I glance around, wondering if I could hide behind something to strip down, but I see nothing. Nothing that would shield me from their eyes.
“I—no, I…”
He tilts his head and stares at me. My cheeks burn from the intensity of his gaze.
“Why not?” he asks as Liam, Sem, and Luke go crashing through the door, wearing only their boxers as they fight over who gets to shower first. Their voices fade into the background as Caleb steps closer.
“I…please just get me a towel,” I murmur, desperation lining my words. I don’t want to give him more than that, more of me.
I already feel stretched thin.
He’s done things to me over the past few weeks, things that have turned me inside out. I feel like I’m coming undone at the seams.
His eyebrows meet as he watches me, clearly confused, but thankfully, he just nods and disappears inside the house, returning with a large, worn beach towel.
“You going to tell me what the deal is?” he asks. “You got issues with your body? ’Cause from what I can tell, it’s nice.”
He has no fucking idea. I clutch the towel tighter around me. “Please leave, Caleb.”
His shoulders sag, his chest deflating. I did this to him. I know it, and yet I can’t bring myself to tell him why.
“Yeah. Okay, man. I’ll go shower.”
His absence doesn’t make me feel any better, but I’m left to strip in peace, the shadows hiding me from anyone’s wayward gaze. Not that they’re looking, but if they were, they wouldn’t be able to see what I need to hide.
When I finally step inside, I toss my clothes into the laundry basket and quickly slip upstairs. No one pays me any attention, their focus on other things.
I came to that realization far too late in life. No one really cares what you do, what you say, or what you wear.
But he does.
All my life, I could never escape my father’s need for control. His fingers wrapped around my fragile life, shaping my every move, forcing me to twist and twirl as he pleased—like a dancing puppet.
His puppet.
My feet grow cold on the wood floor as I wait for Caleb to exit the bathroom, my fingers clutching the towel wrapped around my shoulders like a lifeline, my clean clothes tucked in my arms as I wait.
Minutes tick by, my skin growing tight, my body prickling with awareness. And when Caleb is finally done, he steps out, steam billowing around him. Like some kind of porn.
My porn.
He nods toward the bathroom door.
“All yours,” he says, and I just push past him and lock the door,needing a minute to breathe without him watching me, without him being so close and waiting for me to reveal myself to him.
I can’t let that happen. I really can’t.
I quickly turn the water on and step under the spray. My eyes close, not looking down. Not looking at myself. I don’t need to. I know what’s there.
I know what I’ll see.
Instead, I just scrub myself clean, the day washing off me slowly. I come back to myself piece by piece, reemerging as Whit once more.
The moment I step into the bedroom, dressed in my armor of long sleeves and black pants, Caleb rises from the bed and strides toward me. His bottom lip is flushed pink, like he’s been worrying it with his teeth. His fingers stretch out, brushing against the fabric that clings to my arms, each touch sending a shiver through me.
“What?” I finally ask.
“You seriously not going to talk to me about what that was back there?” he asks when the silence stretches between us, taut and uncomfortable.