𝐀 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐎𝐟 𝐈𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠

❥ 𝑻𝑾𝑬𝑵𝑻𝒀 𝑺𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑵

MATEO||

Reaching for the cream that she left on the counter top, I walked closer to her back. Leaving just an inch between us. I tried not to think of the fact that she was half naked, and how small her body was compared to mine. I could practically wrap my hand around her waist. Or maybe I was the tall one.

My heart beat faster as I carefully squeezed some of the cream into my hand, trying to focus on the task. I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, and I has to swallow hard to keep my thoughts from straying. I gently applied the cream to her back, my fingers brushing over her skin. The soft contact sent  a jolt through me, and I tried to ignore the way my pulse quickened.

 The room was quiet, only thing I could hear was her breathing and the sound of droplets falling into the bathtub. I placed my hands on top of her shoulders and straightened her up. I felt her body stilled at my touch and she hissed a breath. I couldn't help but notice the tension in the air. We were so close, and yet there was a strange silence between us. I tried to steady my own breathing, focusing on the task and not the way she felt under my touch.

"Be careful, please. I have spine problems," she whispered.

I nodded, though I knew she couldn't see it. I felt like an idiot. I hadn't considered that she might be in real pain. She hadn't just asked me to help her casually; she'd asked because she needed it. I looked down at her back, my gaze searching for any signs of damage or bruising.

But when I saw the deep scars running down the side of her lower back, my heart clenched. I didn't know what to say. How had I missed this before? I could feel my stomach drop as I realized what I was looking at—self-harm scars. It was like a punch to the gut.

My hand froze in mid-air. I hadn't expected this, and I felt like I had been too blind to see the pain she had been carrying with her. I hadn't known. I hadn't understood.

I swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of how close I was to her. How vulnerable she was in this moment. I hadn't been thinking—wasn't thinking about the scars, or what they meant.

"Sorry," I muttered, almost to myself.

I took a deep breath, my fingers trembling slightly as I gently began to apply the lotion. My touch was slow, careful, deliberate. I needed to make sure I was gentle. I didn't want to hurt her more than she already was. My eyes kept flicking to the scars on her skin, and it was hard to keep my emotions in check. They were like an open wound in front of me—evidence of a battle she had fought silently.

I didn't know what to say to her. I didn't know how to ask, or if I even should. The scars spoke more than words ever could. Instead, I just focused on applying the cream, trying to be as soft as possible, trying to make the moment as comfortable for her as I could.

But inside, I was struggling. I wanted to know more, to help, but I didn't know how. And as much as I wanted to fix things, I knew I couldn't take away her pain. I could only be there. Be present.

And right now, that was all I could do.

She also had some on her upper arm. They didn't look recent; those were old ones. Seeing them, my heart tightened. I couldn't help but feel a rush of sympathy, mixed with an ache I couldn't quite place. At least they weren't fresh, but the weight of her past lingered in the quiet space between us.

"What are you waiting for?" she said, a little sharper than before. "I didn't ask you to help me just to stare at me the whole damn time."

I blinked, a little caught off guard, but she didn't seem angry—just a little nervous, maybe. I hadn't realized I was staring, but now, with her calling me out, I felt that familiar rush of embarrassment. I hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable.