The Fifth Day

I missed her. A lot. She wasn’t gone long at all, but I’m so broken that at this point…the rage I feel for my father is the only thing keeping me moving each day. That, and when the shopkeeper is here, her smiles and laughter and gentle touches. It’s a good thing that after our five nights together, I will have to leave. I know I would just end up becoming dependent on her if I dared to even entertain the idea of staying here.

“Will you be alright if I go feed the dogs?” The shopkeeper breathes into my hair, her legs tucked perfectly behind mine, her arm draped over my waist and her hand resting on my abdomen, gently stroking me. She must have been awake for a while now, but she was waiting for me to wake up too. 

She is so kind.

Too kind.

“I’m fine. I’ll uh, have a shower,” I mumble, but don’t make any move to get up. I want to enjoy the apothecary’s touch for even just a second longer if I can. She sighs happily into my neck, giving me a squeeze before sitting up and stretching. Watching her leave the room, I try to stay positive. Just focus on one thing at a time…

But it’s hard. I keep finding myself enjoying things, enjoying my time by her side and I just…I have so much rage and sadness bottled up inside, and I don’t even deserve to have happiness. I don’t deserve anything, not while Oria had to-

I take a deep breath. One thing at a time. 

I focus on the sounds coming from downstairs; the dogs yipping happily, the shopkeeper speaking to them like they understand her…I need a shower. Standing up, I go into the little bathroom and strip off my shirt and underwear before moving beneath the water. It isn’t exactly hot, but it isn’t freezing at least. Using one of the soaps made by the shopkeeper which smells irrefutably like her, I give myself a good scrub, cleaning my hair too. The apothecary’s hair always smells wonderful, and I’ll admit that I like smelling like her. Stepping out from under the water, I dry myself off and wrap the towel around my body, squeezing my hair to get as much water out as possible. Making my way back into the bedroom, my breath hitches when my eyes catch on the apothecary without her signature black shirt on. As it turns out, she wears a black tank top beneath it, and I can’t help but watch, mesmerised, as she slips her strong arms into the shirt.

And then I realise what I’m looking at on her skin. Large scars snake up her arms, starting from somewhere on her covered chest and climbing upwards, moving down the length of her biceps before stopping just above her elbow.

She always wears her shirts rolled up to the elbow, but never higher.

Now I know why.

A small gasp must have made its way out of me as the apothecary looks up abruptly and frowns, before quickly turning away as she finishes buttoning her shirt. For a long moment afterwards, we both stay perfectly still, my gaze fixed on her broad shoulders, waiting hopelessly for her to turn back around, to say something. Those scars…they were thick, and brutal. Almost like she’d been mauled by a bear or something, but at the same time…too precise for that. They looked…deliberate.

“How much did you see?” She whispers, a small shake to her tone. The urge to lie bubbles up strongly, anything to make her comfortable again. But I can’t do that. I can’t lie to her. Not after everything she’s done for me.

“Your arms…” I murmur, clutching the towel around myself. Is she angry? What if she decides to throw me out? I don’t want to leave her yet, I don’t want- the poison. That’s more important than whatever I want. If she throws me out, I wouldn’t get the poison. That’s what matters.

She lets out a long sigh before turning around to look at me, a sad smile on her lips. Walking towards me, she gently wraps her arms around my waist, resting her head against my bare shoulder, her breath warm against my cold skin. 

“I’m sorry…I didn’t want you to have to see that. It’s disgusting, and why I never let you properly see or touch me. Definitely a mood killer,” she breathes out, her shoulders tense. Shaking my head, I pull her into a closer hug, ignoring how lifting my arms puts my towel at risk of falling down. She’s seen every part of me by now, anyway.

“There isn’t a single disgusting thing about you. I understand not wanting to be exposed like that, but…you don’t have to,” my grip around her neck increases slightly as I feel her take a shuddering breath in. This is…unusual for us. Except for that one time with those gross men in town, she has always been the one to comfort me. Never the other way around. She is always the strong one, the steadfast pillar.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, scars and all,” the words slip from my lips without me even really thinking about what I’m saying. They’re true anyway, but her distress makes something in me become much more honest than I could normally be.

“Thank you,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to my neck, her lips lingering there, her breath hot, her hand strong on my waist, her hair loose and brushing against my am lightly…it ignites a fire deep within me. I want her touch more than ever, now. But she has work to do, and she pushed me away last night, so what if she denies me again?

And then the apothecary leaves another kiss on my shoulder, her hand at my back pressing me closer to her, the one at my waist holding me tighter.

She wants this too.

I know she does.

Would this count as one of our nights of pleasure? It’s only the morning, but…I don’t care about the contract. I just want her.

Pressing myself closer to her to indicate that I’m feeling the same way, I smile as the apothecary begins to trail kisses up my neck, sucking gently at the tender skin. The feeling sends a thrill zipping through my entire body as I gasp, slipping my leg between hers. She quickly pushes me back against the wall before pulling back to look into my eyes, the lust burning bright in her own irises. Gods, she’s so beautiful. 

I have never wanted someone as much as I want her.

My lips find hers as hands begin to tug at the edge of my towel, letting it fall away as her fingers leave scorching trails across my waist and chest, little fingerprints of heated affection. She presses me into the wall and I let out a stifled moan as she kisses me deeply, her hand cupping my breast, holding me like I’m the most precious thing she’s ever touched.

She always does this: worships my body. Like I’m something truly precious, and not just a whore.

I want to be precious to her.

I…I want to be loved by her.

“Take me, please,” I beg. Anything for her.

Anything.