Dave didn’t look at his reflection in the mirror as he washed his wrists. He kept his gaze lowered. If his gaze went anywhere above the faucet, he’d start crying. He knew he’d start crying.
And he was trying to be brave.
The soap was antibacterial, but it was supposed to be gentle.
Good for sensitive skin.
That’s what it said on the package – “Good for sensitive skin”.
He bit his lower lip and wondered how many other people used that particular brand of soap on rope burns and pinch marks from tight handcuffs. He wondered if those people knew how to wash the physical and emotional pain away.
Someone bashed their fist on the bathroom door. “Hey. Get out. I need to take a shower.”
The tears fell without Dave looking up.
“Dave. Get your sorry backside outta there. Come on. You think I got time to wait around for you? Huh? I got better things to do.”
How many times?
How many times has he done this? How many times has he left me hurting and bleeding?
How many times am I going to just let it slide?
The bathroom door opened.
Dave quickly shut off the faucets and smiled at the intruder. “Mick!”
He admired Mick with his long, skinny legs and narrow waist.
Maybe one more time. I’ll let it slide one more time and then?
I don’t know.
“Tsk. You’re dripping blood freakin’ everywhere. Hold still.” Mick opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out the usual supplies. “Hands over the sink.”
Mick opened the hydrogen peroxide and poured it in generous amounts over Dave’s injured skin.
Dave involuntarily hissed between his clenched teeth.
“There. Dry that up.”
“I love you, Mick.”
“Yeah. Whatever. Wrap it up when you’re done.” He took his clothes off and went into the shower.
Dave lowered his gaze again as he focused on wrapping his wrists.
He loves me. So, that makes it okay.