Drowning With You

CH. 25 ❄️

Winter's POV

After a few more minutes, we reluctantly got out of the water, soaking wet and freezing now that the short breeze hits our skin. I grab on to her for any sort of warmth, not finding any but also not wanting to let go.

She notices, grinning as she grips my hand and holds it tight. It's comforting, being held and feeling the sense of stability—even if just for a moment.

I want to grab her and kiss her, but we're already holding hands and it seems too intimate to pass as something meaningless. Holding her for comfort while kissing her with... with what?

I can't let myself fall into that hole. I know that if we get closer, I won't be able to let go. Why can't I let myself back off?

So instead, we get to my room since it is closer, to which I suggest a warm shower.

"Winter Montgomery. Are you asking me to take a shower with you?" she asks, a small glimmer in her eyes at the thought. And back to the start, I end up giving in. How could I not? This is Louie Monroe. 

"I mean, it would save water..." I go on, smiling at her, already reaching at the hem of her shirt and lifting it. She doesn't stop me, even raising her arms so I can take it off easier. She grabs mine and removes it, then we go one by one with each of our clothing until we are naked and cold, grasping on to each other until the shower is warm enough.

We kiss and we touch each other under the hot water; it's sensual and peaceful. It's not for the outcome of orgasms, it was just making out and washing each other's hair and bodies, the steam surrounding us whole.

It's intimate and I should have stopped us. I should have told her that it's not what hook-ups do—and while I know I do not have experience, I know that this is too close. But I think she might already know this. She's had more experience with the hook-ups than me.

I turn off the faucet, both of us hot and soaked—in both ways. I look at her, watch as she grabs a towel and wraps it around herself. I don't like that she's covering herself, despite rationally knowing that she is only drying herself off. I grab one too, feeling warm—not as warm as when I'm with her.

I look at her pretty legs, never really looking farther down than her thighs—but with her naked and standing in front of me—I see her ankles, which are no longer bandaged. I've noticed wraps sometimes, like that time I felt that bandage on her stomach, but I've never questioned it. Only now, seeing it without, I allow myself to wonder.

Spinning her around, she giggles, then I lift her up onto the counter.

I kiss her gently, then let my hands fall from her thighs to her calves, lifting one up so I can take a better look at what's always been wrapped up. I'm curious now.

She quickly realizes what I'm doing and pulls away, her eyes darkening, her brows furrowing in confusion.

"The fuck? What are you doing?" Holding up her towel from falling, she keeps her hand out so I can't get any closer. She doesn't cover her ankles though, which gives me a chance to look down.

Small white scars scatter around both ankles, as if they were placed on purpose, too many and too clean of scars to be on accident. My heart races, afraid she is still hurting herself like this. I know I can't tell her to stop, that's not my place, but...

"Louie..." I start, not sure what I am supposed to say. Are you okay? When did this start? Is it still happening? Have my mean comments caused her this pain?

It's not that I don't understand covering mental pain with physical pain, because of course I do. I don't hurt myself in that same way, but I do in other ways. You can only feel one pain; might as well overwork myself until my body to forget about the stuff in my head. It's all about control.

"Winter. Don't." She tries to hop off the counter and escape, but I grab on to her hips and hold her down. I don't want her running. Not right now. I hate when she runs.

"No. I want you to talk to me. Please," I plead, loosening my grip to let her know that I want her to trust me. I want her to trust me enough to not leave, even if she has the chance to. She scoffs and averts her eyes away from my own, her face becoming blushed. She hates this. I do, too. But something keeps me going.

"You are nothing other than a good fuck. We aren't therapy buddies." Louie tries to deflect, despite all her previous actions countering her new words.

"Stop it. Don't say that," I say, not wanting to believe it all. Am I just being delusional? Desperate for any affection? Even from a woman? I know I haven't had many loving relationships, only having my mother as a good sort of friendship, in a way, but I really thought we had something. Anything.

"I'm fine. Seriously. I'm not doing that anymore," she tells me, a frown on her face.

"When was the last time?" I implore.

"Doesn't matter."

"Tell me anyways."

"A couple months ago," she sighs, rolling her eyes as she again tries to leave. I don't let her of course, moving closer, trapping her in.

I've been working with her since then. We've been swimming together and hanging out together. Her stomach that I have kissed over and over, the small lines that I had assumed were just her skin being lighter at spots or results of her body growing—I'm assuming they might have been something a bit more.

And the bandage she had waved off as scraping her stomach on the bleachers...

"Oh," is all I say. I'm not sure what else to say.

"It's fine. I'm fine. Winter, it's nothing. I'm sorry I was mean. Just forget about it. Please." Her eyes are calm now, more relaxed.

I don't want to hurt her. I really don't. I just want to understand her.

"Are you okay?" I ask, one last time.

"Yeah," she whispers, finally a small grin on her face as she lifts my chin and kisses me, her hands easily tugging on my towel and flicking my nipple with her thumb.

She's playing with me as a deflection, but I'm not going to pester her, at least not now.

"You know I'm here for you, right?" I whisper, holding back a moan as her lips touch my collarbone.

"Mhmm," she murmurers, her breathe hot against my skin.

"I'm here." And then her finger slides into me and I'm lost within her. Something in me knows this is more than I had thought. Maybe to her, we are fuck buddies, but it's not to me.

I like her. What the hell?

I care about her. When she's hurting, I am hurting. Her presence is more than tolerable, it's now something I crave. She's a woman and while I don't know what is happening anymore, something is going on and I can't ignore it. I'm tired of ignoring it-- but what's the point when she already stated what we are.

Nothing more than fuck buddies.

A/N: I am so tired LOL and have a closing shift tonight AND AM SO HUNGRY

also i went to the doctor and it was fine, although i wish i got more answers but i'm glad she listened to my concerns instead of my last few doctors that were so old and always dismissed anything i said!!

ANYWAYSSSS I LOVE YOU ALL and i hope you are enjoying this book!!