Destroyed

Chapter 8

*Oliver's POV*

The entire time I was cleaning Barry up, he didn't say a word. He didn't make a noise. The first thing I did was start a bath. I set him on the counter before I quietly reassured him that all I was doing was getting clothes from our bedroom, which was right across the hall. He could keep his eyes on me the entire time, and I think thats the only reason why he let me.

I put him in the bathtub and started to wash his hair. Then the rest of his body. His battered, broken body. When I got close to his private area I went slowly and hesitantly. I wouldn't want to hurt him even more. After that was done I rinsed him off with the shower head and drained the tub. I wrapped a big and fluffy towel around his small body. It's clear that he hasn't eaten much, his ribs were visible and his stomach was con-caved. It made me sad, but it also made me unbearably angry. Not just his stomach, everything. From the look in his eyes when I first found him to his abused body.

I wasn't going to do that right now though. My baby needs me. I can torture and rip the one who did this apart later.

After I wrapped the towel around him, I lifted him from the tub and set him on the rug. I dried his body and helped him change into the sweat pants and oversized hoodie i got for him.

   After quietly warning him I was going to pick him up, I lifted him bridal style and took him to the kitchen. I set him on the counter a few feet from the stove.

    "What do you want to eat baby?" I asked quietly.

    He shrugged. I guess I'll make him tacos, as long as we have all of the things to make it in the fridge. After checking that we had all i would need, i set the stuff on the counter and started cooking.

    While I was cooking I looked at Barry a lot. It made me sad. The more I studied him, the more my heart broke.

    His eyes were dull, his face in a frown, his posture looked very worn, defeated. He looked like he had truly given up. And that broke me.

   He stared out into space almost the entire time I cooked. I made 8 tacos. If he was hungry after, I would make him more.

   I plated the food and put it on the kitchen table.

   "What do you want to drink baby?" I ask gently.

   "Water is fine," he whispered. It was the first time I had heard him talk since we had gotten back. His voice was hearse and scratchy.

   "Okay," I said.

    I got him a glass of water and set it by the plate, then went back into the kitchen to retrieve my baby. I picked him up again and set him down at the table in front of his food.

    He looked at me, almost as if he was asking permission to eat. I nodded my head and he started eating. I sat down next to him.

   "It's really good, thank you," he said after finishing his second taco.

   "Good, I'm glad. I am not a cook so I was a little scared," I said, softly chuckling a little.

   He smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes. But he was trying. We would work on it. And we will fix everything that has been shattered. Because thats what we do.