Fixing Us

The room is silent, my words hanging in the air. His body is stiff against me. 

Stupid. I'm so stupid! Why would I say that? How could I let myself say that?

As inconspicuous as possible, which is hard considering I'm facing him, I move toward the end of the bed, ready to go on a long drive to contemplate my actions then falling asleep on the couch. My tired eyes protest at the thought, but the rest of my body is wired, ready to flee the scene. 

Where are you going to go? With what car? 

The snarky voice attacks me - reminds me of my mistakes - my helplessness. It's like a punch to the gut, a dark cloud looming above my head. Pushing that thought and everything else out of my head, I focus on my body. I slowly swing my legs over the side of the bed, the coldness of the floor beneath my feet. Gathering my strength, I push on the bed, my right leg taking most of my weight. Standing up, I slowly walk to the door, Damon seems stuck in a trance as I look back at him from the doorway. 

Turning around, I glare at the stairs. I'm not making that mistake again. Instead, I walk to the bathroom. I need a shower. It may not be the best idea considering I'm covered in bandages and my stitches are exposed, but I feel the dry blood, dirt, and other grime coating my body. I need to be clean, erase the last few days. At least physically. 

Turning on the showerhead, I take off the tainted bandages, throwing them in the trash bin. It quickly fills to overflowing, white and red glaring contrastingly against the black bin. I shake my head, turning away from the mess and toward the full length mirror hanging on the door. 

I take a minute to inspect my body. Damon was right, every inch of me has some sort of bruise or cut. Turning to the side, my back is the same way. I don't even recognize myself. The old scars on my body blend in with the new ones, creating a new skin. I glare at my reflection. I need to get better. Not just for me, but for the boys outside of this room that have sacrificed so much for me with nothing in return. 

Closing my eyes, I step away from the mirror and into the lukewarm water. I hiss in pain as it comes in contact with my battered body. It stings my cuts, little rivers of blood flowing down from the intrusion of water. 

I stand under the spray, my face tilted toward the showerhead. The water comes down against my face and I feel as if everything from the last few days starts to flow down my body, down the drain. It's relieving. I can finally breathe again. I stand like this even as I hear the bathroom door crack open, too lost in the sensation to care. 

Hearing footsteps, I turn my face away from the spray of water and towards the direction of the sound. The rings of the shower curtain drag against the rod as Damon's hand pulls it to the side. Water bounces off of my body and onto his t-shirt, turning the white translucent. 

"I'm sorry." We both say at the same time. My eyes, previously looking at his chest, shoot up to his face. His eyes are dark, remorseful. 

"You're sorry?" I ask incredulously. What would he have to be sorry for? "I should be the one apologizing. I have made your life so hard, much harder than it needed to be, these months that we have known each other. You and your brother have done so much for me without anything in return."

"I love you." All the breath feels like it's been knocked out of my chest at his confession. He loves me? Why? How? "I should have said it the moment you said it to me. I love you, Rose. You make me a better man. You showed me that there is more to life than running. I wasn't living before I met you, I was simply surviving. Yes, it has been hard, but I don't regret a single moment. I found my soulmate and I will do anything to keep you. You are mine. From the very first moment I saw you until you take your last breath and even then we will never be apart."

My hands grip his shirt, pulling him closer to my body. Taking another step toward the shower, he leans in, his face inches from my own. I close the last bit of distance between our lips. They touch softly, sweetly, tentatively. He tastes like mint. Our lips meld together perfectly as if his lips were meant to be on mine. Slowly they move against each other, fireworks go off in my brain, warmth spreads through my body. Home is the only word to describe how it feels. I'm finally home. 

His hands gently find their way to my hips as he deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping against my bottom lip asking for entrance. Tangling my hands in his hair, I part my lips, our tongues moving in harmony against each other. Wanting no space between us, I pull away my breath coming out in pants. Looking at him from under my eyelashes, I grab the hem of his shirt and try to pull it above his head. It doesn't make it past his shoulders until he leans his body towards me. Dropping the piece of clothing on the floor, my hands work on his pajama bottoms. They come off easily until he is standing there in only his boxers. My breath gets stuck in my throat. He's beautiful. I have never seen someone so perfect. His torso is lean and hard, muscles straining against his tattooed skin. Each tattoo shares a story like a book that I never want to stop reading. 

My thoughts are interrupted as he tilts my chin up from his chest to meet his eyes. I can't read the expression on his face, but I can only hope he feels the same way I do. 

