𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝟏𝟖+

| 𝟑.𝟗

—
"When did everything change for the worse?"
—

Grief is something I'd never thought would start with me. My eyes were red and swollen, ribs bruised and stretching my skin. My normally tan olive skin was pale and cold to the touch. My dark curls were matted and had yet to leave its constricted ponytail.

I grieved myself.

I don't necessarily associate grief with just death and sadness. A lot of the grief takes place in the form of emotional distress or something anticlimactic, like wishing I hadn't left work yesterday only to be briefly kidnapped. But my body felt broken, and my mind was shot, and behind the smokey mirrors, all I saw was Creed and his forest eyes and poisonous smile.

"Baby?"

I shot my attention to the male figure behind me in the bathroom doorway. I managed to take a long shower without slipping and falling. Much to Creeds demise, I hadn't let him help me. "Hmm?"

His face pinched almost painfully. "Let's get you dressed, okay? I don't want you getting sick."

I felt sicker than I've ever been in my entire life.

Creed gently grasping the back of my shoulder blade, guided me to the bed were a set of clothes had already been laid out. Scratching the skin of my thigh gently, I move my hand to grasp the large sweatshirt, only for him to beat me to it. "Bend your elbows a little—yeah like that," he encourages gently.

With a small pained grunt I maneuvered the sweatshirt over my chest. Creed then slides a pair of underwear and sweats over my legs. When fully clothed I sigh in relief. Despite being used to Creeds wandering eyes, I couldn't help but feel self conscious about my appearance. I've lost some weight from all the stress these past few months and was covered in marks and bruises.

Creeds lips meet my forehead as I sit on the edge of the bed. He places a towel atop my head and began to dry my hair in a way I would've been convinced it was candy floss. I take the time to lean my head on his exposed stomach and sigh against his extremely warm skin. "We go home today, right? What do I tell them? And my mom—"

"Baby, please calm down," he mumbles, "I took care of everything."

Creed pulls my head back with the towel still on my head and kisses me. I cave in instantly to his touch and groan when his tongue swipes the cut on my lip. "Creed," I whisper, "don't let go of me."

His pupils dilate a moment after they meet mine and a soft chuckle passes his lips. "Not even in death, my love."

I smile and clench the loops in his jeans without failure while coming to a stand. Creed pulls me under his shoulder and together we meet the lady downstairs. Last night, she kept to herself mostly, slipping a few comments here and there. But I couldn't help but notice the smallest difference in Creeds mood when we shared proximity with her. The tiniest bit of animosity wafting from his movements. "Be nice."