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Zoe
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Elijah could not get any more perfect.
How I reached that conclusion, you wonder?
Well… after I woke up and realized he had gone back to his room, I decided to get out of bed, stretch a little and have a shower. When I stood up on the bed, my back screamed from the wounds, reminding me why I had fallen asleep so fast the day before… and why I slept on my belly, which I usually hadn't.
Memories from the night before threatened to barge in, but I shoved them into a room and locked it tight before I could start crying.
Forcing myself to throw my feet off the bed, I clenched the sheets from the effort, remaining hunchbacked. If I stood straight, the wounded area would wrinkle, bleed and hurt more than it already had.
Afraid of stepping off the bed, I looked around for some kind of help. Instead I caught sight of the silk robe draped on the foot of the bed, staining the white sheets with a tint of pink. I hated that clothing material just as much as the rest of the clothes in my wardrobe, but I couldn't deny the fact that I needed it.
Just in case Elijah came in at the wrong moment. Just in case, even tho I doubted it would occur. He was such a gentlemen, he didn't come in uninvited except for yesterday.
I snatched the robe off the bed and sloppily slid it on, pulling the lapels together at the front and tying it tightly. Not that I could hide much. I had on a pair of panties and my upper body was almost completely covered by bandages. All I could hide were the bandages that he had seen the day before.
The thought of him seeing my scars and my wounds had me shuddering. The shame that struck was undescribable. If he saw any of them he would think I were weak. Yesterday when he had seen the bandages, he teared up. It hurt me to see him so vulnerable. I didn't want him to worry about me… even worse, pity me.
Shoving that train of thought in the same chamber I buried the memories of my whipping, I slowly slid out of bed, holding onto the mattress for dear life.
A WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? escaped my back as I dragged one foot after another. The tears and the moans that came with the effort were nothing compared to what my body was fighting to heal. Just as I reached the end of the bed, I broke down in tears, the agony too overwhelming.
I tried to take a step to the bathroom through my sobs and hiccups, but as my hand lost contact with the bed, so did my balance, gravity pulling me down to the floor like a sack of potatoes. The straighten of my back had me crying harder, the pain shouting for me to relax.
I rolled onto my side and curled into a ball. The need to heave hit me like a truck, making me hold my stomach with both arms and struggle with a very strong lump in my throat.
The crying got worse, the hiccups almost making me lose the little control I had over my stomach that wanted to spill every nothing I had in the past twenty four hours.
"Narah?"
Oh, God, could this get any better? I didn't want him to see me like this! Like I was an incapable nothing who couldn't even go to the bathroom and get a damned bandage fixed!
"Jesus Christ!" His hiss came from behind me, and before I knew it, his hands were gently holding my shoulders.
I moaned my protest, snatching myself from his touch. "No… leave me!"
I heard his deep sigh and then a heavy inhale. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't just tell me to leave when you clearly need a hand." He said a little bitterly, before continuing in a warmer tone, "Tell me if it hurts, alright?"
At that point I almost blacked out when he pulled me upright by the shoulders and turned me around, only to end up pressing his forearm on my back to hold me. I yelped from the pain, throwing myself forward, straight into his arm.
"I'm gonna throw up," I warned, already feeling the bile rise.
It didn't take him longer than a moment. He had me up by the waist, carrying me like a baby over to the toilet, where he lifted the lid and held my hair as I threw up my guts.
"I don't mean to ruin your mood more than it's already ruined," he began with a long inhale, a warning of sorts for the discussion that followed, "but what in the hell were you thinking leaving your bed like that? Where did you think you were going?"
I opened my mouth to reply, but heaved instead and kept going for a little while. He took that in his advantage to scowl me more.
"I can't understand what you could have possibly been trying when you clearly knew you couldn't make it too far from the bed!"
"I thought I could make it," I muttered.
"Yeah, well you overestimated yourself, honey! Jesus… Why didn't you call me?"
"I thought you were sleeping…"
"Fuck that! I would have come to you in a heartbeat!" He exclaimed as I threw up more, softening his tone more now, "What were you even planning?"
"I wanted to take a shower…"
"And you thought you could stand up in there long enough to wash yourself? Did you want to get yourself killed or something? What if you slipped and fell and hit your head to… something!"
