Read Online unForgivable (An inCapable World Novel Book 2) by Sara Hubbard - Free Book Online
Authors: Sara Hubbard
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know that I’d be sitting here right now.”
“Fair enough. I’ll settle for a bathroom. Maybe a change of clothes?” I point to the clothes I’ve worn since yesterday. My once white high-collared sweater is now splattered with blood and so are my jeans.
“Right across from the bedroom you came out of.” He stands and flicks his cigarette out the window before cranking the window closed. “If you want to go do your business I can bring you some clothes.”
I nod and turn away from him, but before I disappear down the hallway, I look over my shoulder, pausing as I try to find the strength to say the words I should have said hours before. “Thank you. For the clothes, for the place to stay, but mostly for helping my uncle.”
His solemn face is immobile, and I don’t suspect I’m going to get much more than that from him, so I tiptoe to the bathroom. I lock the door behind me, take a deep breath, and lower the toilet seat cover. I don’t pee right away. The closed space and the privacy gives me something I didn’t know I needed—the ability to let myself go and just feel . Behind the locked door, I rock back and forth as I cry quiet tears for the aunt I lost; for Declan, the protector I might never see again; and for Mickey, the uncle I still might lose. I don’t know how many minutes pass but the sound of the knocking on the door pulls me from my private moment.
I breathe through the tears and wipe my cheeks and eyes with the backs of my hands. In the mirror I see how positively wretched I look. My hair is in knots, matted with spots of dried blood and stray weeds. My eyes are red and puffy and my cheeks are cut up and so is my head. I don’t feel any physical pain, just emotional. I can’t let Damien see me vulnerable so I open the door just a bit, push my hand through, and allow him to put the clothes in my hand. I pull them back in and lock the door again. I never asked for a shower, but I don’t figure he’ll mind, so I take a quick one, noting all the bruises on my body. They’re nothing compared to Mickey’s. They don’t even rate. I feel completely foolish for noticing them. Like they have any sort of importance in my life right now.
Damien has no shampoo or conditioner, just body wash—Axe—and I use it to clean my body and my hair. When I’m done, I smell like men’s deodorant, but it’s a considerable improvement from the stench of blood and sweat that surrounded me so thickly I swear it was visible.
Damien is a lot bigger than me. I’m average height for a girl, but Damien has to be pushing six three, maybe even six four. I’m drowning in his T-shirt and jogging pants. If they didn’t have a draw string waist I’d have no hope of keeping them up, and I have to roll up the bottoms or risk tripping on them.
A shiver overcomes my entire body, even within the steam still lingering from my hot shower. I rub my arms before opening the door and walking to the living room. Damien sits in the exact same spot he claimed before I left him.
“Better?” he asks.
“Much. Again , thank you…”
He offers a small shrug.
He pushes off the windowsill and approaches me. The light coming in through the windows is enough for me to make out his expression. Solemn. Thoughtful. Intent.
“Did Carrie leave?” I ask, refusing to meet his eyes.
“A few hours ago. She has to work in the morning.”
He stops a foot short of me, too deep in my personal space for me to feel comfortable. I clear my throat, and as I avert my eyes I get an eyeful of his firm, defined abs.
“Take a seat,” he says, his voice but a whisper.
“Um…what?”
He reaches up to touch my forehead and I lean back, away from him. He waits for permission before trying again and though I don’t know why he’s about to touch me, this time I let him. He moves slowly, his fingers brushing against my temple. Right where he skims I feel a throbbing and burning ache. It was bleeding earlier and though it smarts, I don’t shy
“Fair enough. I’ll settle for a bathroom. Maybe a change of clothes?” I point to the clothes I’ve worn since yesterday. My once white high-collared sweater is now splattered with blood and so are my jeans.
“Right across from the bedroom you came out of.” He stands and flicks his cigarette out the window before cranking the window closed. “If you want to go do your business I can bring you some clothes.”
I nod and turn away from him, but before I disappear down the hallway, I look over my shoulder, pausing as I try to find the strength to say the words I should have said hours before. “Thank you. For the clothes, for the place to stay, but mostly for helping my uncle.”
His solemn face is immobile, and I don’t suspect I’m going to get much more than that from him, so I tiptoe to the bathroom. I lock the door behind me, take a deep breath, and lower the toilet seat cover. I don’t pee right away. The closed space and the privacy gives me something I didn’t know I needed—the ability to let myself go and just feel . Behind the locked door, I rock back and forth as I cry quiet tears for the aunt I lost; for Declan, the protector I might never see again; and for Mickey, the uncle I still might lose. I don’t know how many minutes pass but the sound of the knocking on the door pulls me from my private moment.
I breathe through the tears and wipe my cheeks and eyes with the backs of my hands. In the mirror I see how positively wretched I look. My hair is in knots, matted with spots of dried blood and stray weeds. My eyes are red and puffy and my cheeks are cut up and so is my head. I don’t feel any physical pain, just emotional. I can’t let Damien see me vulnerable so I open the door just a bit, push my hand through, and allow him to put the clothes in my hand. I pull them back in and lock the door again. I never asked for a shower, but I don’t figure he’ll mind, so I take a quick one, noting all the bruises on my body. They’re nothing compared to Mickey’s. They don’t even rate. I feel completely foolish for noticing them. Like they have any sort of importance in my life right now.
Damien has no shampoo or conditioner, just body wash—Axe—and I use it to clean my body and my hair. When I’m done, I smell like men’s deodorant, but it’s a considerable improvement from the stench of blood and sweat that surrounded me so thickly I swear it was visible.
Damien is a lot bigger than me. I’m average height for a girl, but Damien has to be pushing six three, maybe even six four. I’m drowning in his T-shirt and jogging pants. If they didn’t have a draw string waist I’d have no hope of keeping them up, and I have to roll up the bottoms or risk tripping on them.
A shiver overcomes my entire body, even within the steam still lingering from my hot shower. I rub my arms before opening the door and walking to the living room. Damien sits in the exact same spot he claimed before I left him.
“Better?” he asks.
“Much. Again , thank you…”
He offers a small shrug.
He pushes off the windowsill and approaches me. The light coming in through the windows is enough for me to make out his expression. Solemn. Thoughtful. Intent.
“Did Carrie leave?” I ask, refusing to meet his eyes.
“A few hours ago. She has to work in the morning.”
He stops a foot short of me, too deep in my personal space for me to feel comfortable. I clear my throat, and as I avert my eyes I get an eyeful of his firm, defined abs.
“Take a seat,” he says, his voice but a whisper.
“Um…what?”
He reaches up to touch my forehead and I lean back, away from him. He waits for permission before trying again and though I don’t know why he’s about to touch me, this time I let him. He moves slowly, his fingers brushing against my temple. Right where he skims I feel a throbbing and burning ache. It was bleeding earlier and though it smarts, I don’t shy
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