“It’s me,” I say, then raise my hands in the air palms out to her. “It’s just me, little mouse.” I add every bit of comfort I can to my voice as she takes in the room, propped up on her palms with her slim body showing the sharp peaks of her collarbones. Every time I notice another detail of her abuse, anger rises from a simmer to a boil.
Swallowing thickly, I wait for her to look back at me, for her frightened gaze to see me before I tell her, “It’s only me, little mouse. I’ve got you.”
“Marcus.” She whispers my name and the dried cut on her lip cracks open. She winces and I leave her only to get Vaseline from the nightstand. The drawer opening and closing is the only sound filling the room as I carefully dab the balm on her lip.
She watches me and lets me care for her; all the while she’s silent. There’s a look in her hazel eyes I’ve yet to see from her. I’m careful as I lift her in my arms. Her own wrap around my neck and I savor the hot feel of her skin against mine.
“Can you stand?”
She hums a quiet confirmation and I set her down on her bare feet toward the back of the shower. I haven’t thought much of my home, it’s dated bones and barren features, but as I turn the white porcelain knob I consider explaining that it’s safe. It may appear empty and abandoned, but this home is safe. Not a soul is around us for miles and the moment they cross that boundary, I know and the house goes into lockdown mode.
The hot water sprays down, just missing her bare legs as she presses herself against the wall.
It steams quickly and I can barely look at her, her nakedness against the white tile only serving to highlight every beating she took. Sickness stirs in my gut as I reach under the sink for the bar of soap. I lather the bar under the spray, noting she’ll need the medical kit when she’s done.
As I list everything else that she’ll need in my mind, she reaches for the soap, taking it from me and turning away slightly.
“I can help,” I say and she shakes her head at the offer, not looking me in the eye with her lips thinned and a grim look on her battered face.
I struggle to respond other than gathering a fresh towel and shirt from the cellar laundry. I waste no time, not sure what Delilah is thinking and with a million confessions warring to be spoken first.
As I lay the towel and shirt down on the sink for her when she’s out, I don’t hesitate to tell her the thought I’ve had for days now.
“I’ll never forgive myself for letting this happen to you.”
“You can’t control what happens to me,” she says and it’s the first sentiment she’s spoken clearly. Even over the steady stream of the water, I hear her clearly.
My lungs stop, my breath halting. There’s an air about her that’s unforgiving.
Control is all I have to offer her. I’m damn well aware of that as much as she is. My gaze stays on the side of her face that’s turned to me. It’s unmarred and equally unemotional.
It’s quiet for a long time as a new tension settles between us. I’m reminded of what Brass told her—the truth about my involvement in his case being dismissed. An ounce of suspicion or perhaps hatred has come between us; unanswered questions and accusations unvoiced.
“I said I won’t forgive myself and I meant it.” There’s a coldness in my tone this time, a seriousness that’s been absent since she’s woken, but it doesn’t faze her, although she turns from facing the faucet to look me in the eyes.
The hot room heats even further as the steam billows out past the simple clear curtain that barely covers half the space.
Without another word, she carries on washing her skin, stiffening when the soap glides over the worst of the bruises.
“You’re angry with me,” I start and heave in a breath, prepared to let her take it all out on me, but she cuts off my next statement with a simple no. She doesn’t even bother to look back at me as fresh tears stream down her cheeks. It’s the first time she lets the water hit her face and I’m all too aware it’s so I don’t see her crying.
“I didn’t sleep while you were gone,” I tell her. “I did everything I could to get to you as quickly as I could.” The excuses crowd themselves at the back of my throat just as my hands ball at my sides into fists. Her stern look breaks down into agony at my words.