and hash browns. It was overkill but the thing about Mercy was she liked to coddle and she liked to cook. I watched her flip the bacon in the pan, my mouth watering and stomach growling. It would be almost as good as Benny’s all day breakfast at The Pit Stop, almost.
“She is going to have nightmares for a while, and she will most likely suffer from panic attacks. She might even have PTSD. She’ll also cry a lot more tears. It will be good for her to talk to Dave when he gets home.” If anyone knew about the stresses of living a life of pain, it was Dave. Although he hadn’t lived through anything as such himself, he was a psychiatrist who worked at Mercy’s Shelter. He spent every day talking to the women who crossed their threshold. He didn’t work in a fancy office with his degrees plastered on the wall, instead he worked in the shelter, making beds, cleaning bathrooms, fixing shit and being the ear many of the women needed, and more often than not, the voice of reason. Even Jax and I have spent time sitting with Dave, getting our heads on straight and dealing with our own shit. Rebecca could definitely benefit from talking to him.
Breakfast was cooked, sitting, and waiting, but Rebecca was still in the bathroom. I began to worry and stared at the closed door. Feeling like a complete and utter perv, I left Mercy loading our plates up with too much food while I pressed my ear to the bathroom door. The gentle sobbing from the other side literally hurt my chest. Unable to stop myself, I knocked.
“Betty Boop, I’m coming in.” I gave her a moment to protest. When she didn’t, I opened the door. She was sitting in the tub, her knees drawn to her chest, her face resting on them, her blonde hair still matted with dried blood. I sank down beside the tub and brushed her hair back.
“I’m sorry,” she quietly sobbed.
“There is nothing you need to be apologizing for, baby.”
She shook her head stubbornly. “I haven’t cried this much in a long time. I feel like a helpless, weepy female,” she confessed with a sniffle.
I smiled as I got up and grabbed some shampoo from the shower, then went back to kneel down beside her. “In case you haven’t noticed, you are, in fact, female and the events of the last twenty-four hours warrant weeping. Helpless?” I paused. “Not a fucking chance, Betty Boop. You fought that fucker off. Things could have been a whole lot worse, but you fought back. You’re a fighter, it’s who you are. So, no, you’re not helpless.” I encouraged her to tip her head backwards and gently wet her hair before squeezing in some shampoo and lathering it in. I’ve never washed a girl’s hair before. Was it weird that it was kinda turning me on?
“I don’t suppose that shampoo is for color treated hair, or that it has vanilla bean extracts in it?”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my lips. “I wouldn’t have a clue. Considering I’m the only one who has used this bathroom in the last year, I would say not.”
She sighed. “That’s okay, but I’ll need to get my own shampoo from home. My hair will turn into a bird’s nest if I don’t use it.”
It has been a long time since I lived with a woman and that had been Mercy. I hadn’t taken much notice of what a woman required to survive on a day-to-day basis, other than food and water, so it was safe to say women’s grooming was a little foreign to me. As a man who liked women, I certainly appreciated such things though. If Rebecca needed special shampoo, I would damn well provide it for her. After rinsing the soap from Rebecca’s hair, I grabbed a clean towel from under the sink.
“You need me to stay?” I asked, not sure if I should go. Her answer was to simply stand, water running rivulets down her beautiful body. I might have become instantly hard if the bruises against her pale skin didn’t draw my attention.
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” she admitted without emotion.
As soon as she
“She is going to have nightmares for a while, and she will most likely suffer from panic attacks. She might even have PTSD. She’ll also cry a lot more tears. It will be good for her to talk to Dave when he gets home.” If anyone knew about the stresses of living a life of pain, it was Dave. Although he hadn’t lived through anything as such himself, he was a psychiatrist who worked at Mercy’s Shelter. He spent every day talking to the women who crossed their threshold. He didn’t work in a fancy office with his degrees plastered on the wall, instead he worked in the shelter, making beds, cleaning bathrooms, fixing shit and being the ear many of the women needed, and more often than not, the voice of reason. Even Jax and I have spent time sitting with Dave, getting our heads on straight and dealing with our own shit. Rebecca could definitely benefit from talking to him.
Breakfast was cooked, sitting, and waiting, but Rebecca was still in the bathroom. I began to worry and stared at the closed door. Feeling like a complete and utter perv, I left Mercy loading our plates up with too much food while I pressed my ear to the bathroom door. The gentle sobbing from the other side literally hurt my chest. Unable to stop myself, I knocked.
“Betty Boop, I’m coming in.” I gave her a moment to protest. When she didn’t, I opened the door. She was sitting in the tub, her knees drawn to her chest, her face resting on them, her blonde hair still matted with dried blood. I sank down beside the tub and brushed her hair back.
“I’m sorry,” she quietly sobbed.
“There is nothing you need to be apologizing for, baby.”
She shook her head stubbornly. “I haven’t cried this much in a long time. I feel like a helpless, weepy female,” she confessed with a sniffle.
I smiled as I got up and grabbed some shampoo from the shower, then went back to kneel down beside her. “In case you haven’t noticed, you are, in fact, female and the events of the last twenty-four hours warrant weeping. Helpless?” I paused. “Not a fucking chance, Betty Boop. You fought that fucker off. Things could have been a whole lot worse, but you fought back. You’re a fighter, it’s who you are. So, no, you’re not helpless.” I encouraged her to tip her head backwards and gently wet her hair before squeezing in some shampoo and lathering it in. I’ve never washed a girl’s hair before. Was it weird that it was kinda turning me on?
“I don’t suppose that shampoo is for color treated hair, or that it has vanilla bean extracts in it?”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my lips. “I wouldn’t have a clue. Considering I’m the only one who has used this bathroom in the last year, I would say not.”
She sighed. “That’s okay, but I’ll need to get my own shampoo from home. My hair will turn into a bird’s nest if I don’t use it.”
It has been a long time since I lived with a woman and that had been Mercy. I hadn’t taken much notice of what a woman required to survive on a day-to-day basis, other than food and water, so it was safe to say women’s grooming was a little foreign to me. As a man who liked women, I certainly appreciated such things though. If Rebecca needed special shampoo, I would damn well provide it for her. After rinsing the soap from Rebecca’s hair, I grabbed a clean towel from under the sink.
“You need me to stay?” I asked, not sure if I should go. Her answer was to simply stand, water running rivulets down her beautiful body. I might have become instantly hard if the bruises against her pale skin didn’t draw my attention.
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” she admitted without emotion.
As soon as she