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I slide a glass toward her. “Drink. You’re probably dehydrated.”
She takes it without complaint, swallowing down the entire glass in only a few gulps.
I drink my own glass before grabbing both of them, setting them into the empty sink.
Walking around the counter, I make my way to Hazel, my fingers wrapping around the cool skin of her arm as I pull her out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and to my quarter of the house. Guiding her into the bathroom, I release her as I step toward the shower and turn the knob. Glancing in the mirror, I see how pale we both look, dirty and wet, our hair a sopping mess on each of our heads. Soon enough, the bathroom fills with warm steam that penetrates my frozen limbs.
Once it’s warm enough, I pull Hazel into the shower with me, my fingers wrapping around her rib cage as I place her under the spray. Her cold body molds to mine, and she says nothing as she stands there, allowing the warm water to pelt her skin. I wrap my arms around her, settling my chin on top of her head and let the hot water flow onto us, thawing our bones. Reaching toward the ledge, I grab the bottle of shampoo and pour a healthy dollop into my palm. I rub it around, and lifting her head, I massage it into her hair, digging my fingers into her scalp.
She lets out a soft sigh, pained and exhausted. I don’t ask anything of her. I don’t know what I want, or what I need, but I know that I can’t be away from her. Not right now. Maybe not ever.
She’s calming the madness, and though she’s a part of why it’s here in the first place, I know she doesn’t mean harm. I might have thought that in the beginning, when I saw her things in my basement. Hazel is a witch; she practices witchcraft. Her bloodline is made of witches, though I don’t really have anywhere to speak on that. She has messed with the dark shit that anyone smart would never dabble in when it comes to Castle Pointe.
I meant my hatred when I kicked her out of my house. But the moment I saw her on the train tracks, I knew she wasn’t the villain in this story.
She isn’t trying to harm us. She truly wants to help.
And her perseverance, her persistence and ability to keep fucking fighting after all the shit she’s been through, she’s stronger than I ever realized.
We might be enemies, but maybe that’s not all we have to be.
Because when it comes to Hazel, fear like I’ve never felt before sears my veins. The thought of her dead, gone forever… I can say for the first time in my life, I was actually scared.
Fucking terrified.
I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my entire life. I’ve never even wanted to, no desire to have a relationship.
Though, Hazel has somehow broken down my barriers and found her way into my hallowed heart.
I rinse the shampoo from her hair gently, lathering it once again with conditioner. She keeps her eyes closed, her body against mine, scraped, wounded, bruised, battered in every way. Clinging to me, as if I’m her savior, when I’ve never been anything but her ruination.
I sigh as I finish soaping her, then wash myself down quickly, my aching muscles finally loosening under the warm water.
My hand goes to the faucet, and I turn it off, grabbing the towel that’s hanging over the shower. I wrap it around her, curling the corner under her arm, the soft plushness swallowing her whole. She seems like she’s somewhere else, not fully here. I understand the lack of emotion right now, but the complete blankness on her face is a little freaky.
I pull her into my room, rubbing the towel up and down my body, then moving to do the same to hers, until her skin is dry. She’s still cold, goosebumps causing her to shake with each step.
“Get into bed, Hazel,” I grumble.
She looks up at me, maybe for the first time since we left the water. Her eyes are lost, maybe a little confused as she stares at me.
I point to my gray comforter. “Go,” I bark.
I watch her blink slowly, her damp eyelashes playing against her creamy cheek.
It’s as if she can’t function right now by herself. I reach around her, grabbing the corner of my comforter, pulling it down for her to climb in.
My fingers slip in the corner of the towel, releasing it and letting it fall from her body. I guide her into bed, scrunching up my pillow a bit. She settles on her back, pulling the comforter up right below her chin. All I can see is her pale face, and her wet dark hair flowing around her.
She stares at the ceiling, her eyes growing wet, a pool of tears flooding before they tumble over the edge, sliding down her temple and into her ear.
My heart clenches, my insides twisting with discomfort.
What happened to her?
I walk around the bed, slipping into the other side. I curl my hand under the covers, my fingers wrapping around her warm skin. I pull her against me, and she lets out a shaky breath, keeping her eyes focused on the ceiling above her.
I say nothing. I just reach up, my fingers brushing away her tears every time they fall.
