Creatures

THIRTY-THREE

Chrissy threw Tristan and her backpacks onto the floor of their house.

He was still a little battered. They hadn't spoken at all about their ordeal.

"Bath?" She asked him.

He nodded wearily. It had been a long day. He'd been shamed into using a wheelchair at the airport. It was a big blow to his ego.

Chrissy helped him up the stairs, and into their bathroom. Everything was the same, even though everything had changed. They both needed a twenty-four hour nap and a good therapist. Using some of the last of his strength, he pulled himself onto the counter to sit.

Chrissy started the bath, and they stared into the running water in silence.

Tristan took her softly by the hips and dragged her in front of him. He tried to take off her shirt but couldn't get his arms to go that high. Seamlessly, she pulled it off the rest of the way. He rested his head on her bare shoulder and she ran her fingers through his hair.

After several minutes, she turned off the water. She undressed and helped Tristan undress himself. Chrissy had him go in first, rest his tired body against the edge of the tub. She stepped in after, facing him, finding a way to settle in his lap.

Taking the washcloth, she dipped it in the water and washed his face. He leaned into her touch. She moved into his hair, taking a cup from the side of the bath, filling it with water and pouring it over his head. She shampooed his hair and rinsed it, doing the same with the conditioner. He gave her a sort of "I don't use that" expression but she ignored him. He didn't mind the head massage.

She picked up the washcloth again, adding soap this time. Chrissy worked it over his neck, down his chest, across his shoulders. She dipped her hands beneath the waterline, washing his stomach. She got to his hips and his thighs. His once flaccid piece was now pressed against his belly. She took care with that as well.

His hands, once on her thighs, were on her ass, digging the pads of his fingers into her skin.

His eyes wouldn't catch her gaze.

"What are you thinking?" She asked him quietly.

"I am so mad at you." He replied.

So this is why they weren't speaking.

"You body doesn't seem to." She deflected, knowing full well that would get them nowhere.

He finally caught her gaze. His stare crumbled her walls.

"I couldn't do it. Not for one more day." She told him. "You were fading... So fast. And I... love you. So much. I didn't know what he was doing to you. For so long, you didn't have marks and I..." Tears budded in her eyes. "I didn't know what he was doing to you."

She watched a tear roll down his cheek.

"I knew what he would want from me. And I knew you would never let me take the chance." Chrissy wrapped her fingers around the medallion.

He simply pressed his hand to her belly. "I couldn't let you go."

"Do you think it was easy for me to let you go?" She asked him. It was simply a question, not an accusation.

In a moment, it dawned on him who had more strength in that situation. And it wasn't himself. No, he... Lied on the dirt floor and wallowed in his own pain.

She laid to rest his worst fear. "I ripped it off his neck before he did anything."

"Just promise me you'll tell me before you do anything like that." He asked.