𝐕𝐀𝐋
༻❁༺
It took one look at myself in the mirror to understand why Alejandro cared so much, because I looked like I'd been kidnapped (joke) and oh God I looked so disgusting. My hair was messier and darker than usual, and my face was mixed with dried blood and a little bit of dirt that almost made me throw up on the spot. I pursed my lips and hid my face by looking down. "Oh, I look disgusting."
"Never."
Even though that wasn't my intention when I said it, my stomach warmed and a smile tugged at my lips, though I didn't find it in me to smile just yet. He was just so sweet without even intending to and I liked it a little too much.
Simon set me down on the sink, facing away from the mirror, and stepped between my legs with a hint of a smile in his eyes, before they went back to their normal self. "Where does it hurt?"
"Everywhere."
"Where does it hurt the most?"
Now that I thought about it... "My thumb." My gaze fell to my hands that were tucked between our bodies. The base of my thumb had a purple bruise already formed, and if I ignored the cuts, my thumb was beating in pain now that my eyes were looking at the mess.
And then Simon's fingers wrapped around my hand in such a delicate way it seemed wrong to have these strong hands holding my broken one. The pain was soon forgotten. It felt like his touch alone was healing me already. "Is it back in its place?" he asked, carefully pressing down on the base to make sure.
I sighed. "I believe so, yes." I tried to move it around a little but winced at the slight pain that shot up my arm, but the fact that I could move my thumb told me it was back in place. "I do, really need a shower, Simon, and I was hoping you could help me with that."
He met my eyes and took a moment while he kept stroking my hand. "I will," he said, looking down. "I just need to make sure how many wounds you have before we move on to that."
I bit the inside of my lip. "Okay."
I regarded him, watched as he stepped back and search for something around the room. When he didn't find it, he slammed down the top of the toilet for some reason and turned back to me. I let out a squeal when he wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me, settling me down on the toilet as if I was made of feathers and weighed nothing.
There was the thing he needed—a large white towel from under the sink that he placed on top of the sink. And then he proceeded to do the simplest yet the hottest thing: he pushed his sleeves up his elbows. Forget my concussion. Forget the dizziness, the tiredness, the sore body, because they all went out the window and all I could focus was on the fact that Simon was so fucking hot it didn't let me get any air in my lungs; I couldn't breathe.
I was mesmerized, watching him wash his hands, his wrists, his forearms—the veins. The way he grabbed the towel and gripped it in half, and then that half in half again like nothing. I guess it was too large for his liking but who cares? The man literally pulled a piece of towel apart like he was gripping a paper.
"Are you okay?"
"No," I said too fast because no, I wasn't okay, he was just too much for me. Was it a mistake choosing him to do this? Fuck no. The thought alone made me sad and angry with myself.
"No? Like, are you in pain?"
I shook my head, blurted out an answer, and forced myself to come back to reality. Simon approached me, and when I met his worried eyes, I realized I had said yes without meaning to. "I meant no."
His eyes narrowed. "I'm confused."
"I'm not in pain, Simon. I'm okay."
He hesitated. "Can I make sure?"
"Of course."
He stepped closer, making me throw my head back to meet his eyes because he was so tall, taller now that I was sitting. Even though it made me dizzy, I couldn't stop staring into his eyes as he leaned down closer to me. He took my head in his hands and then his fingers slightly opened my eyelids for some reason I forgot because oh my God I was obsessed with his eyes and his lashes and his pupils dilating.
I've described them a million times before, said it out loud even, and still, I couldn't understand why I was so obsessed with them. I had my suspicions. They made me get lost in them, built walls around us to forget about everything that was outside of them. Made me feel hot and tingle in all the right places. I wanted to have them fixed on me all of the time. I could even dare to say that I was jealous whenever he paid attention to things that weren't me.
"Do not look at me like that."
"Huh?" The walls slowly crumbled. "Like what?"
He pulled away from me and straightened. "Like you want me to do bad things to you."
I stopped breathing. "Okay." Do it. Now. I dare you.
"I won't." Whyyy? "Because you need to rest. I won't put you at risk just for pleasure. Your well-being goes first and I will be damned if I think otherwise."
