Vice (H.S)

CHAPTER 22 - SAVIOR

I take in my surroundings as I wring out my soaked hair. His home is an extension of him: warm, inviting, beautiful. Cream-colored walls melt into rich hardwood floors. Stacks of well-loved books litter the tables. Velvet armchairs wait in softly-lit corners of the living room. Lush green plants peek from behind burning candlesticks. Heavy drapes bookend enormous windows, shuttered tightly closed against the storm raging outside.

"The power's out," Harry murmurs under his breath, a shiver in his words. "I'll start a fire."

I turn, facing him behind me as he gently shuts the front door. His lips are a purplish blue, cheeks pink from the cold rain outside these walls. The storm thrashes angrily and yet, here, secluded from the wind and water, we are safe. The candlelight flickers against his skin and I watch as his eyes rove over me.

Insecurity quickly creeps in, his stare becoming too intense. "Sorry, I'm... I'm dripping everywhere."

He waves the idea off, moving to gather bits of old newspaper and a box of matched, heading in the direction of the fireplace. As he works, I pace through the house slowly clocking each and every detail, filing it all away, each piece of information that gets me closer to knowing who this man is.

Soon the fire is full-force, flames licking at the stack of logs, burning black against the wood. Beckoning me towards him, Harry wraps a towel around my shoulders, easing me towards the floor, a safe distance from the fireplace. I watch, transfixed, eyes glued to the radiant heat in front of me, wild and fierce.

I feel myself zone out, in a meditative state from my seat on the floor. I feel nothing. I feel everything. It hurts. I am empty. I am nowhere. I am no one.

Beneath the logs, a newspaper clipping catches my eye, brings me back into my body, back into reality. It burns from the edge, heat tearing at the paper, curling the edges and melting the ink. It takes me a moment to realize what I'm staring, realize whose picture is burning.

It's the Governor.

I watch as Niall burns.

* * *

I sit there for what feels like hours, days. I come back into consciousness only when I hear his voice.

"You're still shivering." He sounds far away and I can practically hear the expression on his face, concern and curiosity.

"Winnie," his warm hands grip my cheeks on either side, pulling my attention towards him. His green eyes are lit with fear. "Jesus, you're freezing." He's wearing different clothes, dry. His hair too, once drenched, now hangs dry.

"Winnie, I think you need to see a doctor. I should take you home."

"No!" I startle, eyes wide in horror. "No, I cannot go back."

"Winnie-" he begins, but I beg.

"Please. Please, don't make me."

His perfect lips fall open in dismay. "I would never make you."

I sink, my shoulders falling. "Tomorrow."

He stills but understands. "Tomorrow, then. I'll take you home in the morning."

I watch as something flickers in his gaze, something passes over his features as he makes some sort of decision, ends some sort of internal battle. In an instant I'm in his arms, warmth surrounding me, his skin burning even through my soaked layers of clothing. My cold cheek finds the heat of his neck and I can feel his pulse against me. I hum, desperate sounds of neediness as I freeze against him.

And then he's gone, and I'm deposited onto the cold tiles of his bathroom floor.

"Harry," I murmur, teeth chattering, shivering violently. I hear familiar sounds as a faucet is turned onto full blast and, opening my eyes, I watch Harry begin filling the bath. "What are you doing?"

Then he's at my side, tugging at the sleeves of my soaked sweater, pulling the tough fabric off my languid arms. Then he starts on my dress, the buttons down the front worked with expert speed. In seconds I'm down to my camisole and shorts. I repeat the question, panic growing in my voice. "Harry, what are you doing?"

"You need to get out of these wet clothes." He's focused, making quick work of the task.

"I'm fine. I'm alright, I just need to-"

"You're not alright." The terror in his voice cuts through me and I meet his eyes. Serious, unsteady, wavering, but sure. I sink into his green eyes, lost in the sight of him before me. "Let me help you," he begs. So I let him.

He pulls the last layer of clothing from my skin, eyes glued to mine, not daring look below my chin. Harry turns away to shut off the faucet, dipping a long finger into the water to test the temperature. He reaches a hand for me and I stand on shaky legs, so aware of my nakedness, so acutely aware of my exposed flesh nearing his warm body. But as I round to face him, his eyes are closed, screwed shut even.

A second hand outstretches towards me and I take it, letting him help me into the hot water, gently, shakily with eyes closed. The water burns as it meets with every inch of my goose-bump-ridden skin, searing me and soothing me at the same time. Ankles, hips, hands, elbows, knees, shoulders hit the water slowly.

"Too hot?" he worries.

I shake my head, voice barely above a whisper. "No. No, it's alright.

Eyes still closed, he turns away, coming back only when he's found a large blanket to place beside the bathtub, settling alongside me, a safe distance away, my nakedness hidden.

The bathtub is old and beautiful, large and made from thick, hammered sheets of copper. More candles flicker gently on the windowsill, next to the sink, and their small flames cast golden light reflecting around the small room. Steam swirls up from the bath, the scent of something herbal filling me.

We're quiet for some time, though I wish he would say something. I wish he would distract me from the terrible thoughts swirling around in my head. I wish he would distract me from the announcement and the screaming fight and father's vow.

I wish he would distract me from the beautiful, illicit thoughts swirling around in my head. I wish he would distract me from the desire swirling in my belly, the knowledge of what it feels to have his touch, his kiss, his body against mine.

"It was silly, really." I break the silence on impulse and he looks to me, a thoughtful expression painting his perfect face. "I don't know why I came here."

He considers his response before speaking. Always considering. Rash. Decisive. Patient. Perfect.

"Because you feel safe."

And he's right. Like always, I realize. "I do. I feel safe with you." I sink back into the water, letting it rise to my chin.