Chapter 19: Reflective Bath

“My God, you’re bleeding!” Zophie rushed to my side, drawing my attention from the entrance to our apartment.

I made to stand up, but halfway up my wounded leg gave out on me, and I fell to a knee. I almost chuckled when I realized the stuff we’d bought from the mall had made it back with us.

“Stop! Stop trying to move.” Zophie pushed my chest, ushering me back down to the floor. “Just, oh god. Just wait a second, I’ll find something.”

“It’s… fine.” I slurred, my words coming slowly to me. Between the spiritual exhaustion and the weeping bullet wound in my leg, I started to feel dizzy.

“Listen to me,” Zophie snapped, not unkindly. “You. have. a. bullet. wound.” She enunciated each word separately. “Sit still while I find the first aid kit.”

“Don’t have one,” I croaked out, still halfway trying to watch the door for Wendigo. “It’ll heal anyway.” Being an immortal had its perks, after all. I could already tell that the blood wasn’t flowing as quickly onto the floor.

Zophie scrambled off regardless, leaving me to lie on the ground and watch the door. In the end, I seemed to be right about Wendigo not following us to my domain. By the time Zophie came back with a dark-colored towel in her hand, I felt satisfied that we were safe. I couldn’t even sense Wendigo’s spiritual presence anywhere close to us.

With that temporarily resolved, I could move my focus over to Zophie. She was still freaking out, blood all over her hands as she desperately tried to staunch the bleeding on my leg.

“Ow,” I said, the rough towel pushing into my injured muscle.

“This is fine! It’s totally fine,” Zophie rushed the words out between quick, short breaths. “We’re gonna be fine!”

“Zophie,” I tried to grab her attention.

“We were chased by some kind of evil monster, but it’s fine! We’re home now and it’s gonna be fine!”

“Zophie!” I said sternly. “Look at me.”

Her face turned to mine from where she was crouching over my leg. Tear streaks marred her face, and her hair was a mess of frilly tangles. Blood crept up her forearms, and her chest heaved with the simple effort of breathing.

I laid my hand on her leg. “We’re safe now. He won’t follow us here.”

Her face broke, and she looked at me with such tender vulnerability that I worried she’d collapse. She hiccupped, more tears streaming down her face. “Mhmm,” she agreed vocally, nodding her head. The tears seemed to be from relief as much as they were shock and terror.

“Why,” she asked desperately. “Why would someone shoot at us?” The idea of it was anathema to her, something she couldn’t ever comprehend.

“It’s like you said. He’s a monster— inhuman.” My mind was already clearing up, the wound on my leg fully staunched. It’d finish healing before morning, though it’d be sore for a few days after that. The worst of the pain came from the spiritual strain. “Guys like him… they don’t care about me, you, or anyone else. They only serve the bottom line— themselves. You can’t sympathize with monsters like him.”

“I’m sorry,” Zophie said. “Sorry for dragging you over to him.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay. I know you’ll be more careful next time.” I finally made to stand up now that the bleeding had stopped.

Of course, Zophie protested. “Wai— your leg! It’s still…” she trailed off as she looked at the wound, already halfway closed. “Uh. It’s healing already? That’s great!” Her mood flipped so quickly, yet the confusion remained. “But, what.” She rubbed at her eyes, as if to clear them of an illusion.

“Zophie.” I had to tell her. “I’m not human either.”

She laughed at me, like this was all some kind of messed-up joke. “So, you really are some kind of extremely old immortal?” she asked sarcastically, clearly expecting me to refute her.

“Yeah.” I just nodded.

“Oh.” She believed me; I could see it on her face. Not that I expected anything different from her, trusting as she was. “You’ll tell me more about it later?” I could see how exhausted she was, how much she needed a break from all this.

“Of course. Now, come on, you’ve got blood all over you. It’s all over me, too. We can clean up in the bathroom.”

She didn’t reply at all, just meekly following as I led her by the hand. More blood was smeared on me because of it, but I didn’t care.

“You still bleed red,” Zophie observed, looking at her free hand that was coated in my blood. I could see the adrenaline draining out of her, her expression becoming muted as she simply observed the world around her with little reaction.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Fallen Angels still bleed red.”

After I opened the bathroom door, I ushered her inside. The bathroom was traditional: tile flooring with a drain in the center, a showerhead and shower stool on one wall, with a deep bathtub on the other.

For a second, I hesitated. She needed someone to comfort her, and she was absolutely drenched in blood, recovering from shock. I didn’t want to take advantage of her state, so I resolved to be absolutely respectful going forward.

“Do you want to clean up by yourself, first? I can shower after.”

She shook her head quickly. “No. It’s okay. Don’t leave.”

Stepping forward, I reached for her blood-soaked hoodie, pulling it up and over her head, which she allowed. Then she all but slammed into me with a tight hug, her legs almost giving out as I supported her.

“I’m going to take off your shirt now, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” she whispered into my chest.

She raised her arms up for me as I pulled her t-shirt off. I tried not to admire her body, telling myself this was purely to help her calm down and clean up. I gently peeled away from her, turning her around and pushing her toward the shower stool.

“I’m going to unclip your bra, now.” Her bra had been spared the worst of it, so I hung it over the bathtub ledge for now to keep it away from the rest of her bloody clothing. “Before you sit down, can you take off your pants?” In some faraway, primal lizard part of my brain, I hoped I wasn’t being too intimate, too forward with her. But we both knew this wasn’t like that. At least, not right now, not after she’d lived through, what was to her, a life-threatening battle.

She shimmied out of her pants, and I purposefully kept my eyes up near her upper back and head. Then, while she sat down, I pulled off my own blood-soaked clothing, stripping down to my boxers. I pulled the detachable showerhead off from the wall, turned the water on, and waited for it to warm up.

The warm spray of the water upon her back immediately made Zophie relax. I took care of her, gently rubbing the soft washcloth down her back in easy strokes. I lathered her with soap and ran my hands all across her back. When I did the same for her front, I went slowly in case she asked me to stop. I stayed away from her upper chest, but I had to clean her stomach and collarbone, which had specks of drying blood.

Lastly, I lathered her hair with the shampoo we’d bought just a few hours earlier. My fingers gently pressed into her scalp, and I noticed goosebumps rising across the backs of her arms. She slowly leaned back until she rested against my bare chest, skin to skin, letting me soothe her while I took care of her hair. A peaceful smile graced her lips, and in that moment, I just felt so immensely grateful that she was physically unharmed.

Still with her eyes closed, she spoke up softly. “Why would someone want to hurt us so badly? I only wanted to help him.”

Grabbing the showerhead, I began to wash the lather out of her hair, streaming the water up and down her locks while being careful to avoid getting it in her eyes.

“It’s exactly what I said before, Zophie. Not all those who cry are babies. Some people are evil, and they’ll happily draw you in, taking advantage of your sympathy. That’s when they strike, just at the moment you’re reaching out your hand to help. They wield your own empathy as a weapon, and they’ll take everything from you, even your life, if it pleases them.”

“Okay.” She paused, taking it all in. Then, she changed the subject. “I’ll clean your back for you next. And your wound, too. We have to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

I looked down at my leg, seeing the flesh red and granulated, but whole— no bullet hole to speak of. “Sure, Zophie.”