Page 56 of Boots & Scars

Now, in the shower, I scrubbed harder. My skin turned pink under the relentless pressure, but it didn't feel clean. The water washed away the soap, but I still felt his touch lingering on me like a stain that wouldn't fade.

"Get off," I whispered to myself, scrubbing harder. My skin started to turn red, raw under the relentless assault of my hands.

Zach's breath had been hot against my neck as he whispered things that made my stomach churn. I tried to push him away, but he was stronger.

I rubbed at my neck now, desperate to erase the sensation of his breath. The steam filled the bathroom, making it hard to breathe.

He had pushed me on the bed his hands everywhere they shouldn't be. My heart pounded in my chest as I fought against him with every ounce of strength I had.

"No," I muttered through clenched teeth as I scrubbed harder. My nails raked against my skin until it burned.

The memories were too vivid, too real. His weight pressing me down, his laugh echoing in my ears.

"Stop," I cried out loud this time, my voice breaking through the sound of rushing water. But no matter how hard I scrubbed, it wasn't enough.

My skin felt like it was on fire now, but still not clean. Tears mingled with the water running down my face as frustration built up inside me.

"Why can't you just go away?" I screamed at no one in particular, my voice echoing off the tiled walls.

I collapsed onto the floor of the shower, letting the water pour over me as sobs wracked my body. No matter how much I tried to wash it away, Zack's touch lingered like a ghost that refused to leave me alone.

I didn't know how long I sat there, water cascading over me, tears mixing with the steam. Time seemed to lose meaning in the haze of my grief. The sound of the door opening jarred me back to reality. I looked up, startled.

Cooper stood there, his eyes locking onto mine. I held my breath, waiting for him to tell me to get out, to call me silly for sitting in the shower like this. His gaze flickered over my bruised body, and I saw a flare of anger burn in his eyes.

Without a word, he stepped into the shower, fully clothed. The water soaked through his shirt and pajama bottoms instantly, but he didn't seem to care. He sat down next to me, his presence solid and grounding.

The steam wrapped around us like a cocoon as he pulled me into his arms. The heat of his body contrasted with the cool tiles against my skin. For a moment, I resisted, but then I felt myself collapse against him, my sobs renewed with an intensity that surprised even me.

He held me tight as if anchoring me to reality. His arms were strong and steady, and I buried my face in his chest. The water continued to pour down on us both, a relentless backdrop to my emotional storm.

I cried until there were no more tears left in me. Until my body felt hollow and exhausted. Cooper's grip never wavered; he was my rock in that moment of utter vulnerability.

When my sobs finally subsided into quiet hiccups, he still didn't let go. His presence was a silent promise that he wasn't going anywhere.

The water turned lukewarm. My shivers intensified, but Cooper's arms remained steadfast.

"Come on, killer," he murmured softly, his voice a balm to my frayed nerves.

He helped me to my feet, steadying me as I wobbled on weak legs. His touch was firm yet gentle, like I was something precious. He reached out and turned off the shower, the sudden silence deafening after the constant rush of water.

He grabbed a fluffy towel from the rack and began drying me off with a reverence that made my breath hitch. Every movement was careful, as if I were made of glass and might shatter under too much pressure. His hands moved with surprising tenderness, taking their time over each bruise and scrape.

How could someone as rough around the edges as Cooper touch me like I was sacred? His calloused fingers glided over my skin with such care it brought fresh tears to my eyes.

Once he finished, he picked up his shirt from the floor and slipped it over my head. The fabric was warm and smelled like him—comforting and safe.

"What about you?" I asked, my voice raw from crying. "You need to dry off."

He cocked his head to the side, giving me a long look that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

"Please," I whispered, my plea hanging in the steam-filled air.

Reluctantly, he handed me the towel. I took it and began to dry him off, ignoring his wet pajamas clinging stubbornly to his body. The fabric was heavy with water, but I worked through it methodically. His skin felt warm under my hands despite the chill setting in from the cooling air.

Each stroke of the towel felt intimate, like we were sharing something profound in this quiet moment. His eyes never left mine, and I found solace in their unwavering gaze. I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of peace settling over me. The storm inside me had calmed, at least for now. And as we stood there in the aftermath of this moment, I realized that maybe—just maybe—I wasn't alone in this fight.

When I finished drying Cooper off, I hung up the towel carefully. Each movement was deliberate, an effort to reclaim a small measure of control over my chaotic world.

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