Page 220 of Seasons of War
“Let's get this blood off you,” he said.
Gently, Zayne lifted her to her feet.
“Are you steady?” he asked.
Her face fell against his chest, body limp again. Glancing down, it looked like her cheek rested against bare skin from the water soaking his shirt. He might as well have been wearing nothing, but he figured the layer of fabric was better than that.
Then he glanced away before he saw her, and the clothes that would cling to her body. Maybe he couldn't give her much privacy, but he'd do his best not to see or think. Later, when she was alert, he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable.
It was all too close though. Too close to not feel her nearness when he was exhausted and beaten down. Too close not to feel the comfort of holding her. Comfort as deep and powerful as the unending grief.
He was overwhelmed. Dazed and lost.
But he had a mission. Free Kirafrom the blood.
Holding her up, he guided her beneath the water, making the shower rain red.
Weakly, her hands tugged at the bottom of her shirt. He knew the weight and horror of blood-soaked clothes.
“Okay,” he said, looking up at the ceiling while he pulled her shirt over her head. Kira's breath sounded more even, and when he felt fabric instead of skin against his chest, he sighed too. An undershirt. Finally, some good fortune.
He looked down only long enough to see the blood on her dark tank top, but it wasn't as bad as her shirt. Her pants were soaked, though.
“Here,” he said, turning the head of the shower away from her. Then he stretched a towel in front of her. “Good?”
She grabbed the towel but looked ready to drop it.
Zayne had heard stories like this of traumatized soldiers and civilians unable to move or speak for days. Weeks. Sometimes years, or their whole life. Would she escape this kind of shock and trauma? Kira couldn't be gone for good.
Zayne helped her slip out of her pants and then guided her hands to wrap the towel around her. She caught his shoulders, shaking badly again.
“We're figuring it out,” he said, tucking the end of the towel. “Right?”
Silence. Her head fell against him.
“Let's sit. Lift your hand if something isn't okay. Did you hear me?” Zayne lifted her face, trying to get her eyes to meet his. “I need to know you understand. That you can do it. Just lift your hand if you want me to stop at any time.”
A weak nod.
“You can lift your hand?” he asked.
Kira just barely lifted it. “I…” A whimper.
He'd rather return to the North again than see her like this. Brock could probably get her medication. People needed that when they became trapped within themselves like this. He didn't think it was simply from lack of food or water. She was catatonic.
Zayne sat and cradled her on his lap. “Okay still?” he asked, pulling her towel over her leg when it slipped.
He should have asked her to lift her hand to say yes instead of no.
He didn't know what he was doing.
“Hold very still.” With her head resting in the crook of his arm, he tilted her back to see her face and wiped the blood from around her eyes with a washcloth. Then he smoothed his thumb along her cheekbone to wipe away a smear of red. “There.”
Tears mixed with the water and ran in pink trails down her cheeks.
“I won't let go.” He ran cloth beneath her mouth. “I won't leave you. I'll stay here.”
Kira slipped in and out of consciousness while he cleaned her face, uncovering her freckles and her smooth chin, until no trace of blood remained.
