I shut the hotel room door and flick on the lights. Pete is quiet and heads to the bed. I lock the door, remembering who our neighbour is, and catch his arm. He flinches slightly, and my heart pangs with numb anger.
"You're freezing," I say, softly. "You should shower first."
After we left the Royal Cross, Pete begged me to take him back to the hotel. We walked slowly down the streets of Soho, much emptier in the late hour, retracing the steps we took earlier. We said nothing, but my arm remained around him the whole time, my hand stroking his arm to try and calm him.
"I...," he trails off, his gaze not meeting mine. "I don't want to be alone."
I nod, understanding the implication in his words.
Opening the bathroom door, I see his clothes from earlier folded neatly next to the bath. I pick them up and take them to the bed.
"Did you bring pyjamas?" I ask, turning to the suitcase. Pete nods and points to them, saying nothing as I scoop them up and drape them over the warm radiator.
I hold my hand out to him, he takes it without hesitation and we enter the bathroom. I lock it. He drops his jacket to the floor, lingering on it's battered form for a moment before suddenly tugging desperately at his tie, a fresh bout of tears forming in his eyes.
"Hey, hey, hey," I coo, taking his hand into mine and placing it by his side. "Let me." I undo his tie for him, draping it over the sink before undoing the buttons of his shirt. His breath shakes and I battle against the hot tears stinging my eyes. I can't tell if I'm angry, distraught or both.
Deep inside me is a deep sense of guilt. I broke the vow I made to myself; I let him out of my sight, I didn't warn him about Michael, and now my boyfriend has been assaulted. The fingers of blame point themselves to me, and even though I try, I cannot shift their judgement.
I take a deep breath, refusing to break down at the time Pete needs me the most. Once his shirt is unbuttoned I let it fall to the floor. My face falls and my conscience is stunned into silence as crimson kiss marks are revealed from under the fabric, fanning from Pete's upper neck, to his shoulder, to his collar bone.
Suddenly, Pete's shaky hand cups my face, forcing me to look at his tear stained face and bruised lips.
"I know what you're thinking and it's not true." He whispers, running his thumb over my cheek. I swallow hard, the tears in my eyes clouding my vision.
"I... I just feel like-" I start to speak but he cuts me off.
"It's not your fault. Don't blame yourself, please, Ae." He wraps his arm around me, drawing me into an hug and causing my head to rest on his shoulder. He's cold and damp, yet internal warmth flows from him and the faint sound of his heartbeat slowly dismantles my feelings of self-hatred.
The tears begin to fall and I sob against him, gripping him like a vice as I cry.
"It's not your fault," he whispers, "I'll be okay, I have you," he adds, placing a kiss on top of my head. We stand like this for a while, both are breathing rates slowly declining and falling in sync.
I pull myself out of his embrace and rub my face with my hands to get rid of the tears before pulling my jacket off and adding it to the growing pile of clothes on the bathroom floor.
"Let's shower," I say, undoing my tie and shirt, "we'll both fucking freeze to death if we stand here much longer." We both laugh, and Pete finishes undressing. The only thing he leaves is his underwear, his fingers hesitating at the waist band.
I blush slightly and turn around. I've seen Pete naked before, but I don't think this is the right time to put him on the spot, especially given what just happened.
"I won't look, so take them off and get in the shower, I'll join you in a second." I say calmly, beginning to unzip my trousers and kicking my shoes off.
He doesn't respond, but I hear the soft sound of clothes landing of clothes, and then the shower door open and shut. I shed myself of the rest of my clothes as I tell myself, my downstairs in particular, that now is not the time to get excited.
I step into the shower and Pete turns the knob to the right, cold water spraying over us.
"Shit!" I exclaim in half laughter, half surprise, reaching for the temperature knob and twisting it toward the red sticker. Pete shields his face with his hands, the cold water biting. Soon, it heats up and we both relax, Pete's hands falling back to his sides.
The chill of the London rain begins to seep out of our bones, the smell of damp gravel washed away with the lingering salt of tears.
I make a conscious effort to not let my eyes fall past Pete's waist, or to let myself get too close to him. It's an up-hill battle as my instincts tell me to look down, and my head mentally slaps myself to behave. In a bid to distract myself, and in the hopes of making Pete feel more comfortable, I reach for a bottle of shampoo from the rack.
"Is this yours?" I ask, and Pete, looks over his shoulder. His eyes glance at my chest for a second before he looks at the bottle. He turns back around.
"Yes it is, but I washed my hair earlier." He says quietly.
"I can wash it again for you?" I offer, popping the cap open.
"Okay..." he says, softly yet with no sense of hesitation, and so I squeeze some shampoo onto my hand and begin to massage it into his hair being careful to not let any fall into his eyes. We're both quiet, but unlike before, the silence is not miserable. The smell of raspberries fills the steamy air and foam fills the shower tray. As I continue to work my fingers through Pete's wet hair, my eyes once again fall on the bites across his skin.
