Gabriel

33. Late Night Shower

Lykke Li – I Know Places

^^^I really suggest this song- totally sets the mood

Sorry for the wait JUST FINISHED FINALS and it killed me, not to mention I've just started working at a new job, but anyways:::::::::::::::::::::

Xoxo,

Caroline

p.s. sorry this took so long, but I honestly had SUCH a hard time writing this chapter without making it sexual :/ BUT ANYWAYS, read on, lovely people!!!

     ~~~

     GABRIEL

     It really takes all the mental strength within me not to look.

     I am normally very much so in control of my thoughts, and my feelings. So this level of difficulty that I have achieved by her nakedness standing less than a foot away from me is not easily avoidable. I bite my lip in concentration, trying to keep my gaze above her collarbone, but it really doesn't work much.

     Too exhausted to notice my internal struggles, she removes her last item of clothing, her eyes barely open. I unwrap the bandage on her head, throwing it in the trash by the sink and pulling a new one out from my pocket to ready for when we get out of the shower. Her fatigue is probably the only thing keeping me from kissing her silly, and her seemingly drunken and disorderly steps to the shower, prompt me to assist her over the blockade that prevents water from getting out. Careful that she doesn't trip, I let go of her momentarily. Quickly removing my shirt and pants as not to get them wet, I leave on my boxers and assist her into the shower while she stands half asleep on her feet.

     My heart thumps faster at the sight before me. It's something I've only fantasized about– but it's almost just as painful for it to be real and not obtainable as it was from my dreams. I try as hard as I can to resist the urge to check her out, as per her request, and make it as unsexual as possible.

     She flinches when I raise my hand quickly, and realize it looks similar to when someone would hit another person. I slowly reach behind her head and grab the shampoo from the built-in shelf.

     "Sorry, beautiful", I apologize quietly as the water rushed over her. I'm only partly wet as she stands mostly in the stream of water.

     "Is the temperature okay?" I ask as her skin starts to turn red. She shakes her head no and feeling behind her for the water, I sharply inhale, pulling my hand away at the scalding heat. Quickly adjusting it to a cooler temperature I turn my concern back to her unresponsive behavior.

     "Babygirl, are you okay?" I ask. She shakes her head again. No.

     "What's wrong; is your head hurting too badly? Are you feeling dizzy again? What can I do?" I ask worriedly, examining her face for any signs of pain.

     "Do you think I'm fat? I think I'm fat", she asks softly after a long moment of silence. Bewildered and left speechless by her absurd question, I can't answer. I know she thinks ill of herself, but I thought we were doing so well, especially last night as the gala, as she had gone so far as to tell me, "I feel pretty". It had made me so happy to know that she was slowly gaining confidence in herself. And there was nothing wrong with being fat; you just had a little extra meat on the bones. I know intelligent and successful people, who happen to be fat, so it wasn't such a horrible thing, although I didn't consider her to be one of those people. I just thought she had amazing, voluptuous curves. There's a difference. But with the derogatory tone she said the word in, I made me think she meant more by it.

     I could say to her that I would exercise with her, motivate her to get fit and eat healthier if she really felt that way about herself– but it would never help anything; her problems of self-loathing didn't stem from her body. It had taken a lot of explaining from her therapist for me to understand that everything with Maeve was mental from the years of physical and verbal abuse, coupled with her other trauma.

     It was all in her head; so trying to make her exercise and eat better than she already was doing would be futile.

     She needed to change the way she saw herself in her mind. And I want to be there to help her with that every step of the way.

     "Maeve, you are not fat. You are a beautiful young woman with curves to die for and a gorgeous, stunning body. And I'll brainwash you with those facts until you believe it because it's true. Please, trust me. Believe me over believing those stupid dumbfücks back in that god-forsaken town you came from. Please", I practically beg, the shower misting her face and fogging around us. Her wide eyes are so vulnerable and... young.

     I forget sometimes that she's still only a kid. Seventeen is definitely not grown up enough to have to be dealing with what she is dealing with and it aches to think of just a teenager having all these problems.

     The guilt ways heavily on me as I remember what I was doing at seventeen; partying and playing video games with friends, and skipping school with my brothers and just living before all the responsibilities of adulthood came crashing down on my head.

     It physically hurts to know that she won't get to experience the wonders of adolescence. It really hurts. And it makes me want to harm all the people that have stolen it from her.

     She's silently for a moment, unmoving. Then slowly she places a gentle kiss to my chest and her arms warm around my wait.

     And I know all that she meant without anything else being said the rest of the evening.

     –

     I wrap a dry towel around my waist quickly and get out of the soaking boxers underneath before turning my attention back to Mae. She shivers as she steps out of the steamy glass cubicle and I hold open the towel for her to step into. She turns her back to me as I engulf her curvy frame in the cloth. 

     She stumbles a bit as I let go, but grabs hold of the counter to steady herself. I really want to take her back to the hospital, because this amount of dizziness shouldn't be normal, but the doctor said that she should just take the medication and she would be fine because this was just one of the common mild side effects of a concussion.

     Helping her out of the bathroom, she lazily sits at the end of the bed and I rush to the closet to throw on a new pair of boxers and grab the gauze from the bathroom to wrap her cut. The nasty gash along her forehead looks quite painful, so I add Neosporin and silently give her a few ibuprofen to help with the throbbing. She whimpers as the bandage touches her cut, but I'm quick to wrap it around her head. I kiss her cheek reassuringly once I've finished, and she gingerly stands, walking without my assistance to get pajamas from our closet. She drops her towel once in the closet, most likely thinking I can't see her, and I know that I should give her privacy, and I know that I should just let her be, but I can't help but stare as her perfectly round and generous åss.

    She dresses in one of my shirts, and it falls just below her butt so I'm left only with the sight of her toned legs. I turn away reluctantly, giving her the privacy to finish dressing without my pervy gaze.

     My head snaps up at the sound of a clatter, and I rush to her side, realizing she's stumbled into my dresser. No words are exchanged as I just pick her up from the floor and set her down on the bed. She won't move from on top of me, so I reach to shut off my lamp across her. She buries herself deeper into my chest, her arms like claws around my torso.

      But I don't mind, not at all.

     "Maeve", I sigh, strangely and unconditionally happy.

     MAEVE

     There is something breathtaking about the way he says my name.