LISA
"Take a shower."
Kellan's soft words distract from the darkness inside my head.
I don't even rember leaving Ava's place, but here we are. Ho. His ho, but also mine.
My fingers refuse to work. The zipper on my coat stays firmly in place despite my attempts to grip it. Everything feels distant, like I'm watching soone else's hands fail at this simple task.
"Here." His hands replace mine, steady and warm. Rough and calloused. Strong. Dependable. "Let help."
The zipper slides down with a quiet hiss. He peels the coat from my shoulders, but it's warm in here; I don't need it. There's a fire going in the wood stove already. I'm not sure if soone kept it going for us while we were gone, or if they started it when we returned.
Dark stains splash against the brown fabric, mostly from behind. Mira's blood. The sight should make react, should make feel sothing. But there's nothing. Just emptiness. I'm exhausted; all my feelings have been felt.
"Arms up."
I comply without thinking, letting him pull off my sweater. Then the thermal shirt. Another sweater. The layers fall away one by one until I'm in just a thin long-sleeve shirt that clings to my skin, damp under the arms from sweating.
"Your pants are wet from the snow."
His voice stays gentle, clinical. Like he's talking to a spooked animal. Maybe he is. I stare at my snow pants, noticing more dark patches near the knees where I knelt beside...
Hmm. No. Those thoughts lead to danger. I've already spent too much ti down that road today.
Function, Lisa. You need to function.
My boots co off next. Then the snow pants. Two pairs of thermal leggings. My movents are chanical, automatic, following Kellan's quiet instructions without really processing them. My body and mind have lost their intrinsic connection.
He gathers the bloody clothes into a pile. Maybe they'll need to be burned. Can't wash out that much blood. Can't...
The room tilts slightly. Kellan's hand steadies my elbow.
"Shower," he reminds . "You'll feel better once you're warm."
Will I? It feels warm enough in here. I don't think I'm that cold.
Besides, the numbness feels safer than whatever waits on the other side of it. But I stay silent, letting him guide toward the bathroom. My feet move without my input, carrying across the wooden floor.
The bathroom light flicks on. Steam rises from the shower—he must have started it while I undressed. The mirror shows a stranger's face, pale and blank-eyed. I don't recognize her. She looks like shit.
"Do you need help?" He asks from the doorway.
I shake my head. The motion feels disconnected, like my body belongs to soone else. "I can manage."
"I'll be right outside if you need anything."
The door clicks shut. Water drums against tile, filling the small space with white noise. I strip off my remaining clothes, slow and clumsy. Step under the spray.
Heat penetrates the numbness, just barely. Water runs pink for a mont as it washes away traces of blood I hadn't noticed on my hands. Even on my neck.
I stand there, letting the water pour over , not really washing. Just... existing. The steam wraps around like a blanket, and I float in the emptiness.
My mind turns off, letting just exist in the mont.
"Lisa?"
The shower door opens abruptly, letting in a rush of cool air. Kellan's broad fra fills the space, cool air breezing against my skin.
"Lisa? You've been in here for twenty minutes."
A violent shiver wracks my body. The water pelts my skin like needles of ice. When did it get so cold? I never noticed.
"Shit." He reaches past to shut off the water. "You're freezing."
My teeth chatter. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how numb my fingers feel. How long have I been standing here? The last clear mory I have is watching blood swirl down the drain.
I didn't like that.
"You haven't even washed." Kellan's voice stays soft, but his jaw tightens. He grabs the shampoo bottle. "Let help."
The warmth of his hands against my scalp sparks the first real sensation I've felt since... since. His fingers work through my hair with gentle efficiency, spreading soap in careful circles. I close my eyes, focusing on that touch, on the way his callouses catch slightly against my wet hair.
He guides under the spray, which he's turned on again. It's warr now.
Rinse, water off, condition, water on, rinse.
The motions blur together as his hands move down to my shoulders, working shower gel across my skin. There's nothing sexual about it—his touch remains clinical, purposeful. But it's real. Present. The only solid thing in a world that's gone sideways.
Steam rises around us again. His shirt is soaked through, clinging to his chest. He doesn't seem to notice or care as he finishes washing , his movents quick but thorough.
"Stay here." He steps away, returning with a huge fluffy towel. The air feels colder without him close.
He wraps the towel around , rubbing my arms to generate warmth. Another towel for my hair. His hands never stop moving, never stop touching. Each point of contact anchors a little more firmly in my body.
Kellan kneels, using a fresh towel to dry my legs. "Foot up." He pats his knee.
I comply, watching as he thodically dries each toe, my ankle, my calf. His hands are so warm. Everything else feels distant, muted, wrapped in cotton wool. But his touch... that's real. That's here. That's now.
The need hits like a physical blow—the desperate desire to feel sothing, anything, that isn't this horrible emptiness. To connect with soone real and alive and present.
I grab his face between my palms and crush my mouth to his. His stubble scrapes my fingers. His lips are soft, surprised. For one heartbeat, he's absolutely still.
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