Moving his body, he steps into the shower behind me. Bending down, he sweeps me off of my feet and into his strong arms. His muscles flex and bulge with the movement. Bringing my face back to his, our lips meet again. The kiss is not rushed but there is a sense of urgency that wasn't there before as though we can't get enough of each other. My hands find their way back into his hair as his remain holding me up by my butt to avoid the stitches on my left leg. Spinning us around, he gently sets me against the shower wall, deepening the kiss. His body leans against me, the slightest pressure, but it feels incredible. His lips leave my own and attach to my neck, leaving butterfly kisses from the hollow of my throat to the sweet spot just below my ear. I pull at his hair from the sensations, a moan escaping my lips. 

As if my moan broke the trance he was in, Damon detaches his lips from my neck. "If we don't stop now," his husky voice whispers next to my ear, "I won't be able to and your body can't handle what I want to do to you right now." 

Turning around so I'm back under the spray of the water, he gently puts me back on my feet, his hands holding me up until he knows I'm stable enough to stand on my own. 

Turning around, he pours some of my shampoo in the palm of his hand. Rubbing his hands together, the liquid turns white and foamy. He delicately massages it through my hair and into my scalp. 

"Mm," I hum out. My eyes flutter shut as a feeling of serenity takes over my body. 

He continues rubbing my head long after the shampoo coats my hair. My body leans against his. 

"Time to rinse, Rose." 

My trance is broken by Damon's soft voice. He tilts my hair into the water separating the strands to get all the soap out. He follows the same routine with the conditioner, exhaustion seeping back into my body from his ministrations. Yawning, I hear Damon chuckle. 

"Almost done. Stay with me."

I hum again in response. My eyes remain closed and I lean more on Damon every passing minute. I flinch as Damon's hands touch a bruise.

"I'm sorry. Bear with me." Guiding my hands to his hair, he threads my fingers into his locks. "Pull when it hurts, okay?"

I nod even though I know I won't hurt him just to make myself feel marginally better. 

His touch is soft as he cleans my body with the body wash. My mind tries not to think of his hands all over me, but it's all I can focus on. They feel incredible against my skin even with the slight pain from his movements. 

"Good girl. Rinse off." 

Hands around my hips, he slightly pushes me back under the water. 

The water lightly beats down on my body, taking all the soap and grime off of me. I feel lighter. 

Damon's hands detach from my body and my eyes fly open, looking for him. Why did he let go? 

"Step to the end of the shower."

Following his directions, I walk completely out from under the water. Once again he bends down and lifts me into his arms. Turning us around, he grabs my towel off the back of the door and drapes it over me, wrapping it around my front with one hand. 

He steps out of the bathroom, the cold air engulfs my body making me shiver. 

"I'm going to dry you off then patch you up, okay?" 

I nod absentmindedly, cuddling closer into his warm chest. I wish we could stay like this forever. I have never felt safer.

He sets me down on the bed, taking the towel and dabbing my body with it, careful not to drag it over any cuts. Satisfied that I'm dry, he rings my hair out in the towel then runs his fingers through the strands. Instead of the usual pain from my tangled strands, they seem to willingly part as his fingers run through them. Stepping back, he turns around and moves to his side of the bed where the first aid kit lies on his nightstand. 

"I'm going to need more supplies," he whispers to himself while blowing out a breath. 

"I'm sorry." 

Snapping his head toward me and away from the mostly empty kit, he gives me a weak smile. "You have nothing to be sorry for." 

Kneeling down in front of me, he takes his time to bandage every cut on my body, checks my stitches, and lightly kisses every bruise. By the time he is done most of my skin is covered in white bandages again. 

"I think that's everything. Let's get you to bed." 

He lifts my feet and places them on the bed, covering me with the comforter right after. He walks to the door of our bedroom, my heart dropping then racing at the thought of him leaving me. 

"Stay." My voice comes out slightly panicked and breathy. 

He looks conflicted with himself. "I don't want to hurt you." 

"You won't. Please stay." 

He continues to debate with himself, but one look at my distressed face makes up his mind. Walking over to the dresser, he changes his boxers then climbs into the bed with me. 

I shift my body so my head is laying on his chest, his heart beat reverberating under my head. 

"Sleep, Rose," he whispers, his fingers finding their way back into my hair. 

Cuddling further into his warm chest, a content sigh passes my lips. The last thing I feel before darkness consumes me is the pressure of his lips against my head as he kisses my hair.