My hands leave his hair and trail onto the marks, touching them lightly. Pete catches my hand with his.
"Sorry," I say, "... it just angers me to look at them." I admit, taking a step back from him. He turns around, washing the shampoo out of his hair before taking my hands into his.
"After you left the dance floor, I made a stupid mistake and drank Brandon's vodka. I don't know what possessed me to do it, I guess aside from the fact I was already drunk and got carried away. Then I decided I wanted to find you, so I wandered off." He explains, one hand leaving mine and covering his right shoulder, where most of the marks are. I swallow, knowing what he's about to explain next.
"I was trying to find you when suddenly someone grabbed my arm and lead me outside the ballroom. When I saw it was Michael, I panicked a bit. I didn't dislike him at the time but I wasn't sure why someone I barely knew was being so forward with me, and I didn't have the coordination to shake him off." He continues, staring at the floor.
"Before I knew it he'd dragged me into that room and was trying to strip me. I told him I didn't want it, but... he wouldn't listen." He pauses, taking a deep breath. I cup his face in my hands, drawing him closer to me and looking him dead in the eye.
"You are so, so brave, Pete. And just like you said it isn't my fault, it isn't yours either. You said no, yet he carried on anyway. You endured until I found you. You were so strong, and I know you were scared, but you're safe now. I won't let him hurt you again." I speak clearly but calmly, nodding as I speak to try and emphasise my message.
Pete smiles, faintly. "I know you won't," he says. "I just can't get the feeling of him off me." He admits, averting his eyes back to the shower tray. I frown, the idea of him still feeling so violated making me want to get dressed again and go and bury that son of a bitch six feet under.
Without thinking, I lean forward and place a kiss onto one of the bites. Pete, caught by surprise, grips my shoulders.
"A-Ae, what are you doing?" He stammers. I look up at him.
"Erasing him from you," I say, slightly more boldly than I intended. "Is that okay?"
He nods after a moment, so I place my lips back onto his skin, starting from his collar bone and working up towards his neck, trailing over everywhere Michael attacked. Pete leans against the shower tiles, his hands moving from my shoulders and into my hair, sending slight shivers down my spine.
As my mouth grazes the skin under his jaw, a soft sigh erupts from him and the chills in my spine leak to the nether regions of my body. Curious, I kiss again, my hands sliding down to his waist. This time, he moans gently, and I have to force myself to stop as I feel myself get hard.
"We should dry off," I say against his shoulder.
"I agree," he says, panting slightly.
Without looking at him I quickly turn around and open the shower door. I grab a towel and wrap it around myself as I force myself to think unhappy thoughts and stop relaying that sound in the back of my head. Pete also grabs a towel and briskly starts to dry off. We both do this in silence, a slight awkwardness between us. Once I'm dry, I leave the bathroom and scramble for my pyjamas. I double check the main door is locked before flicking the light off and then switching on the bedside lights. If the lights are off, I tell myself, he might not see how embarrassed I look.
A few minutes later, Pete emerges from the bathroom and retrieves his clothes from the radiator, slipping them on before clambering into bed next to me.
"It worked," he says, without turning to me, and I bite my lip. I know he isn't meaning to do it but he's driving me crazy, and I hate myself for being so affected by him at a time like this.
"Uh, I'm glad," I say, as cheerfully as possible. Lifting the sheets, I tuck myself in and turn away from him, hoping he'll do the same. Thankfully he does. "Goodnight," I say, "I hope you had a good time today, despite... you know." I trail off, not wanting to remind him of what he's been through, but also wanting to make sure that he'd enjoyed what he had been so looking forward to.
He lies down, and I hear the sheets rustle. "I had a great time," he says finally, "I really enjoyed getting dressed up with you and having some fun." He sounds happy, and my body relaxes slightly.
"I just wish," he continues suddenly, "that... never mind." He trails off, changing position. I glance over my shoulder.
"What is it?" I ask, encouragingly. He doesn't respond. "You can tell me, it's okay."
I hear him swallow.
"Look in the draw next to you." He says, a waver in his voice.
I suddenly remember that he put something in the draw before getting changed, and how I had almost cracked and peaked inside. I'm relieved I didn't. I toss the edge of the duvet aside and sit up so that I can reach the wooden locker. I open the drawer, my eyes widening.
"I," Pete says quickly, "I don't know what I was thinking really, I guess I've just been influenced too much by films, haha..." he trails off, and I can tell he's nervous as hell.
What he put in the drawer, to my surprise, was a condom and a bottle of lube.
My throat goes dry slightly and I stand up, my feet carrying me to the bathroom.
"Ae?" Pete calls after me, panic in his voice. I rummage around for my jacket, snatching out the small packet from the breast pocket when I find it, and head back to the bedroom.
"Pete," I say, finally meeting his eyes. They seem to shine in the dim light of the room, and his damp hair frames scarlet cheeks. I hold up the condom that had been in my jacket.
"... I see." He breaths, the scarlet spreading to the tips of his ears.