Cain fumbles around, turning on several lights. Once my vision adjusts to the lighting, I look down my arm and see his finger marks embedded into my skin. My big toe is also bleeding. The side of my head hurts like hell.
Cain looks from my face, to my arm, to my toe, then walks directly out of the room without another word. I hear him swearing and the thuds of cupboard doors being slammed before he walks back in a few minutes later with a wet towel in his hands.
I wish he would talk, say something. Anything at all. I start choking back my sobs.
“Cain, you’re really scaring me right now.”
I sit there and cry again, getting no comfort from him at all. He’s probably going to tie me up, chain me to a bed, and leave me there.
“Give me your feet,” he says finally, patting his leg, indicating for me to place them there.
My shoulders sag in defeat and I do as he asks. I’m tired, hungry, and dirty. The slit in the side of my skirt is torn, exposing more leg than I would normally let anyone see, especially the man whose rough hands are delicately touching my feet. Warm, inviting hands, inspecting both the top and bottoms of each foot and then delicately placing them back on his muscular thighs.
His big hands start to work on cleaning up my stubbed big toe. He’s gentle when washing away the grimy dirt and blood, though I wince at the sting of the wet towel and try to move my foot out of his hold. He inspects each foot after he has them wiped clean. Reaching down beside him, he brings up a small tube of some sort of antibacterial medication. Working meticulously, he places dabs of the soothing gel on my scrapes.
“Here, drink this and take these,” he orders, handing me a small glass of water and two pills I didn’t see him holding when he came in a few minutes ago.
I hesitate before taking them, which Cain notices.
“It’s aspirin for the pain,” he says gruffly. “You have a nasty bruise forming on the side of your face. I know you must have a headache and your feet are hurt. Now take them.”
I place both pills on my tongue and wash them down with the entire glass of water.
“Thank you,” I mumble, removing my foot from his leg.
His hands begin to trail gently up my limbs. Smooth, circular strokes send a thrill of pleasure up my spine. Never once does his gaze lift to meet mine. He’s focused on his task, almost as if he is transfixed, worshipping. He suddenly stops when he reaches my knees.
“You’re going to hate me even more for what I’m about to say to you,” he says, shifting his gaze to where my hands rest in my lap.
My eyes wander around the room as I wait for him to continue, finally taking in my surroundings. Whose home is this? It’s stunning. Everything about it screams a man lives here. Black leather couch, matching chair. Wide screen television hanging on the wall. Dark wood blinds on the windows. That’s it, besides a table next to the chair. The deep greenish-blue color of the walls is what really catches my eye, though. It’s enthralling. The deep green fades into blue like a changing kaleidoscope. It… it reminds me of my eyes.
I shake my turmoil-filled head. Black furniture, the shades of the walls...
This is his house.
Everything Manny told me earlier bursts forth in my thoughts. Cain’s hurting. Seeing this is proof to me that he is. My insides shatter. All of a sudden, I’m not frightened of him anymore.
It’s difficult to describe what I am feeling right now, though. It’s almost like a jolt, a forceful sensation deep in my gut telling me to hang on for dear life. I’m torn in two directions. Seeing the tormented expression on his face makes me want to reach out, run the tips of my fingers through his hair, and tell him to just say what he needs to say. Another part of me wants to rip his balls off, shove them up his ass, and tell him to go fuck himself.
But even more so, there’s something powerful trying to claw its way out from under the surface of my skin, to tear away the brick exterior safely guarding my beaten down heart. Even after six years, I still love him. I try to swallow my emotions before I speak.