Page 5 of Little Fury

“Well, that was a very competent and serviceable washing,”I grumble as he turns the water off.

“Sorry, did you say something?”

“Nope, nothing,” I reply.

“Because I could have sworn, I heard you grumble something about not being satisfied with the service you’re receiving, and then I would have to remind you that the service you receive while in my care, is a direct result of the situation, or shall we say predicament that brought you shot and bleeding to my door.”Grabbing a towel from the warmer and wrapping it around my shoulders he kisses the tip of my nose as he continues.“But you didn't grumble anything like that under your breath, so I don't need to remind you of anything.”Jake grabs a towel and quickly dries himself off.

“You hungry?”he asks me as he wraps the towel around his waist.

“Yeah, I could for sure eat,”I respond with a chuckle as he wraps the towel around his waist, heading out of the bathroom with a raging hard-on.

Alone in the bathroom, I gaze at myself in the mirror as I drop my towel and look over my body. A few bruises have started appearing, and I realize I have no idea how I got them. I don't remember hitting anything during my escape for my life, but who knows? Adrenaline isn't the best thing for an accurate recounting of events.

My hair hangs straight down my back, ending just above the swell of my hips. My pale skin making the black look impossibly dark. My grey eyes usually sparkle but like my skin, blood loss, fatigue and heartbreak have left them close to translucent. Even my olive skin tone can't combat that much damage.

I still look like me, the familiar splattering of freckles across my straight pert nose and cheeks. A pink pouty set of lips and a chin that is always just defiant enough completes the face staring back at me. I'm 5'4, not short or tall; my breasts are full but not overly so. My waist is trim, and my hips swell just so sweetly. I’m aware that I'm beautiful. Mybody is lithe and supple, the perfect package for the deadly little thing on the inside. I still look like me, except with a couple of new wounds that will leave a scar. I sigh. I don't mind the scars. I like them if I'm being honest. They are the only bits of imperfection I’ve ever been allowed.

I dry my body and wrap my hair in a towel. Heading into Jake’s bedroom I sit on the end of his bed and breathe. I seem to be doing that a lot today, just breathing. I think it's a valid reaction to the shit show that my life became today, but it is still a lot of silent contemplation for any one person to do in a 24-hour time period.

Jake comes in wearing a new pair of athletic shorts and nothing else; they sit low on his hips. His adonis belt is on full display. I can’t help admiring it.

You’re not admiring it; you’re thinking about all the times you’ve run your hands and tongue over it.

Why does he have to be so fucking hot?

Carrying a plate of food that could easily feed ninety, Jake sets the tray on the bedside table and disappears into his walk-in. I stand up as he comes out of the closet, seeing he has my favorite T-shirt of his. It’s an old Queen t-shirt that has been washed and worn so often that it feels like butter on the skin. It’s the shirt I always gravitate towards when I sleep here. Holding it for me, helping me slip it on so I don’t hurt my shoulder.

I look at Jake, admiring his chest and the ink he has on it. It’s a hyper-realistic full-colour tattoo of a beautiful cliffside with waves crashing against the rocks below. Upon the cliff is a lone figure, a woman with black hair that's wildly blowing in the wind. It’s both stunningly beautiful and gut-wrenching all at the same time. When I look at the tattoo, I think the woman is sobbing, about to fling herself from the cliff. He has a few other tattoos across his body, all in colour and beautiful in their way.

There is a geometric pattern on his thigh. It encompasses the entirety of it, front and back. The pattern is so intricate that it looks like it moves. The negative spaces feed into the positive ones. It's captivating. On the inside of his left arm, there is a flock of birds that I think are starlings. On his ribs, connected to the cliffside tattoo through swirls of smoke and vines, he has a dark-cloaked figure whose hands are clasped in what looks like prayer.

He is a work of art, this man. His body, face, mind, all of him.

Jake clears his throat, breaking my drooling stare and raises an eyebrow at me with a knowing smirk.“Get on the bed.”he says, still in his ‘don’t fucking try me’ voice from the shower. I like that tone. It’s the best one.

I sit on the bed and curl my legs under me as I lean against the padded headboard. Jake places the tray on the bed in front of me, then joins me, sitting with his back against the headboard, his legs straight out in front of him. We sit quietly, not talking to each other as we both eat. I grab a couple of grapes and some cheese.

Jake knows what I like, so it’s full of fruit, nuts, snap peas, red peppers, hummus, pita chips, and tzatziki. It’s seriously my dream spread of food.

Grabbing the remote next to his bed and turns on some music. I smile as“Shake The Frost”by Tyler Childers plays quietly over the gazillion speakers throughout his home. I'm not sure when he started playing more of my favourite music than his, but it happened slowly over the six months we've known each other.

I don't know how to be friendly and listen to music I don't like. I’m aware it’s a problem, but it’s not one I care enough about to change. Eventually, everyone I know gives in and lets me have my way.

It's a hill that I will die upon.

“Ava,”he starts, and I look over at him, ready for the questions I’m about to be bombarded with. Instead, he hands me a couple of pills and another sports drink. I take them from him, pop them in my mouth and swallow.

“Antibiotics and painkillers,”he tells me after they're gone.

We fall back into silence, both of us eating as“5am”by Amber Run begins to play.“Jake,”I say, pausing to collect my thoughts before I start. I’m still unsure what I’ll tell him and what I won’t.

“I need you just to listen Jake and understand that there are things I can't and won't tell you. I'll tell you what I can, what I’m comfortable telling you, and what I think is safe enough to share, so no one feels like you know too much and decides you're too big a risk to be left alive.”Jake says nothing. He looks at me, waiting for me to begin.

Is it odd how well he’s taking all this?

“When I was seven, I was in a car accident with my parents. I was the only one who survived. My parents had no family, so I was sent to a family friend.”

“Sent?” Jake asks.

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