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You know what to do. She's going to get sick if you do not clean her up.
I was grateful for one thing; her bra and knickers were black. Not see-through at all. Simple. Like a bathing suit. That's how I had to look at them.
I put some Epsom salt in the water, as well as some bubbles. And when it was filled up halfway, I eased her into the tub.
"Can I trust you to sit here and not try to drown yourself? I picked up some things for you earlier. They're in the car. Do you mind?"
Her gaze darted to mine, but she said nothing. "I'll take that as a yes."
I've never moved so quickly in my life. I took the stairs two at a time all the way down, back into the car to grab all the things, and then back upstairs. She was exactly where I’d left her. She’d made no attempt to move. She could have been out of the bedroom again if she wanted, but she hadn't moved an inch.
You actually broke her this time.
I laid out all the products Reginald had told me to get. Some conditioners, some shampoo, hydrating things for curly hair, bath gels, and stuff. Detangling brushes, those sorts of things. I'd spent all bloody last night watching a goddamn YouTube video because I knew she couldn't be trusted to do it on her own without either trying to poison herself or use it to escape in some way. Knowing her, she'd plan a way to make some beauty product into some kind of incendiary device.
The sick, whacked-out part of me found that funny.
I grabbed a washcloth and started with her feet, using the baby cleanser I’d bought for her skin to clean them.
She didn't wince. She didn't move.
"I'm sorry you hurt yourself. I didn't want you to get hurt."
The truth was a funny thing as it wound its way around my heart.
Her gaze flicked to me again, but she still said nothing as I silently cleaned her feet. The only indication that she was still with me was the way she winced and flinched away from my touch when I cleaned the gash.
"I'm sorry. We need to clean it, or you'll get sick."
She glowered at me mutinously, and I was glad to see some semblance of her former self back, even if it was just a peek. I moved through the basics of her bath quickly, even as I checked and inspected her. She had some bruises, a few cuts and abrasions, but she was mostly okay. I was all business as I washed her legs and then proceeded to start draining the water even as I added fresh water in. When she was all clean, save her hands, I used another gentle cloth to clean them. "How did you get out? You scraped up your hands pretty bad."
Her palms were abraded and bruised and scratched. She winced when I cleaned those, but I was most worried about the abrasions on her wrist, her knuckles, and her thumb. “Does this hurt?”
She didn’t answer. Just stared past me.
I preferred her fighting. This hollowed out version of her sliced me too deep.
Daphne
Later that night, I lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. Drake had cleaned me up as best he could and Reginald had tried to feed me.
They’d left my hair for tomorrow since I was so out of it.
The darkness of the room weighed on me like a heavy, suffocating blanket. My mind raced, replaying the events of my life in an endless loop. Eventually, I managed to calm down enough to drift off into an uneasy sleep, but it was far from peaceful. Nightmares haunted me throughout the night, leaving me exhausted and emotionally drained come morning light.
I was six again. I flashed back to my mother's cruel laughter as she slammed the door shut, trapping me in the closet. Tears of terror streamed down my face as the familiar feelings surged through my veins like electricity, refusing to be ignored and making it nearly impossible to relax.
The memories of that night came flooding back. I could feel the cold fear in my chest, a tightness that refused to be released. Tears streamed down my face as I remembered how helpless I had felt when my mother had slammed the door shut, trapping me in the closet.
I shivered, my body trembling with terror and anger. I curled up into a ball, trying to make myself as small as possible so I could disappear and never have to face her again. But I knew it was impossible. There was no escape from her cruelty and hatred.
Then I woke up. And still, all these years later, I couldn't help but wonder why she did those things to me. Was it really just because she didn't want me around? Or was there something else going on? Something deeper than the obvious?
I was still at Reginald’s country home, moonlight filtering through the cracks in the blinds. And instead of the biting cold of the closet, I felt a warm hand holding mine.
Drake.
He was standing over me, a frown etching deep lines into his face. Even in the dim light, I could see his eyes, bright and watchful. It struck me then how protective he seemed. For a moment, I let myself bask in that feeling, something I'd never experienced in the past. His gaze dropped from my face to our joined hands, then back up to meet my eyes. I could see the questions in his gaze. He wanted answers, but I wasn't sure if I was ready to give them.
