It feels nice, but I’m too tired to appreciate it.
Another two weeks have passed, and it’s a constant up and down battle. Turns out, one of the men did give me chlamydia, and it only cemented that feeling of filth ingrained deep in my bones.
I cried, confessed my diagnosis to Zade, and then cried even harder when he was nothing but supportive. It’s been treated, but that lingering repulsion lingers, sinking its claws deep into my membrane.
He’s probably used every word in the English language to assure me that I’m not disgusting or that he doesn’t see me differently, but it didn’t change how I viewed myself.
Zade was right. Happiness is fleeting, however, over the past weeks, he’s done everything in his power to help me hold on to any semblance of peace.
Finishing with the brush, he sets it down on the bed and gathers my hair together. I nearly choke when he begins braiding it.
“Where the hell did you learn to do that?” I ask. I’m tempted to twist around like a dog chasing its tail, just so I can witness this.
“Ruby taught me,” he answers quietly. “There was a young girl that I rescued a few years ago, and she wouldn’t let anyone else touch her but me at first. She loved braids in her hair, so I learned how to do them for her. Got pretty fucking good at it, too.”
My lip trembles, and I’m forced to suck it between my teeth to keep the sob in.
Bastard of a man.
Just when I think I can’t fall in love with him any more than I already have, he goes and does this shit.
There’s no denying that he’s going to be a great father one day, and though the thought scares me, I don’t want anyone else but me to have the privilege of seeing it happen.
“Oh,” I whisper.
“Let me see your wrist band,” he says. I raise my arm, and he drags it off my hand and ties off the braid.
“Thank you,” I murmur, standing and turning to face him. I’m in a weird internal war where I want to crawl onto his lap, but the thought of actually doing it makes me break out into hives. “Where did you want to take me?”
“I want to show you something—someone, too. But I thought maybe seeing this would… help you.”
My brows pinch, but I nod, curious about what he thinks could possibly help me. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a lost cause. Hopeless. Helpless. And all the synonyms for those words, too.
During the forty-five-minute drive, Zade tells me all about how he got suspended in high school and almost didn’t graduate. It was a senior prank—he glitter-bombed the entire school, and they had to spend the rest of the year surrounded by pink sparkles.
One of these days, I'm going to have to make him show me pictures of his younger self. He says he's always had heterochromia, and I can only imagine how much the ladies loved that.
Eventually, we pull up to a massive gate with several armed guards standing outside. As soon as they spot Zade’s car, they let him through without hesitation.
We drive down a long dirt driveway that leads to what appears to be a mini village. There’s a massive, long building in the center with several smaller one’s surrounding it.
There's also an enormous greenhouse, which is where most of the activity is. People are milling about, carrying baskets of fruits and vegetables. A group of girls walk together, giggling and whispering to one another as they make their way towards one of the smaller buildings. All of them are kids or women that I can see.
“Where are we?”
“This is where the survivors go if they don’t have a safe home to return to.”
My gaze snaps to him, then quickly turns back to my surroundings, taking everything in with a whole new perspective.
“Really? How many are here?”
“One hundred and thirty-two survivors,” he answers, and the fact that he knows the exact number does weird shit to my heart. Shit I didn’t consent to.
“How many people do you have room for?”
He shrugs casually, parking outside the largest of the buildings. “However many I need it to. I own hundreds of acres, so if I need to build another dorm, I do.”
I blink. “You really are stupid rich, aren’t you?”
“Sure, but it goes back into my organization.”
Mouth open in awe, I scan the area, overcome with how… peaceful it appears.
“Are these the only safe houses you have?”
“No, they’re all around the country. Eventually, Z is going to expand to other countries, and I’ll start building there, too, and offer a safe place for survivors.”