Page 110 of Resistant

My dress is sticking to the sore spots on my ass, and I look down to see rivulets of blood dripping down my calves.

I lay face down on my bed and cry. I cry rivers. I’m beyond damaged. How can I help others like me when I can’t even take care of myself?

I turn my head to study the connecting door. Is Declan behind the door, close enough to touch but still not feel anything through the wood. I shouldn’t trust him; he left me in Knox’s compound, without any word.

He promised he would come back for me, and he never came. Now Brynn is dead.

I walk to the connecting door and turn the knob, surprised that it opens. I step in, and Declan comes out from the bathroom with his shirt unbuttoned and tie laying open across his neck.

His smile is balm to my aching soul, and I fall into him when he reaches for me. His palm slides down to my ass and before I can say anything he squeezes, and a distressing guttural gasp is torn from me. He looks down at his palm which is covered in my blood. He quickly cuts the dress off me with a pocketknife.

“Oh, no Brynn. Oh no, baby. Fuck. No.”

He makes a strange sound, something between a sob and a growl while he looks at the damage.

“Hang on baby, I’ll get some bandages, we’ll get this healed up. It’s going to be okay.”

He’s on the phone asking for bandages, and creams. I’m standing still, afraid if I move the pain wave will crest and take me over again.

“What the fuck do you mean, she didn’t make any noise? She’s in my room and bloody!” He snarls into the phone. He slams it down on the dresser.

I jump when a snarl erupts from his mouth and he punches a hole in the wall, drywall dust puffing in a cloud around him. He mutters and goes to the outer door.

Supplies are passed through, and he sits in front of me, pulls out some pain prescriptions and places two pills between on my tongue, and hands me a glass of water.

“Let’s wait for that to kick in, and then we need to shower, look at me, Brynn.”

I glance down at him.

“It’s going to scar baby, but you will be okay.”

My head spins, and the pain subsides. Declan grasps me by my biceps and leads me into the shower. I brace myself against the tiles with my palms and Declan shampoos my hair. Some of the welts sting when the soap runs over them, but I bite my bloody lip to smother my whimpers.

Declan pours a generous dollop of body wash in his palm. It smells of cedar and mint and he scrubs my entire body, softly gliding his fingers over the bloody raw ribbons of skin on my ass. It burns, but I moan deep in my throat to keep myself from screaming.

“So strong Brynn. You are so strong and so beautiful,” he whispers.

He guides the spray over my body and grabs several fluffy towels. He dries me slowly, avoiding my raw skin. He lifts me in his arms and lays me gently on my side in the middle of the bed.

“Roll on your belly, love.”

His hands glide over my ass with a numbing cream which feels glorious after the first contact. He follows with some kind of jelly. Massive thick gauze pads are placed over each cheek, and he tapes down an overlay. I feel like I have pillows strapped to each butt cheek. He lays an ice pack over my bum and his palm caresses my lower back. He lays down next to me and pulls my head into his chest. I breathe him in. We curl up in silence for long minutes before he puts on some clean briefs.

He pulls down the sheets, and I get on hands and knees and shuffle to the headboard so he can lay the sheet over my body. He curls in next to me, careful not to rub against my backside and turns off the light. His arm sneaks over my belly and his fingers splay there. He rubs his chin and nose through my hair, and I can hear him breathing me in.

“Good night, baby. You are safe. We’ll leave in the morning.”

I sleep for a while, but even in my dreams, I’m aware of Declan’s scent swirling around me. I’ve missed him so desperately and the non-Brynn inside me seems to have retreated.

My body won’t allow me to forget him even in sleep. I turn over to face him, tucking my head in his neck and threading my leg through his. His hand splays on my back, and I hear him groan softly but he doesn’t wake up.

“Go to sleep baby.”

I listen to him breathing in my breath, his chest rising and falling. My skin prickles in awareness. I run the pad of my finger down his neck over his Adams apple and into the divot between his chest muscles. He catches my hand with his, squeezes my fingers, and places my hand on his shoulder. I breathe out exasperated and he chuckles, low and quiet in my ear.

“Baby, not what I had planned either, but my soul is happy that you are here with me. I’m content. I love you. Be content with me, everything else can wait.”

“Okay.” I whisper.

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