"Okay." I almost pouted. Damn concussions. If it wasn't because of them, I would be happily getting railed by that sink, maybe even here in the toilet, or just on the ground, or maybe in the shower under the rain or just—
"Stop it," Simon said, now standing in front of the sink while washing something.
"What?" Did I say all of that out loud? I couldn't have. I was too busy daydreaming for me to be opening my mouth at the same time.
"I can hear what you are thinking."
"You can't hear what I think."
"It is almost as if you are thinking it aloud, whispering in my ears all the things you are imagining me doing to you right now in this exact bathroom if it were not for your concussion."
I blushed. "Am I not allowed to daydream now?"
"Daydreaming may be a bad sign for a concussion, Darling." He was lying. Of course, he was. I rolled my eyes when he turned to me, and he chuckled unbothered, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Simon approached me with the white, now wet cloth in his hands that I realized was to rub my skin clean. He stopped in front of me and got on his knees, driving my stomach crazy with butterflies.
And then he said, "Such a dirty girl." He was not helping! "Literally," he added.
"Shut up." I fought a smile to pretend it annoyed me, but I guess I was too bad at doing so. "Was that your attempt to make me smile?"
"Yes, but I guess it did not work in my favor?"
"No." I fought it. I swear I did and failed. I looked away from Simon's piercing eyes as a smile grew up on my face.
"There! There we go," he said, tugging my chin to face him. "It did work, see? I'm a genius."
I laughed, my heart exploding with tenderness at how cute he looked right now. "Yeah, you are."
"Ahh, it even earned me a laugh. What a beautiful melody to my ears."
"You're not helping, Simon."
"I apologize." He touched the cloth to my face and surprisingly it was very warm. "Sometimes I can't help it. You make me..."
I let him find his words, but he took too long and it felt like he was not going to keep going and that made me feel anxious. "Make you what?"
He stopped scrubbing to look into my eyes. "Do things I never thought I would do. Say things I would normally just keep in my head. Feel things I thought I was never going to feel again."
"And... That is something good or..."
"I like it." He resumed his work on my face, putting my hair away and scrubbing down my neck. "Sometimes I like it too much it is sickening; too much for me to take it all at once, and I wonder what I am going to be when this is over; how I am going to get through a day knowing I will never have you again."
"Simon, you know this isn't the only place where we can be together."
He immediately stopped and took a few inches away from us, like I just pushed him back by the chest, or more like I punched him. "No."
"Simon, I like you. A lot, too. I would be willing to try it with you outside. Just ask me out on a date and let's get to know each other better. A date would be enough if we want it to be. Is that so bad?"
"You don't understand," he said, shaking his head, "I am not what you believe I am. I will not screw up your normal life. I will not be able to handle it being you this time. I am not worth it, Valentina, and I will never be. So yes, forgive me, but this is the only place where I know I can have you without fucking everything up like I usually do."
"Like you usually do? What does that mean?"
"My family—" he snapped his mouth shut, and I realized he was about to open up to me but stopped before he could. Jesus Christ, what was so hard to talk about? I was starting to get scared. What could he possibly be hiding? Simon exhaled and rubbed his jaw. "I am not going into that."
If he would just let me in, we both would be in a better place. Simon just admitted to being afraid to break me, but he wasn't going to. Nothing that he could possibly say would, because I was already broken. What happened to my sister shattered me into pieces that were never meant to be placed back together, and I was sure, a hundred percent sure, that nothing could ever beat that.
So I wasn't scared of Simon's secrets, mind, or past. I was intrigued. Something pulled me toward him and told me he was it. I mentally sighed. I was exhausted. In the end, it was Simon's decision to let me in or keep me out, and I wasn't going to push him unless it was necessary.
Simon continued to clean my dirty skin, searching and counting how many wounds and bruises I had on my body. I was aching for a shower—a bath if it was possible. Lay there in the water until I fall asleep, even if it was dangerous—but this was close enough and was really comforting me. After a while, I asked, "So how's my head, doctor?"
"Good," he said. "We need to keep you awake for at least three hours before you are able to sleep. And then, I would say rest for a couple of days."
"Were you trained for this?"
"I was trained for everything." He rubbed my fingertips for a last time before he took a deep breath and got up. "Alright, you are all set, Darling. How about that shower I promised you?"
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