I groaned, leaning my head on the toilet seat, "I'm sorry…"
He sighed heavily as he sat down next to me. "Fucking hell!" He shook his head, leaning against the bathroom cabinet. "Don't apologise, I'm just being a dick."
My brows inched up in surprise. If this was him being a dick… then how was he when he was… actually angry?
"Are you… uh, done?"
"I didn't have much to throw up, so yeah," I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. "You can leave now, I'll be fine."
"Sure, and I'll fly to Antarctica," he rolled his eyes.
"I'm serious."
"I know, that's why I'm being sarcastic."
I narrowed my eyes on him and he did the same, staring right back at me. "I'm taking that shower alone."
"I'm taking that shower alone," he repeated my words in the exact same manner I spoke them.
I frowned. He frowned too.
"What are you doing?"
"What are you doing?" Elijah mimicked.
"Are you copying me?" I yelled, revolted by his childish behavior.
"Are you copying me?"
I huffed in frustration, glaring hard daggers at him. "Stop that!"
"Stop that!"
"Elijah, please stop that!"
"Elijah," he paused to make the same intonation I had, "Please stop that."
"I'm not getting into the shower-"
"I'm not getting into the shower-"
Annoyed, pointed my index finger in his face, "Stop it!"
He pointed his finger at me, his hands coming to my notice just now… they were lacking the gloves. "Stop it!"
"I hate you!" I exclaimed.
He smirked, a little sad glint in his warm green eyes as he spoke without mimicking me, "No, you don't."
"Oh, so now you have your own voice!" I said bitterly, struggling to stand up so I could turn my back at him properly. It wasn't like I could walk and go somewhere to be alone. Not that I even had where to go.
He curled his hand in the front of my waist, keeping the distance from my back so he wouldn't hurt me. I squirmed in his hold wanting to handle myself, but quickly gave up when I realized he wasn't gonna let me go. I ended up with my arms wrapped around his neck, my ankles linked at his very… very beautifully butt. He held me up by the thighs, dimly trying to position a hand on the small of my back.
"I know you're trying to be a big girl," he sighed, settling me on the counter from the sink. "But you're getting yourself hurt more."
"I'm gonna fall," I predicted, refusing to let go of him so I wouldn't fall with the sink.
"You're not."
"The sink can't hold me," I argued.
"Course it can," he murmured softly in my ear. "It's doing it right now, isn't it?"
With my eyes closed tightly, I dimly became aware of the fact that my butt was pressed on the counter. "I'm gonna fall."
"I'll catch you," he assured, my body bringing just now to my attention how awfully close and warm he was. As if a better moment it couldn't pick to figure that out!
"I don't need help."
He inhaled and exhaled heavily, nudging the messy hair from my ear, "Then I won't help you."
Dammit, why was he so pliable?
"I thought you weren't going to let me go to the bathroom on my own."
"And I'm not."
"You're so confusing!" I shouted, pulling away to glare at him.
He smirked, cocking a smug brow, "You're not falling."
I frowned, the question blooming for a moment before I realized what he meant. Pointing my attention to my butt laid on the counter, my brows raised up high.
"Distraction," I murmured.
"One of the things I'm good at," he said proudly, but more in an amusing manner.
I couldn't help but smile and chuckle, "I can't believe you had me fooled!"
"Wouldn't say I fooled you… but I kinda did."
I laughed louder, leaning my forehead on his chest, "You're annoying."
"Been told. Many times, in fact, but hey, at least I'm funny," he said warmly.
"Yeah," I smiled, leaning closer into him. My arms wrapped around his body, drawing strength from what seemed like an unlimited supply. The warmth and the support he seemed capable of made my chest heat, unlike when I was anywhere near my father. My chest would be cooler than an iceberg, and I'd have this ridiculous desire to grab a gun and put it to his head or mine.
Why did Elijah have to be so different? So… so better?
So perfect?
"I'm getting in the shower alone," I stated.
"That's not happening," he retorted in the same tone. "You can barely stand up on your own, what makes you think you'll actually manage to stay upright? Not to mention the water is going to be a bitch with your wounds. You might pass out, in which case I can't let you hitting your head to anything. Exactly a concussion or a stroke is what you need right now."
