Beneath the Grime

KIER

I gently led her trembling body toward the stall, concern etched on my face. "What’s the matter?" I inquired, noticing the thick steam billowing from the shower head. It was clear she had cranked the water up to an intense heat.

I quickly adjusted the temperature, setting the water to a more comfortable level. The steam began to fade a bit, and I turned my gaze to her fragile, exposed form pressed against the wall, hunched and shivering, my jaw clenched tight.

How could someone be so terrified of a simple shower?

Her front was still to me, the scars on her skin stark against her pale complexion. Just seeing them made my chest constrict. I forced myself to take slow, deep breaths. Losing my cool wouldn’t do her any good.

“Genesis,” I said gently, stepping a little closer. She flinched but didn’t retreat this time. I took that as a sign of progress.

“You’re okay, it’s just water,” I reassured her, keeping my voice steady. My hand hovered near her shoulder, but I refrained from touching her. She needed to feel in control, not have me push her limits.

She tilted her head slightly, as if she was trying to listen, yet she still wouldn’t look at me.

I glanced at the controls and sighed. She probably had no idea how any of this worked. Why would she? Given her reaction, it was clear her life hadn’t been filled with comfort. This was far from what I had expected.

I reached for the showerhead, detaching it so I could hold it in my hand. The sound of the water shifting made her jump again.

“Look,” I said, extending the nozzle for her to see. The warm spray hit my palm, completely harmless. “See? There’s nothing to fear.”

She peeked at me from beneath her long, wet lashes, her tear-filled green eyes focused on the water in my hand. Her lips quivered, but she didn’t pull away.

“Here,” I offered, moving slowly. “Feel it; it’s warm, not hot.”

I brought the spray closer to her arm, allowing her ample opportunity to pull away. Yet, she remained still. The water made contact with her skin, causing her to flinch, but she didn’t pull back entirely.

“See?” I whispered. “It won’t hurt you.”

She gave a slight nod, her gaze flickering to mine. There was something in her eyes, perhaps uncertainty, perhaps a hint of trust? I couldn’t quite tell, but it was enough to encourage me to continue.

“I’m here to help you,” I said, lowering myself to her level to ease her discomfort. “But you need to let me. Deal?”

She didn’t respond with a nod or a shake of her head. Instead, she simply stared at me, motionless.

I interpreted that as a cautious agreement.

Gently, I directed the spray over her arms, rinsing away layers of dirt. Her breathing was quick and shallow, yet she didn’t resist; I doubted she had the strength to fight back. When I moved to her hair, I felt her tense up once more.

“Just relax,” I murmured. “I’ll be gentle.”

As I worked the water through her knotted hair, a simmering anger ignited within me. The scars on her skin, the fear in her eyes, the way she flinched at every little sound, it all pointed to a painful reality.

Someone had caused her deep harm.

I gritted my teeth, pushing the fury down. This wasn’t the moment for that; she needed reassurance, not my rage.

Once her hair was soaked, I took the shampoo and squeezed a small amount into my palm. “This is for your hair,” I explained, keeping my tone calm. “I’ll show you how to use it.”

She observed me intently, her eyes shifting between my hands and my face. Slowly, I began to massage the shampoo into her scalp, being careful not to tug or pull.

“Is this okay?” I asked.

She paused for a moment, then nodded.

Good.

In the moments that followed, my attention was entirely devoted to assisting her in cleansing herself. I meticulously washed her body, demonstrating the proper way to use the soap and washcloth, ensuring she felt comfortable and cared for throughout the process.

Her body remained tense, a clear indication of her unease, but I could empathize with her situation. As I gently scrubbed her back, legs, and intimate areas and I found myself a little flustered, a reaction that both surprised and confused me. The reality of bathing someone else was foreign to me; I had only ever cared for my own needs in this way. Yet, here I was, engaged in an act of intimacy and vulnerability with someone I didn't even know. If anyone had suggested that Kier Blackwood would one day be in such a position, I would have dismissed the notion with a laugh.

Once I finished washing her, I reached for the detachable shower head to rinse away the suds. As the water cascaded down, I finally caught a glimpse of the woman hidden beneath the layers of grime. To my astonishment, she was stunning, her skin was pale and remarkably clear, though marred by a few scars on her back and torso. These imperfections were minimal, especially in comparison to her overall beauty.

After the final rinse, I handed her a towel, stepping back to grant her some much-needed privacy.

"You did well," I said sincerely, and she looked at me with wide eyes.

I nodded, encouraging her to step out of the shower stall.

As she emerged, I let out a sharp breath, my mind racing with questions.

Who had inflicted this pain upon her? And for what reason?

When we returned to the room, I found her standing there, still unclothed, and my gaze was drawn to the bed. The soiled sheets had been removed, and a cloth lay neatly on the bed. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the cloth was one of my blue shirts.

I ran my hand across my face, and as I brushed past her, she recoiled slightly, taking a step back. I let out a sigh and inhaled deeply. I picked up the shirt and offered it to her, but she didn’t reach for it.

“You can put it on; you didn’t bring any clothes, did you?” I inquired, but she remained silent, her gaze fixed on the ground as if it held the secrets of the universe.

I stepped closer and gently guided the shirt over her head. She tensed up, so I quickly slipped it on her, and it hung loosely around her mid-thighs. Wow, she was incredibly slender.

“Come with me,” I instructed, moving toward the door, and I could hear her footsteps softly trailing behind me.