“You okay?” I ask, pushing the wet strands of hair back from her face as I mentally try to prepare myself for bathing the rest of her. She’s your sister. She’s your sister.
She avoids my gaze, looking down at her crippled hands in her lap. “I can’t do this,” she says, shaking her head. “Get out.”
I frown, not sure if I heard her right. “Diem, I don’t mind—”
“I said get out.” Her voice is firm as she turns those eyes of steel on me. She’s disappointed in herself and determined to do this on her own. And I get it.
I leave, closing the door behind me but making sure not to lock it. If she calls for me, I want to be able to get to her. But something tells me she probably won’t.
Lighting a smoke in the hall, I wait for her to finish. Standing right outside the door, I listen as the water splashes. Every once in a while, I hear a sharp intake of breath, a growl of frustration, and sometimes even a whimper. I allow her the space she needs, but I’m not happy about it. I wish her stubborn ass would just let me help.
When the bathroom grows quiet for longer than I think it should, I knock on the door. “Everything okay in there?” I ask, my hand already on the doorknob.
“I’m fine,” she snaps, and I smirk at the vision I have in my head of her glaring at me.
Figuring if she’s pissed, she really is fine, I make myself useful in the bedroom. I rip the sheets off the bed that are already stained with her blood. Throwing them in the washer, I dig through the closet until I find another set before remaking the bed.
There’s never shit to eat here, but I find a pack of nabs in my duffel and pour her a tall glass of water. Searching my pitiful medicine cabinet, I locate some over-the-counter pain meds. Then I roll a blunt, thinking it will help her sleep. If she refuses it, I’ll just smoke it myself. I’ll probably need it to sleep tonight too.
Just as I’m passing the bathroom, the door opens and Diem appears in a towel looking like she’s just run a marathon rather than take a bath. She’s out of breath. Her shoulders sag and her legs struggle to hold her up. She’s proved her point. Now I’m taking over, whether she likes it or not.
“Put your arm around my neck,” I say, bending my knees so I shrink to her level.
Without argument, she slides her arm across my shoulder, and my skin ignites at the touch. Cradling her knees under one arm, I move the other around her waist and lift her. Her head falls to my shoulder, clearly not having the energy to hold itself up any longer.
Gently, I set her on the bed before grabbing the bandages and wrapping both her wrists. Finished, I crawl behind her and rub ointment on the cut centered in her back before covering it with the gauze Carrie had left for her.
I slip my T-shirt over her head, and the moment it’s on, she practically falls to her side. “I’ll rot before I do that again,” she breathes, her hair disheveled all over her pale face.
Reaching my hand under her shirt, she stills. “Just getting the towel, baby. Don’t get excited.” I give her a wink, and her hand lifts. I know she’s attempting to give me the finger but it’s impossible with her hands wrapped. Throwing the towel to the floor, I stand and tuck her legs under the covers before pulling them up to her shoulders.
“I got you some stuff,” I say, standing beside the bed as I look down at her. Now that she’s tucked in and there’s nothing left for me to do, I feel helpless.
She starts to speak, but has to close her mouth and swallow before she can. “I can’t sit back up. Just let me lay here.”
“You hurting?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“I’m dying.”
I smirk. She’s so dramatic. “I got something that will help you relax. You trust me?”
She gives me an uneasy look before her eyes settle on the blunt I hold between my fingers. Lighting it, I take a few drags. Her eyes close a moment as she inhales the smoke from a distance. When it fades, she looks up at me and nods, wanting more.
Kneeling beside the bed, I take a pull from the cigar. Holding the smoke in my mouth, I lean in, keeping my lips just a hairsbreadth away from hers. She draws in a breath, inhaling the smoke as it floats out of my mouth and between her lips. She takes only what her lungs can handle—closing her mouth when she’s had enough, then parting her lips when she’s ready for more.
Before the blunt is finished, her eyes are heavy and her body relaxed. On the last drag she pulls from me, she whispers against my lips, “Kiss me.”
I don’t know if it’s the weed talking, or if she’s as worked up about being this close to me as I am about her. But I don’t question it. I simply give the lady what she asks for. I kiss her softly, teasing her with my tongue as she lazily kisses me back. My dick hardens at the contact. This is the most delicious she’s ever tasted. Two of my favorite flavors combined.