The Wailing Woman

36. Her Golden Threads

After taking a shower, I saw how much Antonio and the exorcism wrecked my body. I had a cut near my hairline stretched mid-way on my forehead and another underneath my chin. My neck was a reddish and yellowish color. Then there were the open flesh wounds on my arms and right thigh, swelling and throbbing. I managed to wrap them with some of the leftover gauze from last time.

Every day it gets a little harder to live and I don't know how long it will last but I'm trying not to give up. I'm trying.

I took a sharp breath and pulled the white cardigan over my body as droplets fell from the ends of my hair. I walked out of my room and headed straight to the bathroom. I know I should probably wait for Dilara to get back but I needed something to ease the pain everywhere. I had a couple of pills in the bathroom cabinets.

I opened the door and I stifled a gasp.

Grimm is in the bathroom, shirtless. His back muscles are taut and flexed, his arms are stretched out as he grips the sides of the sink. The shirt sits on the counter. His head hangs low with his wet disheveled hair callously shielding his eyes. But what surprises me is the stitching on his back.

Separate stitches are lined on his shoulder blades. His ghostly skin is pierced and entwined by a golden thread, each loop is knotted with a radiance but the more I stare the thread looks like a chain. I should not be looking. I should not—

"It's not polite to stare," Grimm uttered. "But for you, I'll make an exception."

I turned my head away and brought my hand over my eyes. "I didn't know you were in here, I only came to get some ibuprofen." I swallowed.

He goes quiet. My mind is racing about whether I should leave or stay but it seems my feet have grown a mind of their own and decided to plant themselves here. Why didn't I knock?

"Look at me." He whispers.

Maybe I misheard him. I keep covering my eyes from him, I think I should probably leave. I drag my feet backward. "Look at me." He says it clearer this time. I halted my steps, I feel as if I'm being tested. I don't move my hand.

"Please," His voice was full of need. "Look at me."

I slowly peek through my fingers, finding those starry eyes looking at me. His brows pinched together in desperation. He takes one quick stride and towers over my body, I take a step back and hit the door. My heart races pathetically. Grimm gently takes my hand and slowly brings it down from my eyes.

I keep my gaze on his eyes, I can't allow myself to wander.

"Why do you always hide from me? Why?" His eyes shift back and forth, searching. I can't breathe properly, he is too close. Dangerously close. "Does my back disgust you?"

I frowned, "No."

I didn't find him disgusting at all. I think—I think Grimm is beautifully rotten. I like his face now but I also like it when his veins have been corrupted by the blackened pulse. He knew this himself, he was aware of his looks.

Grimm took a step back, lifting his chin as his eyes locked with mine. "I want you to touch me." My eyes widened. What? "My back. I want you to touch my back." He clarifies.

Before I could say anything he turned around and I'm facing his rigid muscles with the glowing thread laced through his shoulder blades. I shouldn't touch him, I shouldn't touch him at all. But my hands ached and reached for him like a distraught temptation. I was too captivated by the golden threads in his perfectly smooth skin. It should've tainted him but it didn't.

"Touch me, raven," Grimm said hoarsely.

With my index finger, I lightly pressed it on his lower back and skimmed it upwards. I watched his muscles flexing beneath my touch as I drew closer, he shudders. My finger grazed the thread—I gasped—he truly had a thread laced into his skin. This is where his wings once were, I imagined them.