"I… I'll be naked…"
He took a moment before he replied, pulling away from me as well, "I'm not gonna do anything… weird, I'll just be your… pillar."
I tilted my head on the side, watching him as he awkwardly cleared his throat and looked into the mirror at none other but… me.
"I'll have to get these bandages off and clean the wounds again. They shouldn't be bleeding like this." He shifted from that awkwardness into seriousness again. "You should have stayed in bed. I could have washed you, y'know?"
Yeah, like an incapacitated person? No, thanks. I was very much capable of myself.
"You know too much about wounds," I said instead.
He smirked as he fixed his attention on the cabinet knowing fully well I wasn't gonna let him wash me in bed. He pulled out a hair tie, from where he focused on my… loose hair. I frowned for a moment, remembering very well last night my hair was still tied in that neat bun as usual. And this morning, it was… on my shoulders…
He tied the waves up in a very messy bun from what I caught in the mirror. Not that it mattered. I was going to get it wet soon anyways.
Staring back at him, I found him eyeing intently the bandage in the mirror, his eyes running over every square inch of the reddened white material.
"It might get cold," he warned while tracking for the end of the bandage. Once he found the end tucked somewhere under my armpit, he slowly tugged at it. He easily pulled the thick strap from my back to my front and repeated for a few minutes, until I sat there almost completely naked.
With my eyes darted somewhere else, my face the color of tomatoes and both my hands covering the nipples tight from the cold, I felt completely exposed to him as he cleaned the wounds with alcohol. The hisses and the tears were the effect of the sanitary alcohol, but the heat in my body owed only to the bodyguard who took such care of me.
Appreciating how he wasn't glancing down regularly to take a look at my breasts, or shoving me away from disgust, I allowed my body to give into one of its temptations. As he were still very focused on my back, arms wrapped around me, but holding a distance of an inch between our skins, I… I kissed his cheek.
He stilled altogether, eyes growing wide. Before he could get grossed out by the kid who took interest in him, I decided to hit myself with the ultimate pain. Leaning my head on his shoulder, I said the terrible words that burdened my chest further.
"You're a good friend, Eli."
The moment the sentence came out of my mouth, I regretted it. My chest chilled at the mere thought of us being just friends, the mistake hitting me like a rock. How could I… how could I be so stupid as to call him a friend? Sure, it wasn't like I could have any hopes to a future… but you didn't just let a man like him walk on you! No, when you found perfect men that took the time to actually…
Oh, what the hell was I talking about? He was hired to watch after my ass. He was hired to care and he probably just pitied me. That was why he was trying so damned hard to make me feel better! What other explanation was there?
"You too," he mumbled after a long silence.
The words coming out of his mouth actually ached, creating a hole the size of a canon inside of my chest. I just clenched my teeth and closed my eyes, ignoring it as he continued with the cleaning.
"C'mon," he urged, moving his hand gently on my back, in a spot untouched through some miracle by the whip. He carried me to the shower, where he turned the water on, but didn't put me down. Instead he checked the temperature with his own hand. His expression was drawn tightly in lines of concentration, his muscles tense and hard… just as powerful as ever through the light black t-shirt I haven't seen him wear before. It was loose, unlike his turtlenecks or simple long sleeved black shirts that were smooth on his frame.
His arms were on full view, allowing me the distraction from my previous mistake. So big and strong… and oh, so very hard! God, every inch of him seemed hard. Just as hard as he looked. On his right arm, he had this great snake tattoo with certain other details around, but tying it's tail in a knot just at his wrist.
"Why is the tattoo tied at your wrist?" I asked.
His hand stopped midair under the spray as he looked at me with lifted brows. "I… uh, it represents the devotion to my work, I guess. I'm tied to it through blood, whether I like it or not."
I frowned, staring intensively at the snake tail. "You work in your family… or illegal is your family's business as well?"
"Uhm, yeah," he stammered, quickly shaking his head. "I guess you can say I work in my family from time to time."
I nodded just as he removed my legs from his waist and gently lowered them to the ground. I covered my chest quickly, taking my hands off him in order to do that. He didn't seem to pay attention to that, he was busy finding the water temperature.
