Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
I hated the help the nurses provided, not that they would ever know it. I was very thankful, speaking my appreciation every chance I got, all the while fighting the hatred I now feel for myself.
Getting out of my clothes is easy, but it takes a lot to complicate pulling off a t-shirt and kicking out of a loose pair of lounge pants. I manage to get the bandage off the end of my leg without having to look at it. I have a task in mind and getting lost in pity and regret before I accomplish my shower won't do me any favors.
The floor of the shower is rough on my foot, but I know that the texture is there to help prevent falls. My core muscles are weak despite it being less than two weeks since I was in the gym last. I can't wrap my head around how fast the body deteriorates when you're not using it to your full ability.
Facing this type of injury in full form is hard enough as it is and I'm well aware of the challenges I'm going to face. With a shoulder against the shower wall, I turn on the water, flinching against the blast of cold I’m hit with. It takes forever for the water to warm. But even as it heats up, it doesn't have the ability to reach that frigid part inside of me that has been building since I got hurt.
Everything is a challenge and soaping up my hands and washing my body all while leaning against the wall is no different. I opt for anger instead of letting the sadness slink in. With rough hands, I scrub up my skin, washing my torso and pecs before reaching over to wash the shoulder leaning against the wall.
I realize the mistake a second too late, and I'm unable to stop myself from sliding to the floor because of the slickness I added to the shoulder leaning against the wall. I scramble for anything I can reach, but in my stubbornness to do things on my own I put distance between myself and the rail in the shower. Soap, shampoo, and conditioner bottles scatter all around me as I growl in frustration from my seated position on the floor.
I hate myself more now than normal, as I try to get back to standing. I have to rinse my hands several times to get the soap off of them because I continue to slip and slide around. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could be transported to anywhere but here.
I feel rather than see her enter the room. My nakedness doesn't bother me. I've stripped down and gotten dressed in front of way too many people to attempt to cover my body as she steps in closer and looks down at me. What I can't control is the rush of blood to my cock at seeing her in a tank top and sleep shorts, with wet hair piled on her shoulders.
I don't cover myself. I don't try to hide what's happening because it only draws more attention to it.
I reach up and take the hand she offers and grumble a “Thank you,” as she pulls the shower chair that was sitting right outside into the small area with me. I didn't want it. I didn't want to have to sit and take a shower. They insisted I do that at the hospital and it felt like one more thing that was taken from me.
I try not to focus on the hit my pride is taking as I rinse the rest of the soap from my body. Slick doesn't stare, but she doesn't leave either. She kicks her foot at the bathmat outside of the shower, making sure it's not going to slip and slide when I step out on it.
She's there to help me from the shower chair. She's there to help me stand outside of the shower. She's there with a towel, giving me as much privacy as her presence can allow.
I hate that she's there but at the same time I'm also grateful. I know hurting myself further would only set me back, would only complicate my progress. I don't know if her willingness to help me is better or worse than if one of the other guys were here.
My erection hasn't flagged, and I don't imagine that it will since I can't pull my eyes from her bare legs. I've seen the woman in a bikini. She looks amazing in two scraps of fabric, but I've always been able to control my reaction to her.
Hooking up with her before would have been messy. It probably would have landed me in a not-so-pleasant conversation with Kincaid about sexual harassment.
Avoiding her now is going to be impossible. Keeping my thoughts professional will be unbearable. Trying to force a way of reasoning that maybe hooking up with her isn't such a bad idea since the chances of joining Cerberus again are so low.