Will turns on the shower, I work on unbuttoning my shirt. When I’m too slow, he takes over for me, stripping off my top, my camisole, and my pants. I shimmy out of my panties, and then he guides me to the shower.
“I can do it,” I tell him when it looks like he’s going to step into the shower with me. Fully clothed.
I might be weak, but I don’t want him to bathe me like I’m a child. I already feel younger and less competent than I’d prefer to seem around him.
“Okay. You can take your time. They’re not going to turn it off.” His eyes run up and down my body, but the gesture feels instinctive rather than purposeful. He’s not aroused. He’s not going to expect sex from me right now.
Never in my life have I taken a shower without a time limit. It’s strange. Disorienting. To stand under the spray and simply feel it. To not have to rush through soaping, scrubbing, and rinsing off—and twice a week even shampooing my long hair.
It’s not my hair-washing day, but I get it wet anyway because I want to feel the water everywhere. It’s almost too hot—since I’m used to the preset lukewarm temperatures.
After a few minutes, I find the energy to shampoo my hair and rinse it out. Then I soap up my entire body and stand under the water again.
“You okay in there?” Will’s voice comes from right outside the foggy glass door.
