Number Nine

Chapter Seven: I Could Be Your Perfect Disaster

I know where you are and I know where you've been, but I never thought we would be here again... I guess I don't know how you'd want it back now. I thought you got yourself away. How do I prove it to myself you're ready now? God, I want to. Now you want me, but what if your heart's a liar? 'Cause if you change your mind again, I'll burn like a wildfire. From wedding bells to private hells, to fresh new starts and wish-you-wells, from up in lights to up in smoke, we just can't let this go. Maybe this time it could work if our need is dire. Maybe our future's so bright it it fucking burns like a wildfire.- Marianas Trench, Wildfire

It was evening by the time Lea woke up. And when she did wake up, it was in his arms. He was so much stronger now than when they'd been together, his muscles far more noticeable. His jawline and cheekbones were sharper, too, but she couldn't see them in the dark.

God, she needed a shower. He'd usually been a pretty deep sleeper, from what she remembered, so she should be able to shower in the unlockable bathroom with transparent glass shower doors without showing all her bits to him.

Thankfully, she'd brought her travel size shower supplies, so she got through her shower routine as fast as she possibly could— condition, shave, wash face, brush hair, rinse, shampoo, wash body, rinse. It took her longer without a handheld showerhead, though. She'd only just turned the shower off and was in the process of drying her hair with a towel when she heard footsteps on the carpet, then the tile. She froze, scrambling to unravel the towel from her hair so as to hide her body from this man she absolutely did not want to see her naked, not again.

But there he was, staring at her with his mouth wide open, seemingly unable to fully comprehend the changes pregnancy had put her body through— stretch marks on her stomach, mostly. Those were the main thing. Her hands were still up on the towel, in the middle of trying to pull it from her hair so she could cover herself.

"Lea," he breathed, eyes wide, "you look..."

Fat, her mind supplied for him. Disgusting, short, pale, unnecessarily freckled, and covered in stretch marks.

Giving up with the towel, she crossed one leg over the other to hide what little he could see of that area from him, her arms crossing over her breasts to cover them as best she could despite their fullness.

He took a step closer, his gaze raking over her skin still, but when she spoke, he froze. "Stay there," she demanded hoarsely, very clearly trying not to cry.

Tim frowned, holding his hands up defensively. "Okay," he agreed. "I'll stay here. Provided you tell me why you're crying, that is."

She shook her head, reaching out with one hand to grab the robe that hung outside the shower, snatching it off the hook as quick as lightning and using it to cover her torso, shielding herself from his gaze.

"Look, I'll— I'll turn around, okay?" He did so, and she quickly wrapped the robe around herself, tying it so tightly it actually hurt her waist a bit. It was far too long for her, trailing on the wet shower tiles as she stepped out, finally removing the towel from her hair and hanging it back up so it could dry.

"Are... are you decent?" Tim asked, sounding suspiciously like he was grinning.

"In a manner of speaking," she told him. "Are you laughing at me?"

He spun on his heel, and she noticed for the first time that he was in his boxers, good god. His chest was more defined than she remembered it, and she wanted to stare at the V between his hipbones for hours. Instead, she turned her gaze away, hoping he'd write off the way she was flushing as both the aftermath of a hot shower and the humiliation of him seeing her.