In the end, he hummed and slid just my hand under it. I didn't even flinch, it was so good! It wasn't too cold or hot, it was somewhere in between, going a little into hotter.
"Is it okay?" He inquired.
"Yeah," I said, slipping under the spray with my whole arm, then my head and my whole body. He had been right, the water was a bitch to my wounds, but it wasn't as bad as when I got out of bed.
I began washing myself, but at one point I just… lost the rhythm of what I was doing, the soap getting into my wounds, burning, and my hands growing tired, shaking uncontrollably. I couldn't even lift them to wash my hair.
"Let me do it," Elijah stepped closer, taking the bar of soap from me. I took a hesitant step back, not sure what to expect from his offer. "I won't do anything you don't want me to, trust me."
As I hugged myself tightly, I looked up into those emerald eyes that sparked with nothing but the truth spoken. Even so, I had my doubts, but something inside me told me to trust him. So I did.
"I… I forgot to take my panties off," I blabbered quietly.
My face heated to the point lava could break through my skin, so I looked away. The silence between us, invaded by only the shower's loudness, was like a void that needed to be filled by words. With that, my stare returned just in time to catch him kneeling before me.
He reached my waist with his height, tall being even from his knees. His knees quickly soaked in water and his head and shoulders were getting struck by the spray. He didn't pay any attention to that, however. His eyes were on my feet, slowly raising higher to my wet panties.
The oddest sensation kicked in at the sight of the hunger in those precious eyes of his. I felt… tingly in the lower part of my body. I felt something pouring out of me, something wet.
I stared at him as he laid down the Dove bar of soap with a shaky hand, only for that sensation to increase, a need of some kind. With that came a little panic, but it had no time to manifest. His big, rough hands were on my hips, just over the strap of lace.
Something inside me pushed that panic away, replacing it with a hunger of my own, screaming at him, begging him to rip the material off.
Instead he looked up, as if searching for permission. I nodded once and he took off the material from my body slowly, caressing my skin with his touch all the way to my feet. I threw an arm out and held onto his shoulder as I raised one foot at a time so he could remove them completely.
He groaned a deep sound as he felt his way up my calves, stopping at the back of my knees. "Hold onto the glass and raise your leg," he indicated.
I didn't waste a moment in completing the task. I pressed my hand on the glass and lifted my leg. He held it firmly, but gently with one hand, while he brought the white bar up to my leg with the other. He ran the smooth surface on my foot, up to my calf, then to my thigh, covering in white, bubbly foam.
He then raised my leg to his shoulder, his stare fixing on my privates. A little dread hit in, but he quickly shook it off me when he pressed a warm kiss on the inside of my thigh, from where he looked up at me.
"Do you want me to-"
"Yes," I breathed without hesitation, about to cry from his thoughtfulness of asking.
He smiled a little, then gazed my private part. Good God, his expression changed so quickly, I almost lost contact with the glass! In the work of a moment he looked like a man on a mission. Brows down, eyes narrowed, lips thinned, muscles tense, as if he had a purpose he didn't intend on failing at.
His hand slightly shook as he brought it up above my navel, covered with foam. The nervousness came just as he lowered his palm to to corner of my private lips. He paused then, looking up at me again, at which I nodded despite my worries.
He nodded back as he ran his hand over the place, outside on my skin. I shuddered at every warm touch, then escaped a moan when he ran two fingers between my lips.
He suddenly stopped, making me frown down at him. His eyes were wide and his breath left him quickly, his hand still locked to my privates. He swallowed, closing his eyes tightly.
"What's wrong?" I asked, getting worse than worried now.
"You're… fuck, you're wet…"
I frowned, "Well, I am in the shower…"
His eyes grew wide again as he made eye contact. His lips parted, but sealed almost instantly. "You don't even know what I mean…"
I frowned harder, "What are you talking about?"
Heavy lids lowered all over again as he shuddered, his hand moving on my thigh, away from my flower. He leaned his forehead in his palm, his hand shaking more now. Why was he so suddenly pale?
"Elijah, are you okay?" I asked, taking my foot from his shoulder, lowering on my knees in front of him just in case he was going to pass out.
Christ, he was so big. Such a menace in the little shower stall. He passed his hand over his face several times, but his hands didn't stop shaking.
