Page 53 of The Hangman's Rope

“Shh, it’s okay,” I whispered, barely audible above the showerhead. “You’re safe now. You’re safe here, with me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

She stared up at me, her hair slicked back from her face which was drawn and pinched, pale with dark circles forming under the red rimming her bloodshot eyes… and for whatever reason the red seemed to make the silver of them even more luminous. Her bright eyes glowed and I saw a trust in them, an almost peace in their depths when they looked at me and damn, did it do something to me.

No, it didn’t make me pop wood or anything so crass in the moment – what it did was make me feel like a man. Like I was her big damn hero – and I couldn’t explain that one. I was nobody’s hero.

I swallowed hard and she shivered slightly as cooler air from out in the rest of the bathroom swept into the shower stall.

“I’m going to turn off the water and get you a towel. You wait right there for just one second.”

“Okay,” she whimpered softly, and I took my hands from her, reaching behind her and turning off the water.

“You doing okay?” I asked her, tracing a drowned wisp of her long hair off of her forehead and tucking it behind her ear.

She nodded and said, “I think I’m embarrassed more than anything now.”

“Mm-mm,” I grunted, shaking my head. I opened up the shower door and reached for one of the towels on the bar. “That’s one thing you don’t get to be.”

“What? Embarrassed?” she asked, flushing.

“Exactly. You can be a lot of things right now, in this moment, but embarrassed is the absolute bottom of the fucking barrel, Sweetpea. You got me?”

She nodded, and I wrapped the towel I’d retrieved around her shoulders, rubbing up and down her arms briskly over the cloth.

We got her dried off and the nightgown slipped over her head and I stood back from her as she wound her long hair up into the towel to keep it from dripping onto the peach pastel gown any more than it already had in a few spots.

“You trust me?” I asked her again and she nodded. “You remember Grim?” I asked opening up the bathroom door. Grim pushed off the wall beside my bedroom door on the other side. Lorelai nodded, mute.

“Go with him, honey. Let him tuck you in. I’ll be right there just as soon as I get out of these wet things.”

She looked apprehensively from me to him and I could see the struggle was real on her pretty face. She trusted me, but she didn’t trust anybody else right now.

“Trust me,” I whispered and she reluctantly took a step in the direction of the doorway.

Grim stood sideways in the hall, blocking the view down to the living room and holding out his hand for her to pass into his care without actually touching her. I could appreciate that. He gave me a nod and I him, and I closed the door again once she passed into the yawning chasm of my darkened bedroom doorway across the hall.

I turned to face myself in the mirror and took several deep breaths as the rage build like a bubble in lava, growing, growing, but I couldn’t let it burst. I gripped the edges of the sink counter until the material groaned under the rage in my grip and I looked back up into my own reflection. I wanted to punch the mirror. I wanted to watch all that silvered glass spider, crack, and fall into the sink in ruin. I just wanted to punch and keep punching until my knuckles were a bloody ruin and the pain came around to help me focus… but I couldn’t do that to her. I couldn’t make a bunch of terrifying racket in here and wind her up when I’d only just gotten her to winddown.

I got my shit together, got out of my wet clothes and boots, and wrapped one of the bath sheets around my waist. Lorelai was only going to be good for so long, I wanted to try and head any more panic off at the pass. She was in the absolute throes of a nasty PTSD loop or episode and I saw that for what it was. So did Grim, and Reaper, I was sure of it – but having Reaper around her felt a little like flying too close to the fucking sun.

I went out into the hall and glanced toward the living room to see more than just Reap gathered there. Grim’s voice, soft and even was coming from my room. Lorelai’s softer in answer, still trembling but stronger.

I slipped through the door and shut it behind me, turning to see Lorelai perched on the edge of the freshly made bed, Grim giving her some space, arms crossed over his chest.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Seeing if Lorelai here would let Reap give her some better living through chemistry.”

I looked from Lorelai to Grim and back again.

“And what do you think, Sweetpea?” I asked her softly.

“I don’t know if I want to take any drugs,” she answered quietly and sounded unhappy.

I could see her point. A drug is what’d brought her here in the first place.

“It’ll help,” I hedged, to gauge her reaction.

She searched my face and I searched hers.

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