Maybe he has a toxic leak of some sort in his car. Is sulfur toxic?
“I think I have it.” My voice was as thick as my tongue I’d just pried off the roof of my mouth.
“Sure you do.”
Before I could protest, he gently opened my door since all of the weight of my head was on it and unbuckled my seatbelt. He gently carried me into my house, acting like he was afraid my broken soul would crack and bleed all over the floor. Inside, the stifling air of my living room had my stomach churning.
I launched myself out of Mr. Easton’s gentle arms and stumbled to my bathroom, wanting to be as far away from him as I could, before slamming my knees on the tile and vomiting.
My hair was lifted off my sticky neck, and a cool washcloth replaced the heavy strands. A moan escaped me while I held onto the cool porcelain with all my might.
“I’m going to draw you a bath.”
I nodded, wanting to flush away my embarrassment.
“Can you draw a knife across my throat instead? Or maybe your letter opener when you get it from Cole?”
He huffed and a small smile tugged at my lips. Getting Mr. Easton to show any emotion that wasn’t disgust was an accomplishment.
“Sorry, you’re not worth the jail time, and the letter opener is an artifact.”
A shuddering breath assaulted my battered throat, and to my utter mortification another one followed the first.
“Fuck, are you crying?”
“No,” I lied, crying even louder.
“Fine, I’ll kill you with the letter opener.”
I laughed.
How the hell does this man make me laugh?
“Please tell me you can get into the bathtub without my help.”
“I’ve been getting undressed for over two decades, I think I can manage it,” I lied.
On shaky legs, I leaned against the sink and brushed my teeth twice, and used mouthwash once, because that shit was nasty and I didn’t want to ruin my hard work of brushing by vomiting again.
“I’m fine. You can leave me alone.”
“Fuck, I know that tone. You just lied,” he said, letting out a pained sigh.
“You don’t know my lying voice,” I screeched, hurting my already abused throat. Without giving my knees permission to do so, I sank to the bathroom floor, my teeth cleaning mission complete. Clutching my stomach, I scooted on my ass toward the bathtub. Bubbles crested the side with steam curling toward the ceiling. It looked like heaven.
Still on my ass, I scooted closer to the tub. My skin felt hot and sticky. In the most unladylike fashion, I dry heaved while I huddled on the floor. Completely depleted of energy, I laid my forehead on the side of the tub.
“The bath normally works when you’re inside of it.”
I jumped from his voice. “I thought you left,” I whispered, too tired to lift my head.
“I’m not losing the chance of having that letter opener because you’re too incompetent to get into the bath.”
I snorted. “Well, let’s get you your weapon.” I lifted my arms up.
A wheeze pushed out of his throat, giving me the strength to push off the cool ceramic.
“You can use your satanic fire to burn the dress off if you don’t want to help me take it off,” I teased.