"Elijah?"
"God, I hate that name," he muttered, dropping his head.
"Why?"
He just shook his head, his hands planting on his knees, clenching tightly. He was looking at the ground, not at me, his features hard and cold, no emotion being revealed.
It took him another moment of breathing in and out before he looked back at me with a little smile, "Let me wash you, Narah," he pleaded.
My breath got stuck in my throat, the need in his eyes making my heart stop dead for a mere second. I thought he was sick… but the need and the hunger in those green orbs had me questioning it to the point I realized his issue wasn't anything health related…
No… I thought, blinking to assure myself I got it right, that I wasn't seeing it wrong. And hell… I wasn't!
"Eli…?" I murmured, feeling the water from the shower and that wetness that sipped from my core, pool now between my thighs in unison.
"Do you… uh," I blushed, not sure what I was just about to ask him.
His hand cupped my cheek in the smoothest movement, a hotter hold over my now fervent skin. "I'll just wash you."
And that was what he did. He lifted me up and washed my other leg, he washed me between my legs, then my belly, and my breasts. He caressed my skin with the soap and cleaned me thoroughly, avoiding the wounds so it wouldn't burn. Then he washed my hair. He seemed so fascinated by my hair for some reason, but before I asked he was through with that too.
Once I was completely clean, he wrapped a towel around me, and carried me to the bed. He bandaged my back, he helped me dress with a new pair of panties and a nightgown, after which he moped the floor, since it was wet from both of us, especially him who's clothes were still very soaked from the shower. He did his best to help me, even if his hands shook the whole time and he remained wet and a little twitchy. But he went through it for me.
The butterflies that grew in my stomach with every gesture had me almost tearing up because no one ever… treated me like that.
Sure, I had Luisa and Valentin and my sister and even Javier at one point, who made me feel loved and cared for, but the way he treated me? It was so much more special. Not that I was ungrateful to the way the guys treated me, no, I could never be ungrateful for all the love and support they ever gave me.
I just… I was under his spell, alright? My heart was screaming and begging for him, along with my body.
Elijah was precious.
The fact that I called him my friend earlier just spelled out how much of a dumbass I really was. But it wasn't like I could hope for a future with him… a part of me still believed he was doing this out of pity, while the other knew fully well I'd never escape the prison I was raised in.
When it came time to dry my hair, he took me to the vanity and sat me down. I was amazed to see the return of the fascination on his face after he pulled away the towel he had rolled my hair in.
"What are you… looking at?" I asked confused.
He smiled and played with my wet curls, "Your hair is so curly."
Ah, yes… the painful reality, "I'm sorry, I should probably straighten it."
These past two weeks I have straightened my hair after I took showers, even if my hands had hurt from the whipping Mrs Nieto gave my hands. I didn't want him to see my hair curly, knowing he'd… despise it. Like my father had. Like Javier had that one time when we went on a date.
He frowned, "Why would you? It looks beautiful."
My heart stuttered there again, drumming in my ears. "I thought…"
"Thought what?" He questioned when I didn't go on.
"That you wouldn't like it…"
"Bullshit," he scoffed, "I love it. Why would you even think that?"
My shoulders slumped forward as I eyed my toes on the mahogany floor. "My father hates it. I'm not allowed to wear it like this." I paused, then added unnecessary details, "That's why I make it wavy. Straight is too boring. Plus wavy suits me better. I've been doing it on my own since I was eight. Until then my mother did it."
"That's stupid," he shook his head. "Since you were a kid?"
I nodded as he ran the brush through all of my curls. Every time he reached the end, the respective strands would bounce from the stretch, and return to their previous curly form.
"You took them from your mother?"
I shrugged, "I don't know. She never wore it like this, but maybe… yeah."
It wasn't like Dad had curly hair. Maybe my grandparents had, but I couldn't know for sure. I've never met them. They passed before I could learn how to speak.
He frowned, seeming to be thinking deeply about it. Eventually he put the brush down, then directed his gaze to meet mine in the mirror. "How do I make your hair wavy?"
As my stomach became a cage for butterflies, swelling from the air I was inhaling, the air that seemed to have tightened my ribcage over my lungs, I realized.
Elijah Rhodes could not get any more perfect.