Page 107 of Under Your Scars
I go back to my room with a snack in hand and a strange feeling in my chest. Something warm that makes my heart race. I think it might be satisfaction. I think I’m looking forward to the day when Frank’s dead. He deserves whatever suffering Christian brings him.
I study for several more hours, mulling over the rule against perpetuities until my brain feels like it’s going to fall out of my skull. Paolo brings me dinner, fresh tomato soup and a grilled cheese. The corner of my mouth quirks up into a small smile. Christian really is doing his best to try and close the canyon between us.
He was so focused on the chase. So focused on getting me to fall in love with him that he had no idea what to do once he actually caught me.
And here I am, stuck between loving one side of him and hating the other. Edwin was right. Love makes us stupid.
A sudden wave of emotion hits me, and I close my textbook, pinching the bridge of my nose to try and stifle my tears. Taking a deep breath, I send a text to my father, asking if it’s okay to take a bath with stitches. He asks for a clear picture of my leg, which I send to him. His reply comes a few minutes later.
Dad: I would say no.You’re healing,but a bath might brew bacteria in the wound.You can take a bath,just don’t submerge it.
Me: But you’re the great Elliot Young.Aren’t your stitches magic or something?
Dad: Don’t be obtuse,Ellie.It’s called sorcery.
Dad: Take the bath.Promise me you’ll clean it with alcohol when you’re done.I’ll write a prescription for an antibiotic.
I smile triumphantly. Am I putting myself at a massive risk for infection? Sure. If it earns me another trip to the hospital, so be it. Worth it.
There isn’t a bathtub in my guest room, just a shower, so I pad out of my room and down the hall to Christian’s room where I know his bathtub is to-die-for. I knock on the door and hear no response. When I push in, Christian’s standing in the doorway of the bathroom, dripping wet from a shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, running another through his hair. We lock gazes and he freezes.
“I came to commandeer your bathtub, but I can come back later.”
“No,” Christian gasps, as if he thinks I’m going to disappear. “It’s fine. Stay.”
He steps into his closet without a word and closes the door behind him. I sigh, my heart aching slightly, and I step into the steamy bathroom. I flip the switch on the wall to make the floors heat up. Against my sock-covered feet, it instantly warms me. I filter through all the different bubbles and bath salts in a small cabinet next to the tub. I can’t imagine Christian soaking in rosewater scented bubbles, so he must have bought all of this for me.
I open a container of bubbles, my mouth watering slightly when I inhale the scent of tangy oranges. I turn on the bath water, nice and hot, and pour the soap into the stream. The citrusy scent fills the room as the tub begins to overflow with bubbles.
I undress and then check the temperature before stepping into the water. I hold my breath with anticipation as I lower myself into the tub, the cut on my leg burning. I hiss at the sensation. After a few long seconds, the burning becomes tolerable, and I settle comfortably against the slope of the tub. A thick layer of bubbles covers my naked body. I sit there in silence for a few minutes, staring out at the Atlantic Ocean, gray from the dark rainclouds overhead.
A soft knock on the door has me bolting upright and covering my chest. Christian slides in and closes the door behind him with his foot. He’s holding a glass of white wine and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries.
We stare at each other while he sets the wine and plate on the edge of the tub, and then kneels on the warm tiles next to me so we’re eye-level.
I gulp. “What are you doing?”
He uses a small remote to dim the bathroom lights to a warm, soft glow. Then, he takes one of the strawberries and holds it to my lips. He gives me a small smirk when I continue to stare at him in confusion.
“Trying to be romantic,” he finally replies. I cautiously bite into the strawberry and chew slowly, like I’m waiting for the punch line.
“There are more subtle ways to try and see me naked.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not.” He holds up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
I scoff. “You were a Boy Scout?”
“No. I was way too much of a savage to be a Boy Scout.” He feeds me another strawberry and I settle back into the tub, making sure the bubbles are covering all of me. He looks down at the water and raises an eyebrow. “Should you be taking a bath with stitches?”
“My dad says as long as I clean it well afterwards, I should be okay. He’s writing a prescription for me just in case.”
Christian nods. “I’ll have someone go pick it up for you.”
He folds his arms on the edge of the tub and rests his chin on them, staring past me towards the ocean. I take a deep breath and shift until I’m sitting in front of him, and then I mimic his posture, resting my chin on my forearms. Our noses are almost touching.
“Are you still in any pain?”
I subtly shake my head. “No. Well, maybe a little, but it’s tolerable.”
