🥊 Hate or Fate 💕 {Enemies to Lovers}

.51.

The water filling Gray's massive whirlpool tub was deliciously warm and smelled of rose oil and jasmine. The luxurious pink bubbles floated by in peaks like the floating peaks of pearlescent meringue pies. Normally, an indulgent bubble bath full of aroma oils and the occasional jet stream to loosen my muscles sounded amazing. 

Unfortunately, the heavenly water lapping at my naked skin was slowly clawing at my sanity, stripping away the last few bloody layers I'd been clinging to. 

I felt raw, like an infected cut that had started to throb from growing contamination.

Gray was so incensed he could scarcely speak, and for the first time in weeks, he could barely bring himself to touch me. When he did, he handled me like an invalid or a ticking bomb that needed to be diffused.

He and Rebecca were on the other side of the bathroom door, debating whether or not to file for a protective order on my behalf. 

Driving to the police station, giving my statement, having a stranger take pictures of my body, waiting for Rebecca to give her statement, repeating my statement, and signing the final written copy, all took hours, and hours. 

The evidence of Elijah's charge for 'domestic battery' still throbbed on my skin.

Before he lowered me into the tub, I caught sight of myself in Gray's expansive mirror. My neck was decorated in a nasty band of dark greenish-purple, roughly in the shape of Elijah's forearm. And, beneath my swollen eyes were two yellow-lined lavender bruises, emerging like ominous waxing moons.

That was going to be hard to explain to our client next week. It was going to be even worse trying to explain to Maleficent or Braxton, who would no doubt point it out.

I looked bad because what Elijah did to me was inexcusable. 

I was still too shocked to even process it. 

It felt as though it wasn't real, or it had happened in a dream. The terror of his attack was still peripheral, hovering around the edges of my lucidity, ready to strike.  

Elijah's cruel and cryptic words rang in my mind, clear as the hatred burning in his eyes. What did he mean by Gray's access? Access to what?

I pulled my knees to my chest, staring blindly at the symmetrical glass tiles covering every wall of Gray's bathroom. 

The water felt like sandpaper rubbing my skin with its relaxing aromas and sumptuous oils. I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to forget the awful events of that evening.  

I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

The door to the bathroom clicked and I glanced up to find Gray coming through. 

He was dressed down in a pair of sweats and a fitted t-shirt that looked soft enough to curl up in. I stared at his tattoos, focusing on the subtle shading and pops of brilliant color on his refined muscles.

"Isla?" His voice was so deep, yet so soft, like a tender embrace when I needed it most. "I'm just going to be here, if you want to talk, we can. If you want to go back to the police station to file for protection, we can do that too. Rebecca is going to go home, but she and Bart are going to be on standby if you need anything."

"We're bringing Bart into this now?" I mused, half impressed by my friend's quick and decisive actions, and half annoyed that more people had to get involved. "Why?"

"Because Rebecca needs emotional support after what she saw Elijah do to you," Gray's tone was shaky. "And I need to focus on you right now, so, she's going to call someone that can be there for her."