Stained

Chapter 43

After my shower, I realise that I didn't bring any clothes with me.

Grabbing a towel I wrap it around my naked body. I peep my head out of the door in hopes he might have left my clothes there after the dryer because I'm pretty sure they're done by now. But they're nowhere to be seen.

"Damien!" I call out. Two seconds later Damien opens the door and comes in, placing his phone into the back pocket of his faded black jeans.

"What is it?" He asks.

I look down, make sure the door shields my body from his view. "Please can you get my clothes from the washing machine?"

He nods and leaves the room.

Something white catches my attention and it takes my blurry vision a second to figure out it's my bra on his nightstand. A blush stains my cheeks at the thought of Damien seeing my bra. My plain white ugly bra at that. Could this day get any worse?

Damien comes back into the bedroom. "Fifteen minutes left till it's done. How long did you leave it on for?" Scratch that it just did.

"I couldn't figure it out and accidentally did two hours," I mumble embarrassed. What am I supposed to do until then? Stay in the bathroom in a towel. The cold is slowly starting to catch up with me.

"Should have called me," he tells me.

"You were asleep and I didn't want to wake you." Lie. I was hoping to leave before he woke up. "Could we turn off the machine? I'm sure it's dry by now."

"The door won't open either way."

I thought as much. Ours does the same.

"You shouldn't have put my clothes in the washing machine." Crap I wasn't supposed to say that out loud.

"What else was I supposed to do? I thought you felt dirty after our kiss."

I thought I cleared this up?! I push open the door. "I didn't feel dirty after our kiss." I stop inches away from him. "I felt dirty because two creeps had their hands on me without my permission. Not you."

I meet his guilt-ridden sad eyes but he quickly averts them. My heart aches because he seems genuinely hurt over what I said and thinks it's about him. But it's not. I guess I don't make things better by flinching away from him but it's not because I'm scared of him or hate his touch. I'm just scared of my body's horrible responses and I have no idea when or how they'll come because I have zero control.

Other than that, I love his touch, crave more. But I can't tell him that he's the only guy whose touch doesn't repulse me, scare me.

"Sander and Billy. Not you," I clarify.

A big part of me understands why he didn't believe me the first time. If someone tells me they believe me one time, it doesn't do anything for me, I need them to constantly tell me for me to believe them. And I know that's annoying but I can't do anything about it. I'm mainly like this because no one believed me with what happened to me so I'm constantly looking for validation in everything.

"What do I have to do for you to believe me? Do I have to kiss you again to prove your touch doesn't make me feel dirty but-." I snap my lips shut, my eyes widening as I register what I was about to reveal.

"But?" Damien questions.

I swallow hard and look away. I don't know what to say to fix that.

"Rose?"

"I promise I didn't feel dirty because of our kiss," I blurt and I have to force myself to look at him. "Please believe me." And please don't try to get me to finish what I stupidly was about to divulge.

He mindless nods his head yes. He still doesn't believe me? That's fine. If I have to spend my entire life telling him that I wouldn't care because I know how it feels to constantly want validation and I don't blame him for it.

"Also the air there was full of alcohol and drugs." I cringe. My biological dad used to drink alcohol, it's why I detest it so much.

"I believe you," he smiles.

I smile back until I feel the towel on my body slipping. My eyes grow wide as I realise I stepped out of the bathroom in just a towel. I quickly tightly wrap my arms around the towel, make sure to hide my fresh cuts and scars by pressing my arm under my barely-there breasts.

I'm not the only one who realises too late that I stepped out in only a towel, Damien's heated gaze wanders over every inch of me.

"Could you maybe give me something to wear whilst I wait for my clothes to finish drying?" I keep my eyes pinned on the towel, embarrassed and afraid it'll slip and reveal too much.

"Wear what you were wearing before," he tells me and reaches for his phone in his back pocket.

I can't wear that hoodie because I put it into the clothes hamper. It's got to be dirty by now. And I'll feel dirty putting it on after a shower.

I bite my lip. What should I do? Should I say something? No, don't. I look down at myself in the towel.

"What's wrong?" Damien asks.

I look up at him. "I er..." I contemplate telling him. "I put the hoodie into the clothes hamper," I spill before I can overthink it.

"So?" He raises a pierced brow.

Of course, he won't understand. How does one explain to someone they have really bad hygiene anxiety. He's going to think I'm weird.

"So it must be dirty now," I glance down at my feet. What do I care if he thinks I'm weird.

"That was my last clean hoodie. The others are in the dryer with your clothes. I only have t-shirts now," he looks down at my arm, which is completely shielded against my chest. I suppose he already knows why I wanted to wear his hoodie yesterday instead of his t-shirt, the cold not being one of the reasons.

But what am I supposed to do now? I don't have any clothes and he only has t-shirts with short sleeves.

"Have you got a long-sleeved t-shirt?" I pull the towel higher on my body because my arm is dragging it down.

"No, I don't," he deadpans.

I bite my lip, try to scramble my mind for a solution. But I come up empty. T-shirt it is then. "Can I have the t-shirt please?" He's seen my scars already, so it won't matter if he sees them again. But he hasn't seen the fresh cuts. Oh, it's only for ten minutes, I'll hide my arm.

Without a word, he moves over to the dresser and takes out a plain black t-shirt. I take it with a muffled "thanks," then move back into the bathroom to put it on.

I put the t-shirt on and it also reaches mid-thigh.

Crap, I don't have any knickers nor his boxers. This day has started off so bad. It's like bad luck follows me around like a lost puppy.

I'm about to pull my hair out of the collar when a knock sounds at the door. I open it and am instantly horrified by the sight before me. Damien's holding my white bra and a pair of black boxers.

Shame colours my cheeks and I can't take my eyes off my bra, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Pray for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

He holds up his boxers. "Thought you might need another one of these unless you want to go commando."

I didn't think it was possible but my cheeks heat tenfold more. I snatch my bra out of his grasp along with the boxers and without sparing him a single glance, slam the door on his laughing face. I'm too mortified to be mesmerised by the sweet raw sound of his laughter.

I put the boxers on, then my bra. I feel a little icky from wearing yesterday's bra, but I try to ignore it.

Taking in a deep breath, then out, I open the door. The bedrooms empty so Damien must be in the living room.