Page 53 of Hunt Me

I want that.

He leans back against the headboard, and I go with him, my head resting on his chest. His hands tighten around me carefully, as if he’s afraid I might break. And in this moment, I might. I’m so tired of being afraid all the time.

‘Okay?’ he asks when he has my attention again.

I nod before shaking my head. I don’t truly know if I am okay. I can’t tell. My head hurts, and I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams. ‘I’m tired.’

‘I know. I can see.’

His rough hand brushes over my cheek, and he leans down, his nose moving up the side of my face. He stares down at me once more, and I see the scrunch of his nose.

‘What?’ I ask with a flick of my fingers.

‘You smell different.’ My face falls, and his brows lower. ‘Wrong?’

In spite of the fact that I almost never cry, suddenly, tears start leaking from the corners of my eyes. ‘I don’t want to smell different.’

‘I said wrong thing,’ he sighs and rolls off me, staring up at the ceiling, and I turn my head to look at him. I want to reassure him that it’s fine, that I’m just so fucking done with today, but before I can, he twists back toward me and leans over me once more.

‘You need shower.’

My mouth quirks up, and I choke out a horrified laugh. ‘I do?’

I mean, I’m sure I do. I have god knows what all over me, like dirt, pepper spray, and whatever my stalker had on his hands before he touched me.

‘But,’ he adds before I can fully fall apart, ‘you still beautiful. Have…’ He scratches his finger across his forehead in the same place I have my wound—it almost looks like the sign for trauma, and honestly, he’d be correct—and then his hand falls. ‘But still…I like.’

That makes me snort, and my lips curl up into a smile. He’s trying, and right now, that’s the only thing that matters. ‘I think I’ll be prettier after a shower.’

He nods, and I push at his chest, signaling that I want to get up. He gets the hint and hops up, lithe as a cat.

Holding out one hand, he keeps his body still as I take it, and he grips me gently as he pulls me to my feet. His steps are more careful when he leads me to the bathroom, and it’s strange to imagine that not twenty-four hours ago we were in here touching, teasing, tasting.

I’m not in the mood for anything like that now. All I want is to wash the entire event off my skin. I want to scrub at my skin until it’s pink. Until I feel like me again.

Archie starts the water as I attempt to undress, but I’m shaking too badly to make any progress, and my head is pounding too hard for me to care. He takes one look at me, then walks over and turns the main light off, which immediately soothes my eyes. He skims a touch over my arms, then lifts my hands and kisses my palms before carefully pulling my shirt over my head, then goes for my pants.

When I’m completely naked, he undresses himself, and then he guides me under the warm water. My eyes drift to the soapand shampoo he has settled in the corner…and that’s when I notice it.

The shampoo and soap I use.

My eyes flick to his, and he stares at me.

‘You copy me?’ I ask, and he cocks his head.

‘I told you. I like your smell.’

My cheeks flush. I don’t really know what to do with that. Once again, his behavior should be weird and creepy, but something about it makes me feel settled. Like he’s trying to make this place a home. I lean against him, and he gently urges me under the spray, tipping my head back by my chin as water cascades over my hair. It stings the places where my head was split open, and when I glance down, the water is tinted faintly pink.

I turn my gaze up to his, and he wets his lips. He likes what he sees, and I like that he does.

He doesn’t hold my gaze, just like usual, but he squirts shampoo into his hand and carefully begins to wash all the blood out of my hair with a tenderness that tells me he sees me. That he understands what I need in this moment.

And it’s too easy to get lost in his touch as he gently works up a lather, then guides me back under the water to rinse. The conditioner is next, and he plays with the ends of my hair, almost like he’s stimming with it before setting it aside and grabbing a cloth for the bodywash he has on the shower shelf. It smells a bit like jasmine—a very faint scent—and he begins to run the cloth over every inch of my skin. But he’s too gentle.

“More,” I say aloud. “Please. More. Harder.”

I’ve spoken those words before, I think, but not in this context. Archie understands me just as well like this though, and he scrubs the cloth harder across my body until my skin stings. He seems to read me better than I can read myself because he stops just moments before I’m ready to tell him it’senough, and then he rinses the cloth and sets it aside, pushing me back under the water.