Diamond Kisses (The Jewelry Box #4)

Dipping my head, I drank straight from the stream, sucking down mouthfuls of cool, delicious freshness until my hunger didn’t ache quite so badly.

Only once my dehydration was quenched did I stagger to the shower, fumble at my gross clothes, and strip.

My ankle and wrist casts caught on the filthy material.

The warnings not to get them wet echoing from a previous life.

But I didn’t care.

I didn’t bathe because they’d told me to.

I did it because I had to.

I couldn’t wear this stench anymore. This reminder that I’d lost that night in the cave. This constant appearance of a broken man.

I groaned in sheer ecstasy as hot water rained over me.

My balance failed as I tipped my face into the cascade, sending me careening into the black-tiled wall. Doing my best to fight through the vertigo, I pumped copious amounts of body wash into my palm and inhaled the subtle fragrance of summer and lavender.

And then I tuned everything out and washed.

I didn’t focus on what this meant.

Didn’t fear why Victor had separated us and given us a Master’s chamber to prepare in.

Didn’t worry that the cleaner I was, the more enticing I would be to anyone who wanted to touch me.

I scrubbed for me.

I rinsed away the past for me.

And as I wrapped a fluffy white towel around my far slimmer waist, I flatly refused to look at all the bruises still covering my torso or the deep wine-coloured stain covering the left side of my chest where a few of my ribs had been broken. I forced my malnourished hand to remain steady as I reached for the razor in the drawer, tore off the paper packaging, and removed the thick hair on my face.

By the time the door opened and soft footfalls brought more company, I no longer looked like a prisoner of war but a survivor of whatever came next.

Rinsing the razor and placing it carefully by the sink, I caught my eyes and clutched the sink.

Whatever happens…it can’t break you.

Whatever he does to you…it’s just a body.

Do what Ily did, and don’t watch.

My head tipped as the weight of sickness, sadness, and sorrow almost crippled me.

“Oh good, you’re clean.”

The shock of company kept me standing.

I scowled as Dr Melanie Belford appeared on the bathroom threshold. Her gaze caught mine in the mirror and for a moment, a flicker of compassion and soul-deep pity flashed before she covered it up with businesslike impatience. “Come out here, please. I’ve set up what I need by the window.”

Sighing heavily, I padded into the bedroom and toward the small table where sunlight spilled inside. The golden rays hurt my eyes after so long in the dark. On a white cloth, a few tools waited, looking like torture devices.

“Here to start my punishment early, Belford?”

She flinched and sat down on one of the chairs. Pointing at the other, she kept her voice low, but her eyes collided with far more than what she said. “I’m going to cut off your casts.”

I sat heavily in the chair.