Page 37 of Those That Don't Exist
I slowly turn so I’m facing him. Him, standing in my shower.
He pulls the curtain further back and gives me a full view of his near naked body.
Him, in only boxers. In my shower.
My eyes immediately go to the swirling black ink that covers his left arm, the thick bands sweeping from above his elbow up over his shoulder and down to just above his left nipple. It's beautiful, each line clearly carefully marked out so they look like they’re chasing each other across his skin. I am rendered utterlyspeechless. I do, however, feel my magic sweep over my skin, replacing the glamour I was so used to wearing these days.
It takes me a second of staring at all the skin on display for my brain to register the injuries also marking his body. His lower lip is busted. The right side of his chest, his ribs, are a wash in deep purple and crimson bruising. It’s a perfectly sculpted chest I might add. A chest also partially covered by the arm he is gingerly holding across it. And then there’s the blood. The crimson liquid seeps from two deep gashes on his forearm.
More blood oozes from another jagged cut on his leg. I also notice both sets of his knuckles are split open.
“How long?” he asks, breaking my mental logging of the injuries on his body.
“What?” I stammer. I’m definitely in shock. There’s an injured guy in my shower! Seriously not how I thought this morning was going to go.
“How long have you been using a glamour on yourself?” His voice is forceful. My mouth slams shut. I’ve been hiding for so long I can’t form the words. Although a small part of me sparks in relief that someone knows.
“How are you in my bathroom?” I deflect.Seriously, how did he get in here?
“The window,” he says as if it's the most obvious thing. “Answer my question.”
He goes to step over the lip of the bath, our shower is one of those ones that doubles as the bathtub. He stumbles, causes his arm to fly out on instinct. He winces hard, clearly in a lot of pain. I shoot forward to steady him. He rights himself still inside the tub.
“Who did this to you?” I practically growl. Sudden anger at the person who laid their hands on him washing through my bloodstream. His eyebrows raise.
“You first,” he growls back. “How long have you been hiding your true form?” His voice is tight, from anger or pain I can’t tell. Probably both.
“Let me get you to a hospital and I’ll explain,” I tell him. This conversation is going round in circles and he needs medical attention.
“I’ll be fine. I need to wash this blood off and get a few hours rest and I’ll be completely healed.” He waves off his injuries like he’s not black and blue.
“Ty, you’re badly injured,” I chastise as I step towards him again. He winces once more as he turns towards the shower controls. “Here, stop moving and I’ll do it.” I reach across, taking the shower head out of its cradle and switch it on. I hold it away from him until the water warms before slowly directing it at his blood-soaked legs. Without a thought I automatically begin to wash around the jagged skin. He stiffens at the first touch of my fingers, but he soon relaxes under the warm spray. He leans back against the tiles on the far wall.
He’s pure lethal muscle covered in tan skin. He’s toned and clearly strong without being stacked with muscle. A powerful pulse of heat runs through my fingertips as I gently massage the skin to loosen the dried blood. The scent of it mixed with the warm water, added to his natural warm woodsy smell is potent. My mouth simultaneously feels dry and salivating. I hear him sigh as the water offers some relief to the pain, the sound resonates deep down in my belly.
I inch the water more directly over the cut to flush it. Ty gasps at the sting which cuts through my heady thoughts. I refocus on administering first aid instead, which is far more helpful at this moment than me getting lost in lusting over the guy.
“Start talking Red,” he demands.
I finish his leg and gesture for him to hold his arm out. He moves it slowly and I think his shoulder looks swollen. I move the water to the two parallel wounds on his forearm, gently washing them, grateful I must look at what I’m doing instead of at his face as I start talking.
“I didn’t want to be the centre of attention anymore,” I sigh, my voice coming out a little stilted, I don’t want to see the pity in his gaze.
“After the car accident all I got was pity. Everyone treated me like I was broken. For a time I was broken. It took weeks for me to heal physically but to everyone around me it was a quick recovery. I remember everyone commenting, telling me ‘how strong I was’, ‘how good I was looking.’Then it was ‘Are you sure you want to go back to school?’ ‘Are you sure you’re ready?’I just wanted to get back here, get back to some semblance of normal. I’d lost my dad and needed something familiar, you know?”
I don't wait for Ty to reply before I carry on, the flood gates now open. “So, I glamoured some stuff. I haven’t slept well since the accident. I started using my magic to cover the tiredness. My appetite has been completely haywire and although I feel good, strong even, I could see it starting to show on my body, I used my magic on that too. I assumed I needed time but it got worse. I didn’t want to say anything and risk being hospitalised again. And I am fine. I work out more than ever, can run further than ever, can lift bigger weights, do more complicated kickboxing moves than ever. I just look weak. I will figure it out, I can't have everyone going back to pitying me.” Tears prick at my eyes but I blink them back as I move to inspect the wounds now they look clean.
“But you’re not ok,” Ty says softly. His voice is tight, I’m not sure if it’s from the agony he’s clearly in, or because of what I’m telling him.
I wash the last drops of crimson down the drain before twisting to turn off the shower, replacing the head into its cradle. I grab a towel from the rack and lay it out on the floor to catch any fresh drips of blood.
“Here, come sit, I’ll try my best to find some antiseptic for those wounds.” I gently put my arm around the giant man, who probably weighs twice what I do, like I can support him as he slowly navigates his way out of the tub and across the room. I don't let go until he’s sat on the closed toilet seat. I grab a second towel and rummage for the first aid kit in the cupboard under the sink before coming to kneel at his side.
I begin patting his legs dry with the towel before speaking again. This is so weird but I think we both need to be distracted with this task to keep talking.
“I…” I start.
“I should’ve noticed,” Ty blurts over me.
