Vincent's POV:
I jolt awake to the sound of Sammi's whimpers and the sensation of her small hands urgently shaking my shoulder. Through bleary eyes, I take in her pale, sweat-slicked face and the fear etched into her delicate features.
"V-Vincent," she stammers, her voice trembling. "I had a nightmare... and I feel like I'm going to throw up."
Instinctively, I sit up, my protective instincts kicking into high gear. "Shh, it's okay, baby girl. I've got you," I murmur, scooping her petite frame into my arms with ease.
Sammi's body shivers against mine as I carry her to the bathroom, her fingers clutching the fabric of my shirt like a lifeline. The vulnerability in her eyes tugs at something deep within me, a primal need to shield her from any harm.
I gently set her down in front of the toilet, my hand automatically finding its way to her back, rubbing soothing circles. "Let it out, Sammi. Don't fight it," I coo into her ear, my voice low and reassuring.
She leans forward, her body convulsing as she retches into the bowl. The sight of her suffering ignites a fierce protectiveness in me, and I find myself wishing I could take her pain away.
"That's it, baby. You're doing great," I encourage her, my fingers combing through her sweat-dampened hair.
Sammi coughs and sputters, her small frame shuddering with each heave. "I-I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice hoarse and tinged with embarrassment.
I shake my head, a soft smile tugging at my lips. "Don't apologize, angel. You're sick, and I'm here to take care of you."
She looks up at me, her brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But you have important things to do, Vincent. I don't want to be a burden."
I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs gently wiping away the tears that escape down her cheeks. "Listen to me, Sammi. You are never a burden. You're my everything, and nothing is more important than making sure you're okay."
Sam's POV:
I stare in horror as Vincent turns on the faucet, the sound of rushing water filling the bathroom. My stomach churns, the sickness mingling with a sinking realization.
"No, Vincent, please," I plead, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can bathe myself."
Vincent's dark eyes meet mine, a smirk playing on his lips. "Nonsense, Sammi. You're too weak to do it yourself." He steps closer, his fingers grazing my cheek. "Besides, I want to take care of my sick little angel."
I flinch at his touch, my heart pounding in my chest. "But..."
He presses a finger to my lips, silencing me. "Shh, just relax. Let me help you out of those dirty clothes."
Vincent's hands slide under the hem of my vomit-stained shirt, his touch igniting a wave of revulsion. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to endure as he peels the garment off my trembling body.
"Please, I don't want..."
"Hush now," he coos, his breath hot against my ear. "I'm just going to get you nice and clean."
Tears prick the corners of my eyes as Vincent strips away the rest of my clothing, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. The steam from the bath fogs the mirror, blurring my reflection - a small mercy.
"Step in, Tesoro," Vincent commands, guiding me towards the tub.
I comply, my limbs heavy with dread. The warm water envelops my aching body, providing little comfort as Vincent kneels beside the tub.
"Lean back," he instructs, his hand on my shoulder, pushing me gently.
I sink into the water, my heart racing as Vincent reaches for the shampoo. He squeezes a dollop into his palm and begins massaging it into my hair, his fingers working through the tangles.
"See? Isn't this nice?" he murmurs, his lips curling into a satisfied smile.
I remain silent, my eyes fixed on the ripples in the water. Vincent's hands move lower, his fingers grazing the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.
"You're so beautiful, Sammi," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. "Even when you're sick, you take my breath away."
I swallow hard, my throat constricting. "Vincent, I..."
"Shh, just relax," he repeats, his hands sliding over my shoulders, his touch lingering. "Let me take care of you."
Vincent's fingers dance across my collarbone, dipping lower, caressing my skin. I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to scream, to recoil from his invasive touch.
"You're mine, Sammi," he breathes, his lips brushing against my ear. "Forever and always."
Tears spill down my cheeks, mixing with the bathwater. I feel trapped, suffocated by Vincent's presence, his unwanted affection.
"Please, stop," I whimper, my voice cracking.
Vincent's hand stills, his eyes narrowing. "Stop? I'm just showing you how much I love you." He leans in closer, his nose brushing against my cheek. "Don't you want me to love you, Sammi?"
I tremble, my heart shattering into a million pieces. "Not like this," I whisper, my words barely audible over the lump in my throat.
Vincent's grip tightens on my shoulder, his fingers digging into my flesh. "You are ungrateful. I am all you have, Sammi. Me. And you will accept my love, however I choose to give it."
I flinch at the harshness of his words, the weight of my reality crashing down upon me. Vincent resumes his ministrations, his touch no longer gentle, but possessive, demanding.
As he washes away the remnants of my sickness, I feel a part of myself slipping away, drowning in the depths of despair. I close my eyes, retreating into the recesses of my mind, desperate to escape the nightmare that has become my life.
But even in the darkness behind my eyelids, I cannot escape the truth: I am trapped, a prisoner in my own body, bound to a man who claims to love me, yet destroys me with every touch, every word.
And as the water grows cold around me, I realize that no amount of washing can cleanse me of the stains Vincent has left on my soul. I am forever tainted, forever his sick little angel, with no hope of escape.
