Page 21 of Cillian

“I said, I can’t!” My tone sharper but not enough to hide my cowardice. I wiped my nose with my napkin and Cillian finally looked toward my feet to find my soiled shoes, train and floor. I would be the laughing stock of Black Mecca but most of all, he’d probably never let me live this down.

“Elizabeth Sullivan, I’m not gonna tell you again. Get…The fuck…Up,” he demanded, as I balled my hands into fists, closed my eyes and wished the entire room would disappear.

“Please don’t make me,” I pleaded once more.

“You don’t think I see something—someone—must have scared the shit out of you? You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself, sitting in your own piss. Or I could get you the hell out of here. None of that can happen if you don’t stand the fuck up.”

“I just…need a minute,” I said, doting my face, aware I’d ruined my makeup when streaks stained the napkin.

“I’ll stand with you. Soon as you stand, we’ll go home,” Cillian insisted.

“Promise?”

“I, promise you, that you won’t be made a fool of if you just stand up.” I prepared myself for the dozens of stares that would accompany walking by prying eyes.

As I stood, without hesitation, Cillian slipped out of his suit jacket, threw it over his forearm and swooped me into his arms, so the back of my dress wouldn’t be as noticeable.

Cillian carried me out through a back exit and with every good grace I had, I wanted to thank him but I had lost my voice. Eventually, Cillian had managed to find the car, tap the door to bring attention to the driver, as once the car door was open, Cillian hoisted us in the backseat.

“What should I tell Bellamy if he asks?”

“Tell him I left to take care of my wife,” Cillian admitted softly, as he adjusted me on his lap and held me close. We’d only been married two days and, in that time, I would’ve expected to hear his ridicule. Maybe even his taunting that whatever happened to me, must have been my fault. But none of that happened.

“It’s ok,” he hummed softly into my ear, as he insisted I rest my head on his shoulder. Tears kept falling as the memories of Dr. Thorpe continued flooding in. Everything happened so fast, I almost forgot he had a name.

My Papa. From the time he thought I started looking like a woman, he felt the need to test my virtue. Every year he’d send me to get checked. Having some strangers’ fingers on you. Inside you. I couldn’t think of a worse way to punish your eldest daughter.

“It’s ok, Elizabeth. I won’t let anything happen to you,” Cillian repeated, as I buried my face in his neck. He smelled so nice. Certainly better than I did given my accident. With his free hand, he caressed the top of my hair, switching from my hair to my upper back.

Something was happening and I didn’t know what. But what I was sure of was, if Cillian let go, I would surely fall apart.

Nine

Cillian

“Do you mind getting the door for me?” I asked Seamus, as I gathered her in my arms and waited patiently for the door to open. When he did, I stepped out gesturing for him to take off since in her state, I wasn't worried about her going anywhere. Personally, I just wanted the time alone.

“I'm going to take her upstairs and get her cleaned up. Probably won't need you until the morning time,” I explained as I watched him take off into the night. Cradling her in my arms, I made my way through the hotel lobby and into the elevator.

She held me tightly until we reached the top floor, as the silence between us spoke louder than words. I finagled with the keys, struggling to get the door open, but had managed on the first try, as I carried her inside to the master bedroom’s toilet. I set her down, preparing warm water for a bath and tested the temperature frequently to ensure it wasn’t too hot.

On my knees, I turned to her, wondering if I could be of service or whether she just wanted to be left alone.

“Did you want a bit of privacy getting out of your gown, or would you like my help getting undressed?” Bringing her hand to her nose, she wiped away a sniffle and admitted she’d prefer the assistance.

It was one of the rare occasions that I chose not to lead with my own libido. A woman in this kind of torment would be the last person thinking about any kind of bedroom fun, and that took all the excitement out of it. When I took women to bed, they were usually happy about it, not sitting on the toilet crying, covered in their own piss.

My hand grazed the thin strap of her dress, until my instinct told me I was moving too fast. I lowered my hand to check in with what was permitted.

“I promise I'm not trying to be fresh or anything, I genuinely wanna help. If you want, I can even close my eyes. I just want you to be comfortable.” She nodded, unable to meet my gaze.

“Maybe closing your eyes might help. Just until I'm in the water.” Doing as she asked, I closed my eyes easing the pink soiled dress down her supple shoulders. She had such soft skin and delicate curves that felt like soft petals on a flower. I fought pulling the fabric down her hips. The way the dress fit her, I knew she had to have delectable hips, like the pinup girls you saw in the magazines.

With a clip of a few straps, I helped her out of her heels and soon after, helped ease her thigh length stockings down her thighs. It was torture being this close to a woman without the honor of admiring her but she wasn’t in the state of someone who’d welcome being appreciated, so I kept my thoughts to myself.

“Thank you,” she whispered, letting me help her bare body into the running tub. It dawned on me that all the clean wash clothes were likely in a hallway closet but when I stood to retrieve some, the gentle pull of her hand pleaded with me to stay. “Please don't leave me alone,” she begged, defeated. I needed my eyes to be open. Didn't want to find myself tripping into the hallway and hurting myself in efforts to help her.

“Do you mind if I open my eyes, Elizabeth? I promise it won't be to stare at you.” Hearing her adjust in the water, she gave me the okay if she was permitted to cover up. When I opened my eyes, she used her arms to cover her privates.

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