Ruin Maketh Me

17 - Actions speak louder than words

     The bathroom turns out to be behind a discreet door in the corner of the room. I find a basin within one of the cupboards and fill it with warm water. Giving Ralphus a bath would be less time consuming, but his body's too heavy for me to carry, and any sleep has already flown from my body
     I grab a towel from the same cupboard and haul the heavy sloshing basin into my arms. A torrent of aching pain jolts upwards from my joints.
     "Fuck." A quiet curse slips out of my mouth.
     I teeter across the room to the bed and set the container down on the bedside table. Ralphus is still in his protective position in the center of the bed, the bruises on his smooth skin already turning black and blue. The way they go at it, it's no wonder they've fucked to death so many people, and although a murky part of me doesn't want to admit it, it was a good thing Ralphus allowed me to escape. I wouldn't have survived the night.
     I throw the towel into the water's warm caress and wring out the excess liquid. Climbing onto the loose sheets, I take his left wrist gently and move it aside. His chest is especially blemished with kiss marks and scarlet teeth marks pinpricked with blood, and his nipples, they're swollen and chafed crimson.
     "My god." A deep sigh spirals into the still air.
     What a pity to ruin such clear, even skin with so much pain.
     I move the cloth gingerly down his breasts, avoiding his standing nipples and mop up the mixture of dried and drying semen. I rinse the cloth, then again, down and down his torso, past the bruises and scratches and torn skin, past his belly button and the outlines of muscle and the rise and fall of his abdomen.
     It's an automatic movement, but somehow the air is too hot and the musky scent of sweat and sex is too heavy. It's almost intimate. Never have I treated someone else's body with such care.
     Never have I treated my own body with such care.
     I extend his long legs slightly and shift them apart by a fraction, and wave of emotion advances upon me. For god's sake Cynder, calm down! I grapple with my heart, push whatever turmoil it is down into non-existence, but... Oh fuck.
      I close my eyes, but I can still see the dried blood and great expanse of purple bruising in the form of great big palms and fingers. I should be cold, separate, distant like those times seeing the prostitutes unconscious in the toilet stalls next mine. So why is this different?
     I press the wet cloth to the skin of Ralphus's groin, and travel slowly, slowly down his flaccid yet long penis. A low disgruntled moan dislodges itself from Ralphus's mouth. Damn. I take the towel away instantly, and his cries stop.
     I kneel besides him and clutch the warm cloth in my hands. I should leave, step away from this man before he wakes and sees me, but I can't. Because I have to do this.
     I bite down the sticky anxiety and unease and press the towel to his leg, travelling down smoothly and softly. Good, no movement or sound. I lift the cloth and towel the other leg cautiously, around his strong thighs, the dip of his kneecap, his long, elegant calf and the jut of his ankle. The rasp of his breathing smoothens. Good, sleep, everything's all fine.
     Rinse, wring, then I move back to the sloppy mess of his ass. Please, whatever you do, don't struggle, don't wake up. I grit my teeth and drag the cloth through the cum. His breathing quickens, chest heaves, I lean backwards, too late. His leg slams into me, and he starts thrashing.
     "Holy."
     There's only one thing I can do. I hold onto his jerking shoulders, press his hot body to mine and caress the soft stands of his white hair as tenderly as I can with my other hand.
     "Shhhh, everything's going to be fine." I stroke his head soothingly, "You're going to be fine."
     Ralphus's struggles weaken.
     "Don't worry, nothing bad's going to happen to you," I speak softly, "I'm right here for you."
     He head nestles towards me, and his arms curl around my body.
     "It's ok, I'm not going anywhere." I bend down and cup his face, "I'm not going anywhere."
     Slowly, slowly his fitful breathing calms and his chest rises and falls more gently, but I hold onto him, caressing his head, whispering into his ear in the dim moonlight.
     By the time his breathes slip into something deeper, and his eyes no longer twitch behind his eyelids, I almost believe my sweet nothings. Almost.
I slip my hands quietly away from his head and slide out from the loose encirclement of his arms.
     The water has long since gone cold, and a heavy weariness drags both my spirit and body down, but I return to the bathroom, refill the basin with warm water, change the towel, and lumber back to the bed.
     This time when I press the cloth to his back, he does not stir or even shiver. I wipe away what's removable of the marks of violence and shame, but there's no more satisfaction.
     Ah yes, there was a reason why I didn't do good deeds. 'This' will all disappear tomorrow. A bitter smile twists my face, but before I stumble out the door, something like pity or empathy smothers my heart and I hesitate.
     I leave the small bottle of cream I took from the Fox on the bedside table.
     Let that be the last good deed I do.
     For him at least.