Page 12 of Unexpected Heroine

“I’m not,” she gulps, then closes her eyes, “I’m not sure what I’ll look like naked.”

Vitriol coats my insides, thick and viscous. I need to tap into my old habit of compartmentalizing and shoving emotions away so I don’t frighten or upset her with my rage. Because it’s about to boil over.

In a whisper to camouflage my building wrath, I say, “I don’t give a fuck what you look like. You are perfect to me. Always have been. And always will be. Nothing that happened to you this weekend could change that.”

She forces out a sharp exhale, finally opening her eyes. When she sees that the sincerity in my expression matches my tone, she releases my hands.

With an artificial calmness, I pull off her shirt.

I tap into every ounce of willpower to avoid looking, but I fail. I need to see what made her afraid to show me her body. Slowly, my eyes travel down her torso.

And I see red.

Chapter 3

I’m still me

LETTIE

He tries to hide his reaction but fails. My often-stoic man is bristling with... is that disgust?

Please don’t be disgust. Anything but that.

I’ll gladly take rage, fury, or pity over disgust. I’d even settle for apathy.

Wordlessly, he guides me to the shower, giving my upper shoulder a wisp of a nudge. Following his direction, I drift toward the open glass door, more zombie than woman.

He must be unable to look at me, and I’m too nervous to look down. I saw enough on my arms and face in the mirror a few moments ago.

Incidentally, that was the first time I’d seen myself since Friday night.

My first visual confirmation of what they did to me.

Well, some of what they did.

There were no mirrors there. Probably so we didn’t smash them to make weapons.

Although I was almost always naked in that disgusting house, I didn’t even glance down my frame. I saw enough marks on the other girls to know what I’d see on me.

While approaching the shower, I make a point to avoid my reflection in the mirror. I don’t want to see any more than I already have. Especially now that I’m fully nude.

Again.

If the pain is anything to go by, my ribs will show the worst of it.

“Come on, sugar,” James urges, holding the door open for me.

Part of me wants to shower by myself to conceal my battered body. But I’m terrified of being alone.

After testing the temperature, I move under the spray with desperate swiftness. Now that I’m here, getting clean becomes my sole focus. An aching compulsion to viciously scrub my entire body prickles my skin from the inside as the water cascades over it on the outside.

“There you go,” he soothes as he lets me have the full spray, only reaching around to wet my loofah. “Normally, you do your hair first, but I think tonight we’ll make an exception.”

I nod in agreement before tipping my head backward to wet my hair. As it soaks down to my scalp, a tiny moan escapes me.

It feels so damn good.

James adds some shower gel to my loofah and works up a thick lather.

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