His Identity

41

I guide Nick towards the shower, carefully turning on the water until it reaches a lukewarm temperature.

The sound of rushing water fills the room, cutting Nick's whining short. He keeps saying that he doesn't want to get wet. Well, too bad.

I release his arm as attempts to walk inside but ends up leaning against the wall, gripping the edges hardly. "I can't fucking walk on my own," he mutters harshly, sounding angry— with himself. "I can barely stand."

He looks at me, his eyes not only holding tiredness but also pain. I scan every line and contour with affectionate concern. Though clouded by alcohol-induced haze, his features still holds a rugged attractiveness that hasn't faded with his inebriation.

Sensing that I need to maintain control of the situation, I hold his arm again, "okay, just don't let me do all the work because we will both end up on the ground."

He nods and I slowly help him walk further inside. Then I carefully push him under the shower, his back against the wall as he allows the water to cascade over his fully clothed body. His white shirt clings to his well-built frame, the damp fabric outlining each muscle and accentuating his physique. I can see all the tattoos in his chest. I hold in a sigh as I observe the transformation, appreciating the unexpected allure that the water brings out in him. I hold him still under the water, not caring that I'm getting soaked as well. I don't dare take my eyes off him and doesn't stop staring at me either.

For a moment, I wonder if that's what he does everytime he disappears. Does he get drunk as hell all the time or is this just a one time thing? If it's not then how the fuck does he manage on his own? He can barely stand right now. I make a mental note to ask him later.

Droplets of water adorns Nick's lips and eyelashes, glistening like tiny diamonds against his skin. I can't help but notice the way they linger, caressing his features with a delicate touch. The sight makes my heart skip a beat, momentarily distracting me from her initial intentions.

Shit. Great. Just what I needed.

I quickly refocus myself. This is serious shit.

"Aveline," Nick says, finally closing his eyes. "What did he do to you?"

I know who he's talking about and what he wants to know, yet I feign confusion. "What?"

"That Brad or whatever the fuck he calls himself," he runs his hands through his hair then down his face before opening his eyes again. "What— what did he do?"

"That's a story for another day."

He only hums in response, his eyes closing again as he looks like he's about to fall asleep right here. "Don't you dare."

"I'm so tired," he groans, "and sleepy."

"Okay, we'll get you to bed once you've showered." Which I'm pretty sure he hasn't done since last night. "For how long has Brian been in your basement?" I try to keep him awake as I grab a bar of soap and begin to lather it up.

He's silent for a while as if he's thinking about it before he finally replies, "yesterday evening, I think."

He turns around to ease my work when my hands move in small, circular motions, massaging the soap into his hair and down his neck, all the while ensuring that he remains steady on his feet. "I can do that myself, you know?"

"I doubt that," I say as he turns back around. "You can barely stand."

His lips twitches for I don't know what reason then he says, "maybe I'm only pretending so you'd stay here with me."

"Are you?"

"Now, yes." He doesn't bother lying, "a few minutes ago, I wasn't." The water continues to rain down upon us, creating a symphony of droplets dancing against our skins. The steam fills the room, enveloping us in a soothing warmth.